Thornhaugh Street is but a poor place now, and the houses look as if they had seen better days: but that house with the cut centre drawing-room window, with the name of Brandon on the door, was as neat as any house in the quarter, and the brass1 plate always shone like burnished2 gold. About Easter time many fine carriages stop at that door, and splendid people walk in, introduced by a tidy little maid, or else by an athletic3 Italian, with a glossy4 black beard and gold earrings5, who conducts them to the drawing-room floor, where Mr. Ridley, the painter, lives, and where his pictures are privately6 exhibited before they go to the Royal Academy.
As the carriages drive up, you will often see a red-faced man, in an olive-green wig7, smiling blandly8 over the blinds of the parlour, on the ground-floor. That is Captain Gann, the father of the lady who keeps the house. I don’t know how he came by the rank of captain, but he has borne it so long and gallantly10 that there is no use in any longer questioning the title. He does not claim it, neither does he deny it. But the wags who call upon Mrs. Brandon can always, as the phrase is, “draw” her father, by speaking of Prussia, France, Waterloo, or battles in general, until the Little Sister says, “Now, never mind about the battle of Waterloo, papa” (she says Pa — her h’s are irregular — I can’t help it) — “Never mind about Waterloo, papa; you’ve told them all about it. And don’t go on, Mr. Beans, don’t, please, go on in that way.”
Young Beans has already drawn11 “Captain Gann (assisted by Shaw, the Life-Guardsman) killing12 twenty-four French cuirassiers at Waterloo.” “Captain Gann defending Hugoumont.” “Captain Gann, called upon by Napoleon Buonaparte to lay down his arms, saying, ‘A captain of militia13 dies, but never surrenders.’” “The Duke of Wellington pointing to the advancing Old Guard, and saying, ‘Up, Gann, and at them.’” And these sketches14 are so droll16, that even the Little Sister, Gann’s own daughter, can’t help laughing at them. To be sure, she loves fun, the Little Sister; laughs over droll books; laughs to herself, in her little quiet corner at work; laughs over pictures; and, at the right place, laughs and sympathizes too. Ridley says, he knows few better critics of pictures than Mrs. Brandon. She has a sweet temper, a merry sense of humour, that makes the cheeks dimple and the eyes shine; and a kind heart, that has been sorely tried and wounded, but is still soft and gentle. Fortunate are they whose hearts, so tried by suffering, yet recover their health. Some have illnesses from which there is no recovery, and drag through life afterwards, maimed and invalided17.
But this Little Sister, having been subjected in youth to a dreadful trial and sorrow, was saved out of them by a kind Providence18, and is now so thoroughly19 restored as to own that she is happy, and to thank God that she can be grateful and useful. When poor Montfitchet died, she nursed him through his illness as tenderly as his good wife herself. In the days of her own chief grief and misfortune, her father, who was under the domination of his wife, a cruel and blundering woman, thrust out poor little Caroline from his door, when she returned to it the broken-hearted victim of a scoundrel’s seduction; and when the old captain was himself in want and houseless, she had found him, sheltered and fed him. And it was from that day her wounds had begun to heal, and, from gratitude21 for this immense piece of good fortune vouchsafed22 to her, that her happiness and cheerfulness returned. Returned? There was an old servant of the family, who could not stay in the house because she was so abominably23 disrespectful to the captain, and this woman, said she had never known Miss Caroline so cheerful, nor so happy, nor so good-looking, as she was now.
So Captain Gann came to live with his daughter, and patronized her with much dignity. He had a very few yearly pounds, which served to pay his club expenses, and a portion of his clothes. His club, I need not say, was at the “Admiral Byng,” Tottenham Court Road, and here the captain met frequently a pleasant little society, and bragged25 unceasingly about his former prosperity.
