LIFE’S EARLY AFTERNOON
One-half of the life of Charlotte Tucker was now over; a quiet and uneventful life thus far. If we like, we may mentally divide her story into four quarters, each about eighteen years in length, corresponding to Early Morning, Noontide, Afternoon, and Evening. The first eighteen years of her Early Morning had been, perhaps, as bright and cloudless as the existence of any girl could well be. In the succeeding Noontide hours she had known still much of brightness, though they included her first great sorrow, and ended with her second. Also, in the course of that Noontide she had entered upon her career of authorship, with all its hopes and aims, its hard work and its delights. Probably none who have not experienced it for themselves can quite understand the fascinations2 of authorship.
Now she had passed her Noontide, and was entering on the hours of early Afternoon. Eighteen years of that Afternoon still lay between the dark days of the Indian Mutiny and her own going out to India, for the Evening of her Life,—the fourth and last eighteen years, which were to be the fullest and the busiest of all her busy days.
We have first to do with the earlier portion of the Third Period; a period including much work, many interests, and some deep griefs. Between 1857 and 1866, however, lay a[113] quiet stretch of everyday life, distinguished3 by no rocks or rapids. The river flowed on peacefully for a while.
Life at No. 3 continued much as it had been in years past. Many friends were in and out, and were always cordially welcomed. Mrs. Tucker, since her husband’s death, had made one difference, in that she no longer gave dinner-parties; but luncheons7 were in full swing, to any extent; and Charlotte’s powers of entertaining were still in abundant requisition.
No better place can well be found than this for part of a letter to A. L. O. E.’s nephew,—the Rev8. W. F. T. Hamilton, son of her favourite sister,—from Sir Francis Outram, son of General Sir James Outram, of celebrated9 memory.
‘June 25, 1894.
‘My recollections of No. 3 Portland Place and of its typically kind inmates10 carry me back just half a century. But they are very clear, though, I regret to add, only of a general and intangible character.
‘Mr. Tucker I recall with grave respect, unmingled with awe11, as evidently one of the wisest and most influential12 of my Parents’ proved friends. Mrs. Tucker retains an honoured place in memories of these and later days as the kindest and most liberal of “old aunts,”—so she desired me to designate her, and at once adopted me into her very large circle of favoured nephews and nieces,—the inexhaustible source of varied13 goodnesses, especially such as were of the most approved edible14 nature.
‘Their sons I cannot recall, except as the genial15 and trusty friends of later life. But the five daughters of the house none of us who enjoyed their unselfish kindness at all stages of our youth can ever forget.
‘Of the two who ere long became successively “Miss Tucker,” however, you would alone wish me to speak. They cannot be dissociated in the memory of the generations of young people, whose privilege it was to be entertained and gratified by their unwearied attention throughout many a long holiday afternoon and evening, while stuffed by Mrs. Tucker ad libitum with all the best things of the season.
‘As we grew older, we not only more fully4 understood the exceptional boundlessness16 of old-fashioned hospitality and kindness which[114] that house and household exemplified thoroughly17, but we came to understand somewhat of the heart-source whence issued that truest manifestation18, of “everyday religion,” which evidences itself in an absolutely unselfish consecration,—consistent, unreserved, and essentially19 practical,—for everyday wear, and not only under “stimulating environments.” Such was the life’s lesson which our association with these two now ageing sisters suggested to us.
‘Miss Charlotte had, as you know, much of the Romantic in her composition.... In person she was always slight, and somewhat fragile-looking. Indeed, both she and Miss Fanny gave one the impression of being too incessantly20 though quietly busy about everything that promoted the happiness of other people, to ever become stout21, or to cultivate dress and appearances, beyond what was consistent with the aims and duties and requirements of a fully occupied home-life.
