On my return from Scotland, that year, perhaps late in September, I remember finding him lodged4 straitly but cheerfully, and in happy humor, in a little cottage on Blackheath; whither his Father one day persuaded me to drive out with him for dinner. Our welcome, I can still recollect5, was conspicuously6 cordial; the place of dinner a kind of upper room, half garret and full of books, which seemed to be John's place of study. From a shelf, I remember also, the good soul took down a book modestly enough bound in three volumes, lettered on the back Carlyle's French Revolution, which had been published lately; this he with friendly banter7 bade me look at as a first symptom, small but significant, that the book was not to die all at once. "One copy of it at least might hope to last the date of sheep-leather," I admitted,—and in my then mood the little fact was welcome. Our dinner, frank and happy on the part of Sterling, was peppered with abundant jolly satire8 from his Father: before tea, I took myself away; towards Woolwich, I remember, where probably there was another call to make, and passage homeward by steamer: Sterling strode along with me a good bit of road in the bright sunny evening, full of lively friendly talk, and altogether kind and amiable9; and beautifully sympathetic with the loads he thought he saw on me, forgetful of his own. We shook hands on the road near the foot of Shooter's Hill:—at which point dim oblivious10 clouds rush down; and of small or great I remember nothing more in my history or his for some time.
Besides running much about among friends, and holding counsels for the management of the coming winter, Sterling was now considerably11 occupied with Literature again; and indeed may be said to have already definitely taken it up as the one practical pursuit left for him. Some correspondence with Blackwood's Magazine was opening itself, under promising12 omens13: now, and more and more henceforth, he began to look on Literature as his real employment, after all; and was prosecuting15 it with his accustomed loyalty16 and ardor17. And he continued ever afterwards, in spite of such fitful circumstances and uncertain outward fluctuations18 as his were sure of being, to prosecute19 it steadily20 with all the strength he had.
One evening about this time, he came down to us, to Chelsea, most likely by appointment and with stipulation21 for privacy; and read, for our opinion, his Poem of the Sexton's Daughter, which we now first heard of. The judgment22 in this house was friendly, but not the most encouraging. We found the piece monotonous23, cast in the mould of Wordsworth, deficient24 in real human fervor25 or depth of melody, dallying26 on the borders of the infantile and "goody-good;"—in fact, involved still in the shadows of the surplice, and inculcating (on hearsay27 mainly) a weak morality, which he would one day find not to be moral at all, but in good part maudlin-hypocritical and immoral28. As indeed was to be said still of most of his performances, especially the poetical29; a sickly shadow of the parish-church still hanging over them, which he could by no means recognize for sickly. Imprimatur nevertheless was the concluding word,—with these grave abatements, and rhadamanthine admonitions. To all which Sterling listened seriously and in the mildest humor. His reading, it might have been added, had much hurt the effect of the piece: a dreary30 pulpit or even conventicle manner; that flattest moaning hoo-hoo of predetermined pathos31, with a kind of rocking canter introduced by way of intonation32, each stanza33 the exact fellow Of the other, and the dull swing of the rocking-horse duly in each;—no reading could be more unfavorable to Sterling's poetry than his own. Such a mode of reading, and indeed generally in a man of such vivacity34 the total absence of all gifts for play-acting or artistic35 mimicry36 in any kind, was a noticeable point.
After much consultation37, it was settled at last that Sterling should go to Madeira for the winter. One gray dull autumn afternoon, towards the middle of October, I remember walking with him to the eastern Dock region, to see his ship, and how the final preparations in his own little cabin were proceeding38 there. A dingy39 little ship, the deck crowded with packages, and bustling40 sailors within eight-and-forty hours of lifting anchor; a dingy chill smoky day, as I have said withal, and a chaotic41 element and outlook, enough to make a friend's heart sad. I admired the cheerful careless humor and brisk activity of Sterling, who took the matter all on the sunny side, as he was wont42 in such cases. We came home together in manifold talk: he accepted with the due smile my last contribution to his sea-equipment, a sixpenny box of German lucifers purchased on the sudden in St. James's Street, fit to be offered with laughter or with tears or with both; he was to leave for Portsmouth almost immediately, and there go on board. Our next news was of his safe arrival in the temperate43 Isle44. Mrs. Sterling and the children were left at Knightsbridge; to pass this winter with his Father and Mother.