I have heard that the country-house in Kent, of which he boasted, was a shabby little lodging-house at Margate, of which the furniture was sold in execution; but if it had been a palace the captain would not have been out of place there, one or two people still rather fondly thought. His daughter, amongst others, had tried to fancy all sorts of good of her father, and especially that he was a man of remarkably26 good manners. But she had seen one or two gentlemen since she knew the poor old father — gentlemen with rough coats and good hearts, like Dr. Goodenough; gentlemen with superfine coats and superfine double-milled manners, like Dr. Firmin, and hearts — well, never mind about that point; gentlemen of no h’s , like the good, dear, faithful benefactor27 who had rescued her at the brink28 of despair; men of genius, like Ridley; great, hearty29, generous, honest gentlemen, like Philip; — and this illusion about Pa, I suppose, had vanished along with some other fancies of her poor little maiden30 youth. The truth is, she had an understanding with the “Admiral Byng:” the landlady31 was instructed as to the supplies to be furnished to the captain; and as for his stories, poor Caroline knew them a great deal too well to believe in them any more.
I would not be understood to accuse the captain of habitual32 inebriety33. He was a generous officer, and his delight was, when in cash, to order “glasses round” for the company at the club, to whom he narrated34 the history of his brilliant early days, when he lived in some of the tiptop society of this city, sir — a society in which, we need not say, the custom always is for gentlemen to treat other gentlemen to rum-and-water. Never mind — I wish we were all as happy as the captain. I see his jolly face now before me as it blooms through the window in Thornhaugh Street, and the wave of the somewhat dingy35 hand which sweeps me a gracious recognition.
The clergyman of the neighbouring chapel36 was a very good friend of the Little Sister, and has taken tea in her parlour; to which circumstance the captain frequently alluded37, pointing out the very chair on which the divine sate38. Mr. Gann attended his ministrations regularly every Sunday, and brought a rich, though somewhat worn, bass39 voice to bear upon the anthems40 and hymns41 at the chapel. His style was more florid than is general now among church singers, and, indeed, had been acquired in a former age and in the performance of rich Bacchanalian42 chants, such as delighted the contemporaries of our Incledons and Brahams. With a very little entreaty43, the captain could be induced to sing at the club; and I must own that Phil Firmin would draw the captain out, and extract from him a song of ancient days; but this must be in the absence of his daughter, whose little face wore an air of such extreme terror and disturbance44 when her father sang, that he presently ceased from exercising his musical talents in her hearing. He hung up his lyre, whereof it must be owned that time had broken many of the once resounding45 chords.
With a sketch15 or two contributed by her lodgers46 — with a few gimcracks from the neighbouring Wardour Street presented by others of her friends — with the chairs, tables, and bureaux as bright as bees’-wax and rubbing could make them — the Little Sister’s room was a cheery little place, and received not a little company. She allowed Pa’s pipe. “It’s company to him,” she said. “A man can’t be doing much harm when he is smoking his pipe.” And she allowed Phil’s cigar. Anything was allowed to Phil, the other lodgers declared, who professed47 to be quite jealous of Philip Firmin. She had a very few books. “When I was a girl I used to be always reading novels,” she said; “but, la, they’re mostly nonsense. There’s Mr. Pendennis, who comes to see Mr. Ridley. I wonder how a married man can go on writing about love, and all that stuff!” And, indeed, it is rather absurd for elderly fingers to be still twanging Dan Cupid’s toy bow and arrows. Yesterday is gone — yes, but very well remembered; and we think of it the more now we know that To-morrow is not going to bring us much.
Into Mrs. Brandon’s parlour Mr. Ridley’s old father would sometimes enter of evenings, and share the bit of bread and cheese, or the modest supper of Mrs. Brandon and the captain. The homely48 little meal has almost vanished out of our life now, but in former days it assembled many a family round its kindly49 board. A little modest supper-tray — a little quiet prattle50 — a little kindly glass that cheered and never inebriated51. I can see friendly faces smiling round such a meal, at a period not far gone, but how distant! I wonder whether there are any old folks now in old quarters of old country towns, who come to each other’s houses in sedan-chairs, at six o’clock, and play at quadrille until supper-tray time? Of evenings Ridley and the captain, I say, would have a solemn game at cribbage, and the Little Sister would make up a jug52 of something good for the two oldsters. She liked Mr. Ridley to come, for he always treated her father so respectful, and was quite the gentleman. And as for Mrs. Ridley, Mr.R.’s “good lady," — was she not also grateful to the Little Sister for having nursed her son during his malady53? Through their connection they were enabled to procure54 Mrs. Brandon many valuable friends; and always were pleased to pass an evening with the captain, and were as civil to him as they could have been had he been at the very height of his prosperity and splendour. My private opinion of the old captain, you see, is that he was a worthless old captain, but most fortunate in his early ruin, after which he had lived very much admired and comfortable, sufficient whisky being almost always provided for him.