‘Mrs. Tucker could not quite keep pace with the new-fashioned unconventionalities of “young-lady work” in London; and one of the object-sermons, which most impressed me in my College days, was the beautiful self-restraint which these two sisters—no longer young—imposed upon themselves, in deference22 to their aged23 Mother’s wishes, in regard to that outside work which inclination24, or one might say conviction, as well as opportunity and qualifications, impelled25 them to participate in.
‘Still the unbounded hospitality of the “open house” in Portland Place went on; and still they were content to devote their time, talents, and energies to successive generations of juveniles26 and elder guests, without a murmur27.’
One can well believe that the self-restraint had to be severe in Charlotte’s case, with her abounding28 energies, and her eager desires for usefulness. But she patiently abided her time; and she did not wait in vain. These were years of quiet preparation.
In appearance at this time Charlotte was, as ever, tall and thin,—decidedly tall, her height being five feet six inches, or two inches over her Mother’s height, and only one inch short of her Father’s. She had still as of old a peculiarly elastic32 and springy mode of walking; and while possessing no pretensions33 to actual good looks,[115] there was much charm of manner, together with great animation34. Still, as ever, she threw herself energetically into the task of entertaining others, no matter whether those ‘others’ were young or old, attractive or uninteresting. This at present was a main duty of her life, and she never neglected or slurred35 it. Still, as ever, she was guided and restrained by her Mother’s wishes, yielding her own desires when the two wills, or the two judgments36, happened to lie in opposite directions.
Although not really fond of work, Charlotte was a beautiful knitter. She would make most elaborate antimacassars, of delicate lace-like patterns, invented by her own busy brain; and while working thus she was able to read Shakespeare aloud. Her Father had loved Shakespeare, and Charlotte had early caught the infection of this love, never afterwards to lose it.
Visiting in the Marylebone Workhouse went on steadily38; she and Fanny usually going together, until Fanny’s health began to fail, which was probably not until after 1864.
Fanny was par5 excellence39 the gentle sister; very sweet, very unselfish; always the one who would silently take the most uncomfortable chair in the room; always the one to put others forward, yet in so quiet and unobtrusive a fashion that the fact was often not remarked until afterwards. Of Charlotte it has been said by one who knew her intimately,—‘I wonder whether before the year 1850 any one has described her as “gentle.”’ The gentleness, which was with Fanny a natural characteristic, had to be a slow after-growth with the more vehement40 and resolute41 younger sister. Many a sharp blow upon the golden staff of her Will was needful for this result.
As an instance of Fanny’s peculiar31 gentleness, it is told that one Sunday, when she saw a man trying to sell things, she went up and remonstrated42 with him, speaking[116] very seriously, but in so mild and courteous43 a manner, so entirely44 as she would have spoken to one who was socially on her own level, that he was utterly45 unable to take offence. She was also very generous, giving liberally to the poor out of her limited dress-allowance, in earlier girlish days. This same generosity46 was a marked feature in the character of Charlotte; perhaps especially in later years.
Fanny was of middle height, and thin, with dark eyes; very neat and orderly in her ways, wherein she was the opposite of Charlotte, who was famed for untidiness in her arrangements. Charlotte was, however, methodical in plans of action, and in literary work; and later in life she seems to have struggled hard after habits of greater tidiness, as a matter of principle. But in middle life she could still speak of her drawers as—at least sometimes—supplying a succession of ‘surprises.’
Her ‘little Robins’ were now growing up, an ever-increasing care and interest to her loving heart; and the devotion which she felt for Letitia was of a most intense nature. The two boys were of course much away at school; but Letitia was always with her,—until the year 1865, when it was decided30 that she should go out to her uncle, Mr. St. George Tucker, in India. Moreover, many other little nieces and nephews had a warm place in the life of ‘Aunt Char1,’ none more so than the children of her especial sister-friend, one of whom was her own god-child.