At Madeira Sterling did well: improved in health; was busy with much Literature; and fell in with society which he could reckon pleasant. He was much delighted with the scenery of the place; found the climate wholesome46 to him in a marked degree; and, with good news from home, and kindly47 interests here abroad, passed no disagreeable winter in that exile. There was talking, there was writing, there was hope of better health; he rode almost daily, in cheerful busy humor, along those fringed shore-roads:—beautiful leafy roads and horse-paths; with here and there a wild cataract48 and bridge to look at; and always with the soft sky overhead, the dead volcanic49 mountain on one hand, and broad illimitable sea spread out on the other. Here are two Letters which give reasonably good account of him:—
"To Thomas Carlyle, Esq., Chelsea, London.
"FUNCHAL, MADEIRA, 16th November, 1837.
"MY DEAR CARLYLE,—I have been writing a good many letters all in a batch50, to go by the same opportunity; and I am thoroughly51 weary of writing the same things over and over again to different people. My letter to you therefore, I fear, must have much of the character of remainder-biscuit. But you will receive it as a proof that I do not wish you to forget me, though it may be useless for any other purpose.
"I reached this on the 2d, after a tolerably prosperous voyage, deformed52 by some days of sea-sickness, but otherwise not to be complained of. I liked my twenty fellow-passengers far better than I expected;—three or four of them I like much, and continue to see frequently. The Island too is better than I expected: so that my Barataria at least does not disappoint me. The bold rough mountains, with mist about their summits, verdure below, and a bright sun over all, please me much; and I ride daily on the steep and narrow paved roads, which no wheels ever journeyed on. The Town is clean, and there its merits end: but I am comfortably lodged; with a large and pleasant sitting-room53 to myself. I have met with much kindness; and see all the society I want,—though it is not quite equal to that of London, even excluding Chelsea.
"I have got about me what Books I brought out; and have read a little, and done some writing for Blackwood,—all, I have the pleasure to inform you, prose, nay54 extremely prose. I shall now be more at leisure; and hope to get more steadily to work; though I do not know what I shall begin upon. As to reading, I have been looking at Goethe, especially the Life,—much as a shying horse looks at a post. In truth, I am afraid of him. I enjoy and admire him so much, and feel I could so easily be tempted55 to go along with him. And yet I have a deeply rooted and old persuasion56 that he was the most splendid of anachronisms. A thoroughly, nay intensely Pagan Life, in an age when it is men's duty to be Christian57. I therefore never take him up without a kind of inward check, as if I were trying some forbidden spell; while, on the other hand, there is so infinitely58 much to be learnt from him, and it is so needful to understand the world we live in, and our own age, and especially its greatest minds, that I cannot bring myself to burn my books as the converted Magicians did, or sink them as did Prospero. There must, as I think, have been some prodigious59 defect in his mind, to let him hold such views as his about women and some other things; and in another respect, I find so much coldness and hollowness as to the highest truths, and feel so strongly that the Heaven he looks up to is but a vault60 of ice,—that these two indications, leading to the same conclusion, go far to convince me he was a profoundly immoral and irreligious spirit, with as rare faculties61 of intelligence as ever belonged to any one. All this may be mere62 goody weakness and twaddle, on my part: but it is a persuasion that I cannot escape from; though I should feel the doing so to be a deliverance from a most painful load. If you could help me, I heartily63 wish you would. I never take him up without high admiration64, or lay him down without real sorrow for what he chose to be.
"I have been reading nothing else that you would much care for. Southey's Amadis has amused me; and Lyell's Geology interested me. The latter gives one the same sort of bewildering view of the abysmal65 extent of Time that Astronomy does of Space. I do not think I shall take your advice as to learning Portuguese66. It is said to be very ill spoken here; and assuredly it is the most direful series of nasal twangs I ever heard. One gets on quite well with English.