Old Mr. Ridley’s respect for her father afforded a most precious consolation55 to the Little Sister. Ridley liked to have the paper read to him. He was never quite easy with print, and to his last days, many words to be met with in newspapers and elsewhere used to occasion the good butler much intellectual trouble. The Little Sister made his lodger’s bills out for him (Mr. R., as well as the captain’s daughter, strove to increase a small income by the letting of furnished apartments), or the captain himself would take these documents in charge; he wrote a noble mercantile hand, rendered now somewhat shaky by time, but still very fine in flourishes and capitals, and very much at worthy56 Mr. Ridley’s service. Time was, when his son was a boy, that J. J. himself had prepared these accounts, which neither his father nor his mother were very competent to arrange. “We were not in our young time, Mr. Gann,” Ridley remarked to his friend, “brought up to much scholarship; and very little book learning was given to persons in my rank of life. It was necessary and proper for you gentlemen, of course, sir.” “Of course, Mr. Ridley,” winks57 the other veteran over his pipe. “But I can’t go and ask my son John James to keep his old father’s books now as he used to do — which to do so is, on the part of you and Mrs. Brandon, the part of true friendship, and I value it, sir, and so do my son John James reckonize and value it, sir.” Mr. Ridley had served gentlemen of the bonne école. No nobleman could be more courtly and grave than he was. In Mr. Gann’s manner there was more humorous playfulness, which in no way, however, diminished the captain’s high-breeding. As he continued to be intimate with Mr. Ridley, he became loftier and more majestic58. I think each of these elders acted on the other, and for good; and I hope Ridley’s opinion was correct, that Mr. Gann was ever the gentleman. To see these two good fogies together was a spectacle for edification. Their tumblers kissed each other on the table. Their elderly friendship brought comfort to themselves, and their families. A little matter of money once created a coolness between the two old gentlemen. But the Little Sister paid the outstanding account between her father and Mr. Ridley; there never was any further talk of pecuniary59 loans between them; and when they went to the “Admiral Byng,” each paid for himself.
Phil often heard of that nightly meeting at the “Admiral Byng,” and longed to be of the company. But even when he saw the old gentlemen in the Little Sister’s parlour, they felt dimly that he was making fun of them. The captain would not have been able to brag24 so at ease had Phil been continually watching him. “I have’ad the honour of waiting on your worthy father at my Lord Todmorden’s table. Our little club ain’t no place for you, Mr. Philip, nor for my son, though he’s a good son, and proud me and his mother is of him, which he have never gave us a moment’s pain, except when he was ill, since he have came to man’s estate, most thankful am I, and with my hand on my heart, for to be able to say so. But what is good for me and Mr. Gann, won’t suit you young gentlemen. You ain’t a tradesman, sir, else I’m mistaken in the family, which I thought the Ringwoods one of the best in England, and the Firmins, a good one likewise.” Mr. Ridley loved the sound of his own voice. At the festive60 meetings of the club, seldom a night passed in which he did not compliment his brother Byngs and air his own oratory61. Under this reproof62 Phil blushed, and hung his conscious head with shame. “Mr. Ridley,” says he, “you shall find I won’t come where I am not welcome; and if I come to annoy you at the ‘Admiral Byng,’ may I be taken out on the quarterdeck and shot.” On which Mr. Ridley pronounced Philip to be a “most sing’lar, astrornary, and asentric young man. A good heart, sir. Most generous to relieve distress63. Fine talent, sir; but I fear — I fear it won’t come to much good, Mr. Gann — saving your presence, Mrs. Brandon, m’m, which, of course, you always stand up for him.”