Side by side with innumerable home-duties and home-pleasures went on the continual writing of little books for children; one or two at least appearing every year. The amount of work in one such volume is not heavy; but A. L. O. E.’s other calls were many. And she was not writing for a livelihood48, or even for the increased comforts, whether of herself or of others dependent upon her;[117] therefore it could not be placed in the front rank of home-duties. The Tuckers were sufficiently49 well off; and Charlotte is believed to have devoted50 most or all of the proceeds of her pen to charitable purposes.
To secure a certain amount of leisure for work, she accustomed herself to habits of early rising. Her Mother had always strongly objected to late hours, making the rule for her girls,—‘If you can, always hear eleven o’clock strike in bed.’ Charlotte is said to have made her a definite promise never to write books late at night; and through life this promise was most scrupulously51 adhered to.
Since she was debarred from late hours, and since in those days she could never be sure of her time through the day, early morning was all that remained to her. Punctually, therefore, at six o’clock she got up,—like her hero, Fides, conquering Giant Sloth,—and thus made sure of at least an hour’s writing before breakfast. In winter months, when others had fires at night in their bedrooms, Charlotte denied herself the luxury, that she might have it in the morning instead for her work. The fire was laid over-night, and she lighted it herself when she arose; long before the maid came to call her.
Later in the day she wrote if she could and when she could. No doubt also she found many an opportunity for thinking over her stories, and planning what should come next. She usually had the tale clear in her mind before putting pen to paper; so that no time was lost when an hour for actual work could be secured.
A sitting-room52 behind the dining-room of No. 3, called ‘the parlour,’ was by common consent known as her room. Here she would sit and compose her books; but she made of it no hermitage. Here she would be invaded by nieces, nephews, children, anybody who wanted a word with ‘Aunt Char.’ And she was ready always for[118] such interruptions. Writing was with her, as we have seen, not the main business of life, but merely an adjunct,—an additional means of usefulness. Since she had secured the one early uninterrupted hour, other hours might take their chance, and anybody’s business might come before her own business. With all these breaks, and in spite of them, she yet managed in the course of years to accomplish a long list of children’s books.
One of the said nieces, Miss Annie Tucker, writes respecting certain visits that she paid to her grandmother, Mrs. Tucker, at Portland Place:—
‘In each of these visits it was always my beloved Aunt Charlotte who entertained me,—if I may use the word,—though I was a mere53 child; and she did it just as if I were a grown-up person. I could never see that she took less pains to interest me than she did to please the many grown-up people who called. She usually entertained us in her room behind the dining-room, so that my grandmother should not be wearied too much.
‘How often have I gone in and out of her room, with a freedom which now almost surprises me! but she never seemed interrupted by my entrance. I have seen her put down her pen, though she was evidently preparing MS. for the press, and attend to any little thing I wanted to say, without one exclamation54 of vexation or annoyance55, or a resigned-resignation look, that some people put on on such occasions, at her literary work being put a stop to. And yet I am sure that was not because she did not mind being interrupted.’
It is not for a moment to be implied that all hard toilers in life are bound to follow precisely56 here the example of A. L. O. E. Circumstances differ in different cases. Often the work itself is of supreme57 importance; the interruptions are unnecessary and undeserving of attention. If everybody worked as Charlotte Tucker worked at that particular period, the amount accomplished58 would in some cases be very small, and in other cases, where undivided attention is essential, the result would be absolute failure. In her case the literary work was of a simple description,[119] and the home-calls appeared to be distinctly first in importance. But the spirit which she showed was well worthy59 of imitation. Many, whose favourite occupations are, to say the least, no whit60 more pressing than were her books, are exceedingly tenacious61 of their time, and exceedingly impatient of interruptions; and with too many the home-calls come second to all personal interests. It was far otherwise with Charlotte Tucker. Whatever had to be done, she was ready to do it,—not one iota62 more ready to write her books, or to visit in the Workhouse, than to teach the ‘Robins,’ to amuse visitors, old or young, to entertain guests at dinner or luncheon6, to take her part in a family ‘glee,’ to join in merry games, to conduct friends on sight-seeing expeditions. No matter what it might be, she did it willingly, throwing her whole energy into the matter in hand, always at everybody’s service, never allowing herself to appear worried or bored.