"The people here are, I believe, in a very low condition; but they do not appear miserable67. I am told that the influence of the priests makes the peasantry all Miguelites; but it is said that nobody wants any more revolutions. There is no appearance of riot or crime; and they are all extremely civil. I was much interested by learning that Columbus once lived here, before he found America and fame. I have been to see a deserted68 quinta (country-house), where there is a great deal of curious old sculpture, in relief, upon the masonry69; many of the figures, which are nearly as large as life, representing soldiers clad and armed much as I should suppose those of Cortez were. There are no buildings about the Town, of the smallest pretensions70 to beauty or charm of any kind. On the whole, if Madeira were one's world, life would certainly rather tend to stagnate71; but as a temporary refuge, a niche72 in an old ruin where one is sheltered from the shower, it has great merit. I am more comfortable and contented73 than I expected to be, so far from home and from everybody I am closely connected with: but, of course, it is at best a tolerable exile.
"Tell Mrs. Carlyle that I have written, since I have been here, and am going to send to Blackwood, a humble74 imitation of her Watch and Canary-Bird, entitled The Suit of Armor and the Skeleton. 15 I am conscious that I am far from having reached the depth and fulness of despair and mockery which distinguish the original! But in truth there is a lightness of tone about her style, which I hold to be invaluable75: where she makes hairstrokes, I make blotches76. I have a vehement77 suspicion that my Dialogue is an entire failure; but I cannot be plagued with it any longer. Tell her I will not send her messages, but will write to her soon.—Meanwhile I am affectionately hers and yours,
"JOHN STERLING."
The next is to his Brother-in-law; and in a still hopefuler tone:—
"To Charles Barton, Esq. 16
FUNCHAL, MADEIRA, 3d March, 1838.
"MY DEAR CHARLES,—I have often been thinking of you and your whereabouts in Germany, and wishing I knew more about you; and at last it occurred to me that you might perhaps have the same wish about me, and that therefore I should do well to write to you.
"I have been here exactly four months, having arrived on the 2d of November,—my wedding-day; and though you perhaps may not think it a compliment to Susan, I have seldom passed four months more cheerfully and agreeably. I have of course felt my absence from my family, and missed the society of my friends; for there is not a person here whom I knew before I left England. But, on the whole, I have been in good health, and actively78 employed. I have a good many agreeable and valuable acquaintances, one or two of whom I hope I may hereafter reckon as friends. The weather has generally been fine, and never cold; and the scenery of the Island is of a beauty which you unhappy Northern people can have little conception of.
"It consists of a great mass of volcanic mountains, covered in their lower parts with cottages, vines and patches of vegetables. When you pass through, or over the central ridge45, and get towards the North, there are woods of trees, of the laurel kind, covering the wild steep slopes, and forming some of the strangest and most beautiful prospects80 I have ever seen. Towards the interior, the forms of the hills become more abrupt81, and loftier; and give the notion of very recent volcanic disturbances82, though in fact there has been nothing of the kind since the discovery of the Island by Europeans. Among these mountains, the dark deep precipices83, and narrow ravines with small streams at the bottom; the basaltic knobs and ridges84 on the summits; and the perpetual play of mist and cloud around them, under this bright sun and clear sky,—form landscapes which you would thoroughly enjoy, and which I much wish I could give you a notion of. The Town is on the south, and of course the sheltered side of the Island; perfectly85 protected from the North and East; although we have seen sometimes patches of bright snow on the dark peaks in the distance. It is a neat cheerful place; all built of gray stone, but having many of the houses colored white or red. There is not a really handsome building in it, but there is a general aspect of comfort and solidity. The shops are very poor. The English do not mix at all with the Portuguese. The Bay is a very bad anchorage; but is wide, bright and cheerful; and there are some picturesque86 points—one a small black island—scattered about it.