When Philip Firmin had had his pipe and his talk with the Little Sister in her parlour, he would ascend64, and smoke his second, third, tenth pipe in J. J. Ridley’s studio. He would pass hours before J. J.‘s easel, pouring out talk about politics, about religion, about poetry, about women, about the dreadful slavishness and meanness of the world; — unwearied in talk and idleness, as placid65 J. J. was in listening and labour. The painter had been too busy in life over his easel to read many books. His ignorance of literature smote66 him with a frequent shame. He admired book-writers, and young men of the university who quoted their Greek and their Horace glibly67. He listened with deference68 to their talk on such matters; no doubt got good hints from some of them; was always secretly pained and surprised when the university gentlemen were beaten in argument, or loud and coarse in conversation, as sometimes they would be. “J. J. is a very clever fellow of course,” Mr. Jarman would say of him, “and the luckiest man in Europe. He loves painting, and he is at work all day. He loves toadying69 fine people, and he goes to a tea-party every night.” You all knew Jarman of Charlotte Street, the miniature-painter? He was one of the kings of the Haunt. His tongue spared no one. He envied all success, and the sight of prosperity made him furious: but to the unsuccessful he was kind; to the poor eager with help and prodigal70 of compassion71; and that old talk about nature’s noblemen and the glory of Iabour was very fiercely and eloquently72 waged by him. His friends admired him: he was the soul of independence, and thought most men sneaks73 who wore clean linen74 and frequented gentlemen’s society: but it must be owned his landlords had a bad opinion of him, and I have heard of one or two of his pecuniary transactions which certainly were not to Mr. Jarman’s credit. Jarman was a man of remarkable75 humour. He was fond of the widow, and would speak of her goodness, usefulness, and honesty with tears in his eyes. She was poor and struggling yet. Had she been wealthy and prosperous, Mr. Jarman would not have been so alive to her merit.
We ascended76 to the room on the first-floor, where the centre window has been heightened, so as to afford an upper light, and under that stream of radiance we behold77 the head of an old friend, Mr. J. J. Ridley, the R. Academician. Time has somewhat thinned his own copious78 locks, and prematurely79 streaked80 the head with silver. His face is rather wan20; the eager, sensitive hand which poises81 brush and palette, and quivers over the picture, is very thin: round his eyes are many lines of ill-health and, perhaps, care, but the eyes are as bright as ever, and when they look at the canvas, or the model which he transfers to it, clear, and keen, and happy. He has a very sweet singing voice, and warbles at his work, or whistles at it, smiling. He sets his hand little feats82 of skill to perform, and smiles with a boyish pleasure at his own matchless dexterity83. I have seen him, with an old pewter mustard-pot for a model, fashion a splendid silver flagon in one of his pictures; paint the hair of an animal, the folds and flowers of a bit of brocade, and so forth84, with a perfect delight in the work he was performing; a delight lasting85 from morning till sun-down, during which time he was too busy to touch the biscuit and glass of water which was prepared for his frugal86 luncheon87. He is greedy of the last minute of light, and never can be got from his darling pictures without a regret. To be a painter, and to have your hand in perfect command, I hold to be one of life’s summa bona. The happy mixture of hand and head work must render the occupation supremely89 pleasant. In the day’s work must occur endless delightful90 difficulties and occasions for skill. Over the details of that armour91, that drapery, or what not, the sparkle of that eye, the downy blush of that cheek, the jewel on that neck, there are battles to be fought and victories to be won. Each day there must occur critical moments of supreme88 struggle and triumph, when struggle and victory must be both invigorating and exquisitely92 pleasing — as a burst across country is to a fine rider perfectly93 mounted, who knows that his courage and his horse will never fail him. There is the excitement of the game, and the gallant9 delight in winning it. Of this sort of admirable reward for their labour, no men, I think, have a greater share than painters (perhaps a violin-player perfectly and triumphantly94 performing his own beautiful composition may be equally happy). Here is occupation: here is excitement: here is struggle and victory: and here is profit. Can man ask more from fortune? Dukes and Rothschilds may be envious95 of such a man.