Despite her somewhat fragile appearance, and an appetite commonly small, there must have been a marvellous amount of underlying64 strength,—of the ‘wiriness’ which often belongs to delicate-looking people. If tired, she seldom confessed the fact, and never made a fuss about it. Her extraordinary vitality65 and mental vigour66 carried her through what would have entirely laid by many another in her place.
The following extracts are from letters ranging between 1861 and the beginning of 1866:—
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Nov. 6, 1861.
‘Will you kindly67 tell my Letitia that I have put up her paint-box, to be sent to Somerset House, as I dare say that your dear husband will kindly take charge of the little parcel....
‘The weather here has not been very choice. We had candles at luncheon yesterday. We make ourselves very happy, however, by vigorous reading. In the evening we discourse68 with Queen Elizabeth,[120] Leicester, Paul Buys, and Olden Barneveldt, etc.; in the morning we go out hunting with M. Chaillu, plunging69 amongst hippopotami and crocodiles, demolishing70 big black serpents, or perhaps capturing a baby-gorilla, more troublesome than dear Edgy71 himself.
‘We are all just now in a state of indignation about your pork! Don’t suppose that it is any fault in the pork; on the contrary, it is acknowledged to be the most “refined” pork ever known; and Mother says that if she shut her eyes, she would not know that she was not eating chicken!! We had a beautiful roast of it one day at luncheon; and Mother cut off a choice bit, to be reserved for our table, cold, while the servants were indulged with the rest of that joint72. To-day Mother asked for our reserved bit. Would you believe it?—those dreadfully greedy servants had eaten our bit as well as their own, though they had legs of mutton on Friday and Saturday, and a 22 lb. joint of roastbeef on Sunday! Do you marvel63 at our indignation? Mother means to call some one to account. She puts all the pathos73 of the question upon me. Miss Charlotte to be disappointed of her reserved bit of pork! I can hardly keep my countenance74, but of course must not disclaim75 my interest in the question. These greedy servants must be kept in order. It is not for nothing that we read of valiant76 encounters with alligators77 and hippopotami.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Dec. 3, 1862.
‘Dearest Laura,—We at last opened our piano, and your song has been thoroughly examined. The result is that some parts are much liked. Clara was so much pleased with the verse about the Rose, that after singing it over for Mother’s benefit she sang it three times over for her own. The words are not worthy of the music; it ought to be sacred; and I intend to copy it out in my own little music-book as a hymn78, so that its interest will not die away with that of the bridal.[8] The part next best liked is the Shamrock verse; and if I might venture a suggestion, I think that the whole of the “We hail thee” might be set to it; only the “glittering” accompaniment must be confined to the Shamrock verse. I think people often like the repetition of one air over and over, far better than a great variety.
The air is flowing and attractive, and there is no harm in its brevity. The first part, “We hail thee,” has a transition, which we fear that the rules of thorough-bass might not permit; and the[121] Thistle is hardly equal to either the Shamrock or the Rose,—of which, you see, I would make a separate song and hymn. If you would write out the song to the music of the former, I do not see why we should not try to get it accepted by a publisher. I hope that you will excuse my thus venturing to criticise79 your song and so unmercifully to cut it short.
‘I will give on the next page the words which I propose putting—for my own use—to the hymn part. Very little alteration80 will make them go very well to the air, for I have tried them; and the repetition of the last words, which your sweet music requires, suits lines the whole emphasis of which falls on the closing words; at least I fancy so.’
The lines following are given here, not exactly as they appeared in the letter, but in the corrected and improved form which afterwards appeared in print with the music:—
‘The Lord He is my strength and stay,
When sorrow’s cup o’erflows the brim;
It sweetens all if we can say,
“This is from Him!”
All comfort, comfort, flows from Him.