"I lived till a fortnight ago in lodgings87, having two rooms, one a very good one; and paying for everything fifty-six dollars a month, the dollar being four shillings and twopence. This you will see is dear; but I could make no better arrangement, for there is an unusual affluence88 of strangers this year. I have now come to live with a friend, a Dr. Calvert, in a small house of our own, where I am much more comfortable, and live greatly cheaper. He is a friend of Mrs. Percival's; about my age, an Oriel man, and a very superior person. I think the chances are, we shall go home together.... I cannot tell you of all the other people I have become familiar with; and shall only mention in addition Bingham Baring, eldest89 son of Lord Ashburton, who was here for some weeks on account of a dying brother, and whom I saw a great deal of. He is a pleasant, very good-natured and rather clever man; Conservative Member for North Staffordshire.
"During the first two months I was here, I rode a great deal about the Island, having a horse regularly; and was much in agreeable company, seeing a great deal of beautiful scenery. Since then, the weather has been much more unsettled, though not cold; and I have gone about less, as I cannot risk the being wet. But I have spent my time pleasantly, reading and writing. I have written a good many things for Blackwood; one of which, the Armor and the Skeleton, I see is printed in the February Number. I have just sent them a long Tale, called the Onyx Ring, which cost me a good deal of trouble; and the extravagance of which, I think, would amuse you; but its length may prevent its appearance in Blackwood. If so, I think I should make a volume of it. I have also written some poems, and shall probably publish the Sexton's Daughter when I return.
"My health goes on most favorably. I have had no attack of the chest this spring; which has not happened to me since the spring before we went to Bonn; and I am told, if I take care, I may roll along for years. But I have little hope of being allowed to spend the four first months of any year in England; and the question will be, Whether to go at once to Italy, by way of Germany and Switzerland, with my family, or to settle with them in England, perhaps at Hastings, and go abroad myself when it may be necessary. I cannot decide till I return; but I think the latter the most probable.
"To my dear Charles I do not like to use the ordinary forms of ending a letter, for they are very inadequate90 to express my sense of your long and most unvarying kindness; but be assured no one living could say with more sincerity91 that he is ever affectionately yours,
"JOHN STERLING."
Other Letters give occasionally views of the shadier side of things: dark broken weather, in the sky and in the mind; ugly clouds covering one's poor fitful transitory prospect79, for a time, as they might well do in Sterling's case. Meanwhile we perceive his literary business is fast developing itself; amid all his confusions, he is never idle long. Some of his best Pieces—the Onyx Ring, for one, as we perceive—were written here this winter. Out of the turbid92 whirlpool of the days he strives assiduously to snatch what he can.
Sterling's communications with Blackwood's Magazine had now issued in some open sanction of him by Professor Wilson, the distinguished93 presiding spirit of that Periodical; a fact naturally of high importance to him under the literary point of view. For Wilson, with his clear flashing eye and great genial94 heart, had at once recognized Sterling; and lavished95 stormily, in his wild generous way, torrents96 of praise on him in the editorial comments: which undoubtedly97 was one of the gratefulest literary baptisms, by fire or by water, that could befall a soul like Sterling's. He bore it very gently, being indeed past the age to have his head turned by anybody's praises: nor do I think the exaggeration that was in these eulogies98 did him any ill whatever; while surely their generous encouragement did him much good, in his solitary99 struggle towards new activity under such impediments as his. Laudari a laudato; to be called noble by one whom you and the world recognize as noble: this great satisfaction, never perhaps in such a degree before or after had now been vouchsafed100 to Sterling; and was, as I compute101, an important fact for him. He proceeded on his pilgrimage with new energy, and felt more and more as if authentically102 consecrated103 to the same.
The Onyx Ring, a curious Tale, with wild improbable basis, but with a noble glow of coloring and with other high merits in it, a Tale still worth reading, in which, among the imaginary characters, various friends of Sterling's are shadowed forth14, not always in the truest manner, came out in Blackwood in the winter of this year. Surely a very high talent for painting, both of scenery and persons, is visible in this Fiction; the promise of a Novel such as we have few. But there wants maturing, wants purifying of clear from unclear;—properly there want patience and steady depth. The basis, as we said, is wild and loose; and in the details, lucent often with fine color, and dipt in beautiful sunshine, there are several things misseen, untrue, which is the worst species of mispainting. Witness, as Sterling himself would have by and by admitted, the "empty clockcase" (so we called it) which he has labelled Goethe,—which puts all other untruths in the Piece to silence.