Though Ridley has had his trials and troubles, his art has mastered them all. Black care may have sat in crupper on that Pegasus, but has never unhorsed the rider. In certain minds, art is dominant96 and superior to all beside — stronger than love, stronger than hate, or care, or penury97. As soon as the fever leaves the hand free, it is seizing and fondling the pencil. Love may frown and be false, but the other mistress never will. She is always true: always new: always the friend, companion, inestimable consoler. So John James Ridley sat at his easel from breakfast till sun-down, and never left his work quite willingly. I wonder are men of other trades so enamoured of theirs; whether lawyers cling to the last to their darling reports; or writers prefer their desk and inkstands to society, to friendship, to dear idleness? I have seen no men in life loving their profession so much as painters, except, perhaps, actors, who, when not engaged themselves, always go to the play.
Before this busy easel Phil would sit for hours, and pour out endless talk and tobacco-smoke. His presence was a delight to Ridley’s soul; his face a sunshine; his voice a cordial. Weakly himself, and almost infirm of body, with sensibilities tremulously keen, the painter most admired amongst men strength, health, good spirits, good breeding. Of these, in his youth, Philip had a wealth of endowment; and I hope these precious gifts of fortune have not left him in his maturer age. I do not say that with all men Philip was so popular. There are some who never can pardon good fortune, and in the company of gentlemen are on the watch for offence; and, no doubt, in his course through life, poor downright Phil trampled98 upon corns enough of those who met him in his way. “Do you know why Ridley is so fond of Firmin?” asked Jarman. “Because Firmin’s father hangs on to the nobility by the pulse, whilst Ridley, you know, is connected with them through the sideboard.” So Jarman had the double horn for his adversary99: he could despise a man for not being a gentleman, and insult him for being one. I have met with people in the world with whom the latter offence is an unpardonable crime — a cause of ceaseless doubt, division, and suspicion. What more common or natural, Bufo, than to hate another for being what you are not? The story is as old as frogs, bulls, and men.
Then, to be sure, besides your enviers in life, there are your admirers. Beyond wit, which he understood — beyond genius which he had — Ridley admired good looks and manners, and always kept some simple hero whom he loved secretly to cherish and worship. He loved to be amongst beautiful women and aristocratical men. Philip Firmin, with his republican notions, and downright bluntness of behaviour to all men of rank superior to him, had a grand high manner of his own; and if he had scarce twopence in his pocket, would have put his hands in them with as much independence as the greatest dandy who ever sauntered on Pall100 Mall pavement. What a coolness the fellow had! Some men may, not unreasonably101, have thought it impudence102. It fascinated Ridley. To be such a man; to have such a figure and manner; to be able to look society in the face, slap it on the shoulder, if you were so minded, and hold it by the button — what would not Ridley give for such powers and accomplishments103? You will please to bear in mind, I am not saying that J. J. was right, only that he was as he was. I hope we shall have nobody in this story without his little faults and peculiarities104. Jarman was quite right when he said Ridley loved fine company. I believe his pedigree gave him secret anguishes105. He would rather have been gentleman than genius ever so great; but let you and me, who have no weaknesses of our own, try and look charitably on this confessed foible of my friend.