‘When humbly81 labouring for my Lord,
Faint grows the heart and weak the limb,
What strength and joy are in the words,
“This is for Him!”
’Tis sweet to spend our strength for Him.
‘I hope for ever to abide29
Where dwell the radiant Seraphim82;
Delivered, pardoned, glorified83;
But ’tis through Him!
All light and glory flow from Him.
‘Then welcome be the hour of death,
When Nature’s lamp burns low and dim,
If I can cry with dying breath,
“I go to Him!”
For Life Eternal flows from Him.’
[122]
TO MISS BELLA F. TUCKER.
‘Feb. 11, 1862.
‘I have read your touching84 account of your most sorely afflicted85 friend with great interest. I visit the Imbecile Ward37,[9] and I fear that she must be in the Insane Ward; but I will be sure to make inquiries86, and perhaps I may find that I can follow her thither87. I am not timid. Very very glad should I be to impart any comfort in such a case of awful distress88; but I fear that she may not understand even sympathy.’
TO THE SAME.
‘Feb. 26, 1862.
‘I went to our afflicted friend.... I talked to her as comfortingly as I could, and told her that I thought this sad trial might be sent that she might be like Christiana, walking on a Heavenward path, with all her children with her. I was glad to draw forth89 one or two tears, for tearless anguish90 is the most terrible. She said that she prayed the Lord to take her. I did not think that a good prayer, but suggested that she should ask the Lord to come to her, as to the disciples91 in the storm. She has promised to repeat the two very little prayers, “Lord, come to me”; and “Lord, make my children Thine, for Jesus’ sake.” It was touching to hear her repeating softly, again and again,—“Make me Thine! make me Thine!”’
TO THE SAME.
‘March 25, 1862.
‘Though still very low to-day, Mrs. —— did not seem to me to be inaccessible92 to religious comfort. I fancied that there was a little lightening of the darkness.... I do not know of anything that she wants. I have supplied her with working materials. Perhaps a little book with pictures in it is as good as anything, as amusing without fatiguing93 the mind.... I know the beautiful large texts that you allude94 to; but I do not know where they could well be fixed95 in the Insane Ward. They are more, I think, for the bedridden.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Gresford, Sept. 13, 1863.
‘I thought of you as I stood on the soft green slope down to the water, and looked on the bright little stream, with its white foam[123] sparkling in the sunlight. How much of its beauty it owes to the pebbles96 that fret97 it; and how much of its rapidity to the fall in its course. But in our lives, how we—at least I—shrink from the pebbles! How we would fain have all glassy smooth,—though Nature itself teaches us that then it would become stagnant98. The “sea of glass” is for another world....
‘I sometimes think that consoling is one of the most delightful99 employments given to God’s servants. It is pleasanter than teaching; far far more so than reproving others, or struggling against evil, or examining our own hearts. You were a comfort to poor dear ——, and I dare say that the sense of being so lightened your own trial of parting. I would give a great deal to have your influence with ——; but the Almighty100 has not been pleased to grant me this. Perhaps He will some day.’
TO THE SAME.
‘July 29, 1864.
‘I want particularly to know whether, in case I see my way to gaining money by it for some religious or charitable purpose, you will make me a present of that little bit of your welcome to the Princess which I have turned into a hymn. Also whether you would mind Mrs. Hamilton’s name being published on it. The hymn has been ringing so in my ears, and with such a soothing101 effect when I did not feel particularly cheerful, that I should like others to have the same comfort. I have made inquiries as to the cost of printing and publishing it.... Being very short, I do not think that much could be asked; and this is perhaps the gem47 of your music. I do not want it to be done at your expense, but at my own, and to manage everything after my own fashion,—but I cannot plunder102 you either of your music or your name without your leave....
‘Dear Fanny is better, though still prisoner to her room. She has had a sharp attack of fever; and I am afraid it will be difficult to throw off the cough. The rest of our party are well, as I trust that I may find you and your dear circle.’