One of the great alleviations of his exile at Madeira he has already celebrated105 to us: the pleasant circle of society he fell into there. Great luck, thinks Sterling in this voyage; as indeed there was: but he himself, moreover, was readier than most men to fall into pleasant circles everywhere, being singularly prompt to make the most of any circle. Some of his Madeira acquaintanceships were really good; and one of them, if not more, ripened106 into comradeship and friendship for him. He says, as we saw, "The chances are, Calvert and I will come home together."
Among the English in pursuit of health, or in flight from fatal disease, that winter, was this Dr. Calvert; an excellent ingenious cheery Cumberland gentleman, about Sterling's age, and in a deeper stage of ailment107, this not being his first visit to Madeira: he, warmly joining himself to Sterling, as we have seen, was warmly received by him; so that there soon grew a close and free intimacy108 between them; which for the next three years, till poor Calvert ended his course, was a leading element in the history of both. Companionship in incurable109 malady110, a touching111 bond of union, was by no means purely112 or chiefly a companionship in misery113 in their case. The sunniest inextinguishable cheerfulness shone, through all manner of clouds, in both. Calvert had been travelling physician in some family of rank, who had rewarded him with a pension, shielding his own ill-health from one sad evil. Being hopelessly gone in pulmonary disorder114, he now moved about among friendly climates and places, seeking what alleviation104 there might be; often spending his summers in the house of a sister in the environs of London; an insatiable rider on his little brown pony115; always, wherever you might meet him, one of the cheeriest of men. He had plenty of speculation116 too, clear glances of all kinds into religious, social, moral concerns; and pleasantly incited117 Sterling's outpourings on such subjects. He could report of fashionable persons and manners, in a fine human Cumberland manner; loved art, a great collector of drawings; he had endless help and ingenuity118; and was in short every way a very human, lovable, good and nimble man,—the laughing blue eyes of him, the clear cheery soul of him, still redolent of the fresh Northern breezes and transparent119 Mountain streams. With this Calvert, Sterling formed a natural intimacy; and they were to each other a great possession, mutually enlivening many a dark day during the next three years. They did come home together this spring; and subsequently made several of these health-journeys in partnership120.
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1
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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omens
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| n.前兆，预兆( omen的名词复数 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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prosecuting
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| 检举、告发某人( prosecute的现在分词 )； 对某人提起公诉； 继续从事（某事物）； 担任控方律师 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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fluctuations
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| 波动，涨落，起伏( fluctuation的名词复数 ) | |
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prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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stipulation
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| n.契约，规定，条文；条款说明 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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dallying
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的现在分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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hearsay
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| n.谣传，风闻 | |
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immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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mimicry
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| n.（生物）拟态，模仿 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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47
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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48
cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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49
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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50
batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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51
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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52
deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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53
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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54
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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55
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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56
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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57
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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58
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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59
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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60
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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61
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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62
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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63
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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65
abysmal
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| adj.无底的，深不可测的，极深的；糟透的，极坏的；完全的 | |
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Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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69
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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71
stagnate
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| v.停止 | |
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72
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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73
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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74
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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76
blotches
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| n.（皮肤上的）红斑，疹块( blotch的名词复数 )；大滴 [大片]（墨水或颜色的）污渍 | |
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77
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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affluence
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| n.充裕，富足 | |
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89
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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90
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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92
turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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98
eulogies
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| n.颂词，颂文( eulogy的名词复数 ) | |
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99
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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100
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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101
compute
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| v./n.计算，估计 | |
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102
authentically
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| ad.sincerely真诚地 | |
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103
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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104
alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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105
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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106
ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
ailment
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| n.疾病，小病 | |
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108
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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109
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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110
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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111
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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112
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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113
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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114
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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115
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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116
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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117
incited
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| 刺激，激励，煽动( incite的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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119
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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120
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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