J. J. never thought of rebuking106 Philip for being idle. Phil was as the lilies of the field, in the painter’s opinion. He was not called upon to toil107 or spin; but to take his ease, and grow and bask108 in sunshine, and be arrayed in glory. The little clique109 of painters knew what Firmin’s means were. Thirty thousand pounds of his own. Thirty thousand pounds down, sir; and the inheritance of his father’s immense fortune! A splendour emanated110 from this gifted young man. His opinions, his jokes, his laughter, his song, had the weight of thirty thousand down, sir; and What call had he to work? Would you set a young nobleman to be an apprentice111? Philip was free to be as idle as any lord, if he liked. He ought to wear fine clothes, ride fine horses, dine off plate, and drink champagne112 every day. J. J. would work quite cheerfully till sunset, and have an eightpenny plate of meat in Wardour Street and a glass of porter for his humble113 dinner. At the Haunt, and similar places of Bohemian resort, a snug114 place near the fire was always found for Firmin. Fierce republican as he was, Jarman had a smile for his lordship, and used to adopt particularly dandified airs when he had been invited to Old Parr Street to dinner. I daresay Philip liked flattery. I own that he was a little weak in this respect, and that you and I, my dear sir, are, of course, far his superiors. J. J., who loved him, would have had him follow his aunt’s and cousin’s advice, and live in better company; but I think the painter would not have liked his pet to soil his hands with too much work, and rather admired Mr. Phil for being idle.
The Little Sister gave him advice, to be sure, both as to the company he should keep and the occupation which was wholesome115 for him. But when others of his acquaintance hinted that his idleness would do him harm, she would not hear of their censure116. “Why should he work if he don’t choose?” she asked. “He has no call to be scribbling117 and scrabbling. You wouldn’t have him sitting all day painting little dolls’ heads on canvas, and working like a slave. A pretty idea, indeed! His uncle will get him an appointment. That’s the thing he should have. He should be secretary to an ambassador abroad, and he will be!” In fact, Phil, at this period, used to announce his wish to enter the diplomatic service, and his hope that Lord Ringwood would further his views in that respect. Meanwhile he was the king of Thornhaugh Street. He might be as idle as he chose, and Mrs. Brandon had always a smile for him. He might smoke a great deal too much, but she worked dainty little cigar cases for him. She hemmed118 his fine cambric pocket-handkerchiefs, and embroidered119 his crest120 at the corners. She worked him a waistcoat so splendid that he almost blushed to wear it, gorgeous as he was in apparel at this period, and sumptuous121 in chains, studs, and haberdashery. I fear Dr. Firmin, sighing out his disappointed hopes in respect of his son, has rather good cause for his dissatisfaction. But of these remonstrances122 the Little Sister would not hear. “Idle, why not? Why should he work? Boys will be boys. I daresay his grumbling123 old Pa was not better than Philip when he was young!” And this she spoke124 with a heightened colour in her little face, and a defiant125 toss of her head, of which I did not understand all the significance then; but attributed her eager partisanship126 to that admirable injustice127 which belongs to all good women, and for which let us be daily thankful. I know, dear ladies, you are angry at this statement. But, even at the risk of displeasing128 you, we must tell the truth. You would wish to represent yourselves as equitable129, logical, and strictly130 just. So, I daresay, Dr. Johnson would have liked Mrs. Thrale to say to him, “Sir, your manners are graceful131; your person elegant, cleanly, and eminently132 pleasing; your appetite small (especially for tea), and your dancing equal to the Violetta’s ;” which, you perceive, is merely ironical134. Women equitable, logical, and strictly just! Mercy upon us! If they were, population would cease, the world would be a howling wilderness135. Well, in a word, this Little Sister petted and coaxed136 Philip Firmin in such an absurd way, that every one remarked it — those who had no friends, no sweethearts, no mothers, no daughters, no wives, and those who were petted, and coaxed, and spoiled at home themselves; as I trust, dearly beloved, is your case.