TO THE SAME.
‘Aug. 1, 1864.
‘Your and your dear husband’s sweet notes quite added to the cheerfulness of our breakfast-table. Even Fanny did not appear knocked down by your tender scolding. She, for the first time since Tuesday, came to breakfast. She still needs great care, for the cold[124] was on her chest, and even speaking is liable to make her cough. Mother highly approves of your plan of coming to town. She desires me to say that she knows that her face is before you, as yours is before her. Dear Fanny will probably not start for Brighton till Wednesday week, so she will have the pleasure of welcoming you, and I am sure that you will try not to let her be loquacious103....
‘Many thanks for your kind present of the music. I am going to have it printed by converted Jews, and the entire profits devoted to the Society for the Conversion104 of Jews; so that it will be a little offering from us both to one of the holiest of causes.... I take the expense of the edition of 500 copies. They are to be sold for 1s. apiece; so if all are sold there is a contribution of ￡25 clear to the Society.... I am rather hopeful that the whole edition will go off before Christmas; for one shilling is not a formidable sum, especially when people can get a new song and help a good cause at the same time.... I take great pleasure in this little piece of business. I have been quite haunted by the music. I am ordering the plate to be preserved, in case of a Second Edition being required. So Mrs. Hamilton is going to come out as a Composer!’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.[10]
‘March 31, 1865.
‘My dear God-daughter,—I shall like to think of you particularly to-morrow, because it is the Anniversary of the day when your dear parents in church solemnly presented their precious little first-born babe to God; and I stood there to answer for her. Dear Leila, may each return of that day find you drawing nearer and nearer to Him who said, “Suffer the little children to come unto Me.” If we could only feel in our hearts that He really does love us, and that He deigns105 to care whether we love Him, what a motive106 it would be for doing everything as in His sight! We are too apt to think of our Saviour107 as very far off, and with so many to care for that we are almost beneath His notice. But this is wrong. The Sun shines and sparkles on every dewdrop in a field, as much as if it were the only dewdrop in the world. He does not pass it over, because it is little; he makes it beautiful in his light, and then draws it up towards himself.... I wish that I could come and pay you a visit; but I do not see how I am to leave Grandmamma as long as dear Aunt Fanny is an invalid108. I seem wanted at home.’
It may have been somewhere about this year, or not[125] very long before it, that Charlotte wrote the following pretty and graceful109 lines:—
‘Each silver thread that glitters in the hair,
Is like a wayside landmark,—planted there
To show Earth’s pilgrims, as they onward110 wend,
How nearly they approach their journey’s end!’
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char
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| v.烧焦；使...燃烧成焦炭 | |
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fascinations
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| n.魅力( fascination的名词复数 )；有魅力的东西；迷恋；陶醉 | |
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distinguished
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fully
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luncheon
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luncheons
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rev
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celebrated
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inmates
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influential
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varied
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edible
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genial
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boundlessness
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| 海阔天空 | |
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thoroughly
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manifestation
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essentially
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incessantly
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deference
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aged
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impelled
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juveniles
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abide
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decided
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peculiar
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elastic
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33
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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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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slurred
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| 含糊地说出( slur的过去式和过去分词 )； 含糊地发…的声； 侮辱； 连唱 | |
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judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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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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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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42
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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44
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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46
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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47
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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48
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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49
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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53
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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54
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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iota
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| n.些微，一点儿 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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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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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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demolishing
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| v.摧毁( demolish的现在分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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edgy
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| adj.不安的；易怒的 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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disclaim
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| v.放弃权利，拒绝承认 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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alligators
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| n.短吻鳄( alligator的名词复数 ) | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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seraphim
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| n.六翼天使(seraph的复数)；六翼天使( seraph的名词复数 ) | |
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glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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84
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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99
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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100
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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101
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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102
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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103
loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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104
conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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105
deigns
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的第三人称单数 ) | |
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106
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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107
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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108
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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