Now, again, let us admit that Philip’s father had reason to be angry with the boy, and deplore137 his son’s taste for low company; but excuse the young man, on the other hand, somewhat for his fierce revolt and profound distaste at much in his home circle which annoyed him. “By heaven!” (he would roar out, pulling his hair and whiskers, and with many fierce ejaculations, according to his wont,) “the solemnity of those humbugs138 sickens me so, that I should like to crown the old bishop140 with the soup tureen, and box Baron141 Bumpsher’s ears with the saddle of mutton. At my aunt’s, the humbug139 is just the same. It’s better done, perhaps; but, O Pendennis! if you could but know the pangs142 which tore into my heart, sir, the vulture which gnawed143 at this confounded liver, when I saw women — women who ought to be pure — women who ought to be like angels — women who ought to know no art but that of coaxing144 our griefs away and soothing145 our sorrows — fawning146, and cringing147, and scheming; cold to this person, humble to that, flattering to the rich, and indifferent to the humble in station. I tell you I have seen all this, Mrs. Pendennis! I won’t mention names, but I have met with those who have made me old before my time — a hundred years old! The zest148 of life is passed from me” (here Mr. Phil would gulp149 a bumper150 from the nearest decanter at hand). “But if I like what your husband is pleased to call low society, it is because I have seen the other. I have dangled151 about at fine parties, and danced at fashionable balls. I have seen mothers bring their virgin152 daughters up to battered153 old rakes, and ready to sacrifice their innocence154 for fortune or a title. The atmosphere of those polite drawing-rooms stifles155 me. I can’t bow the knee to the horrible old Mammon. I walk about in the crowds as lonely as if I was in a wilderness; and don’t begin to breathe freely until I get some honest tobacco to clear the air. As for your husband” (meaning the writer of this memoir), “he cannot help himself; he is a worldling, of the earth, earthy. If a duke were to ask him to dinner to-morrow, the parasite156 owns that he would go. Allow me, my friends, my freedom, my rough companions, in their work-day clothes. I don’t hear such lies and flatteries come from behind pipes, as used to pass from above whitechokers when I was in the world.” And he would tear at his cravat157, as though the mere133 thought of the world’s conventionality well nigh strangled him.
This, to be sure, was in a late stage of his career, but I take up the biography here and there, so as to give the best idea I may of my friend’s character. At this time — he is out of the country just now, and besides, if he saw his own likeness158 staring him in the face, I am confident he would not know it — Mr. Philip, in some things, was as obstinate159 as a mule160, and in others as weak as a woman. He had a childish sensibility for what was tender, helpless, pretty, or pathetic; and a mighty161 scorn of imposture162, wherever he found it. He had many good purposes, which were often very vacillating, and were but seldom performed. He had a vast number of evil habits, whereof, you know, idleness is said to be the root. Many of these evil propensities163 he coaxed and cuddled with much care; and though he roared out peccavi most frankly164, when charged with his sins, this criminal would fall to peccation very soon after promising165 amendment166. What he liked he would have. What he disliked he could with the greatest difficulty be found to do. He liked good dinners, good wine, good horses, good clothes, and late hours; and in all these comforts of life (or any others which he fancied, or which were within his means) he indulged himself with perfect freedom. He hated hypocrisy167 on his own part, and hypocrites in general. He said everything that came into his mind about things and people; and, of course, was often wrong and often prejudiced, and often occasioned howls of indignation or malignant168 whispers of hatred169 by his free speaking. He believed everything that was said to him until his informant had misled him once or twice, after which he would believe nothing. And here you will see that his impetuous credulity was as absurd as the subsequent obstinacy170 of his unbelief. My dear young friend, the profitable way in life is the middle way. Don’t quite believe anybody, for he may mislead you; neither disbelieve him, for that is uncomplimentary to your friend. Black is not so very black; and as for white, bon Dieu! in our climate, what paint will remain white long? If Philip was self-indulgent, I suppose other people are self-indulgent likewise: and besides, you know, your faultless heroes have ever so long gone out of fashion. To be young, to be good-looking, to be healthy, to be hungry three times a day, to have plenty of money, a great alacrity171 of sleeping, and nothing to do — all these, I daresay, are very dangerous temptations to a man, but I think I know some who would like to undergo the dangers of the trial. Suppose there be holidays, is there not work-time too? Suppose to-day is feast-day; may not tears and repentance172 come to-morrow? Such times are in store for Master Phil, and so please to let him have rest and comfort for a chapter or two.
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brass
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burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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5
earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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6
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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7
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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8
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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9
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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10
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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11
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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12
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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13
militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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14
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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15
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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16
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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17
invalided
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| 使伤残（invalid的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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18
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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19
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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20
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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21
gratitude
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|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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22
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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23
abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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24
brag
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| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
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25
bragged
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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27
benefactor
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|
| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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28
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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29
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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30
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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31
landlady
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|
| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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32
habitual
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|
| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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33
inebriety
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|
| n.醉，陶醉 | |
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34
narrated
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|
| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
dingy
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|
| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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36
chapel
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|
| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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37
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
sate
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| v.使充分满足 | |
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39
bass
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|
| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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40
anthems
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|
| n.赞美诗( anthem的名词复数 )；圣歌；赞歌；颂歌 | |
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41
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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42
bacchanalian
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|
| adj.闹酒狂饮的；n.发酒疯的人 | |
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43
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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44
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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45
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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46
lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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47
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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48
homely
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|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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49
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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50
prattle
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|
| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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51
inebriated
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|
| adj.酒醉的 | |
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52
jug
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|
| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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53
malady
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|
| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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54
procure
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|
| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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55
consolation
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|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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56
worthy
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|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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57
winks
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|
| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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58
majestic
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|
| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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59
pecuniary
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|
| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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60
festive
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|
| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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61
oratory
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|
| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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62
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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63
distress
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|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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64
ascend
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|
| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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65
placid
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|
| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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66
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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67
glibly
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|
| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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68
deference
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|
| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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69
toadying
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|
| v.拍马，谄媚( toady的现在分词 ) | |
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70
prodigal
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|
| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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71
compassion
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|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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72
eloquently
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|
| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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73
sneaks
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|
| abbr.sneakers (tennis shoes) 胶底运动鞋（网球鞋）v.潜行( sneak的第三人称单数 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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74
linen
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|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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75
remarkable
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|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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76
ascended
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|
| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
behold
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|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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78
copious
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|
| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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79
prematurely
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|
| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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80
streaked
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|
| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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81
poises
|
|
| 使平衡( poise的第三人称单数 )； 保持（某种姿势）； 抓紧； 使稳定 | |
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82
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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83
dexterity
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|
| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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84
forth
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|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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85
lasting
|
|
| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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86
frugal
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|
| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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87
luncheon
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|
| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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88
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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89
supremely
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|
| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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90
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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91
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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92
exquisitely
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|
| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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93
perfectly
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|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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94
triumphantly
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|
| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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95
envious
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|
| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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96
dominant
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|
| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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97
penury
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| n.贫穷，拮据 | |
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98
trampled
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|
| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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99
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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100
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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101
unreasonably
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| adv. 不合理地 | |
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102
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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103
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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104
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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105
anguishes
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| v.（尤指心理上的）极度的痛苦( anguish的第三人称单数 ) | |
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106
rebuking
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的现在分词 ) | |
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107
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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108
bask
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| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
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109
clique
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| n.朋党派系，小集团 | |
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110
emanated
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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111
apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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112
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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113
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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114
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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115
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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116
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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117
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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118
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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119
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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120
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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121
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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122
remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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123
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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124
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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125
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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126
Partisanship
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| n. 党派性, 党派偏见 | |
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127
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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128
displeasing
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| 不愉快的，令人发火的 | |
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129
equitable
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| adj.公平的；公正的 | |
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130
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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131
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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132
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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133
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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134
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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135
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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136
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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137
deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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138
humbugs
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| 欺骗( humbug的名词复数 )； 虚伪； 骗子； 薄荷硬糖 | |
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139
humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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140
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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141
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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142
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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143
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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144
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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145
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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146
fawning
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| adj.乞怜的，奉承的v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的现在分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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147
cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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148
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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149
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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150
bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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151
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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152
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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153
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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154
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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155
stifles
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的第三人称单数 )； 镇压，遏制 | |
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156
parasite
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| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
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157
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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158
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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159
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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160
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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161
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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162
imposture
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| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
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163
propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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164
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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165
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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166
amendment
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| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
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167
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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168
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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169
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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170
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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171
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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172
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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