Let me be didactic for a moment! I assume this solemn—oh, call it not pedantic3!—attitude because my eye catches the small but select corner which constitutes my library of Science. I wanted to say that if I were advising a young man who was beginning life, I should counsel him to devote one evening a week to scientific reading. Had he the perseverance4 to adhere to his resolution, and if he began it at twenty, he would certainly find himself with an unusually well-furnished mind at thirty, which would stand him in right good stead in whatever line of life he might walk. When I advise him to read science, I do not mean that he should choke himself with the dust of the pedants5, and lose himself in the subdivisions of the Lepidoptera, or the classifications of the dicotyledonous plants. These dreary6 details are the prickly bushes in that enchanted7 garden, and you are foolish indeed if you begin your walks by butting8 your head into one. Keep very clear of them until you have explored the open beds and wandered down every easy path. For this reason avoid the text-books, which repel9, and cultivate that popular science which attracts. You cannot hope to be a specialist upon all these varied10 subjects. Better far to have a broad idea of general results, and to understand their relations to each other. A very little reading will give a man such a knowledge of geology, for example, as will make every quarry11 and railway cutting an object of interest. A very little zoology12 will enable you to satisfy your curiosity as to what is the proper name and style of this buff-ermine moth13 which at the present instant is buzzing round the lamp. A very little botany will enable you to recognize every flower you are likely to meet in your walks abroad, and to give you a tiny thrill of interest when you chance upon one which is beyond your ken1. A very little archaeology14 will tell you all about yonder British tumulus, or help you to fill in the outline of the broken Roman camp upon the downs. A very little astronomy will cause you to look more intently at the heavens, to pick out your brothers the planets, who move in your own circles, from the stranger stars, and to appreciate the order, beauty, and majesty15 of that material universe which is most surely the outward sign of the spiritual force behind it. How a man of science can be a materialist16 is as amazing to me as how a sectarian can limit the possibilities of the Creator. Show me a picture without an artist, show me a bust17 without a sculptor18, show me music without a musician, and then you may begin to talk to me of a universe without a Universe-maker, call Him by what name you will.
Here is Flammarion's "L'Atmosphere"—a very gorgeous though weather-stained copy in faded scarlet19 and gold. The book has a small history, and I value it. A young Frenchman, dying of fever on the west coast of Africa, gave it to me as a professional fee. The sight of it takes me back to a little ship's bunk20, and a sallow face with large, sad eyes looking out at me. Poor boy, I fear that he never saw his beloved Marseilles again!
Talking of popular science, I know no better books for exciting a man's first interest, and giving a broad general view of the subject, than these of Samuel Laing. Who would have imagined that the wise savant and gentle dreamer of these volumes was also the energetic secretary of a railway company? Many men of the highest scientific eminence21 have begun in prosaic22 lines of life. Herbert Spencer was a railway engineer. Wallace was a land surveyor. But that a man with so pronounced a scientific brain as Laing should continue all his life to devote his time to dull routine work, remaining in harness until extreme old age, with his soul still open to every fresh idea and his brain acquiring new concretions of knowledge, is indeed a remarkable23 fact. Read those books, and you will be a fuller man.
It is an excellent device to talk about what you have recently read. Rather hard upon your audience, you may say; but without wishing to be personal, I dare bet it is more interesting than your usual small talk. It must, of course, be done with some tact24 and discretion25. It is the mention of Laing's works which awoke the train of thought which led to these remarks. I had met some one at a table d'hote or elsewhere who made some remark about the prehistoric26 remains27 in the valley of the Somme. I knew all about those, and showed him that I did. I then threw out some allusion28 to the rock temples of Yucatan, which he instantly picked up and enlarged upon. He spoke29 of ancient Peruvian civilization, and I kept well abreast30 of him. I cited the Titicaca image, and he knew all about that. He spoke of Quaternary man, and I was with him all the time. Each was more and more amazed at the fulness and the accuracy of the information of the other, until like a flash the explanation crossed my mind. "You are reading Samuel Laing's 'Human Origins'!" I cried. So he was, and so by a coincidence was I. We were pouring water over each other, but it was all new-drawn31 from the spring.
There is a big two-volumed book at the end of my science shelf which would, even now, have its right to be called scientific disputed by some of the pedants. It is Myers' "Human Personality." My own opinion, for what it is worth, is that it will be recognized a century hence as a great root book, one from which a whole new branch of science will have sprung. Where between four covers will you find greater evidence of patience, of industry, of thought, of discrimination, of that sweep of mind which can gather up a thousand separate facts and bind32 them all in the meshes33 of a single consistent system? Darwin has not been a more ardent34 collector in zoology than Myers in the dim regions of psychic35 research, and his whole hypothesis, so new that a new nomenclature and terminology36 had to be invented to express it, telepathy, the subliminal37, and the rest of it, will always be a monument of acute reasoning, expressed in fine prose and founded upon ascertained38 fact.
The mere39 suspicion of scientific thought or scientific methods has a great charm in any branch of literature, however far it may be removed from actual research. Poe's tales, for example, owe much to this effect, though in his case it was a pure illusion. Jules Verne also produces a charmingly credible40 effect for the most incredible things by an adept41 use of a considerable amount of real knowledge of nature. But most gracefully42 of all does it shine in the lighter43 form of essay, where playful thoughts draw their analogies and illustrations from actual fact, each showing up the other, and the combination presenting a peculiar44 piquancy45 to the reader.
Where could I get better illustration of what I mean than in those three little volumes which make up Wendell Holmes' immortal46 series, "The Autocrat," "The Poet," and "The Professor at the Breakfast Table"? Here the subtle, dainty, delicate thought is continually reinforced by the allusion or the analogy which shows the wide, accurate knowledge behind it. What work it is! how wise, how witty47, how large-hearted and tolerant! Could one choose one's philosopher in the Elysian fields, as once in Athens, I would surely join the smiling group who listened to the human, kindly48 words of the Sage49 of Boston. I suppose it is just that continual leaven50 of science, especially of medical science, which has from my early student days given those books so strong an attraction for me. Never have I so known and loved a man whom I had never seen. It was one of the ambitions of my lifetime to look upon his face, but by the irony51 of Fate I arrived in his native city just in time to lay a wreath upon his newly-turned grave. Read his books again, and see if you are not especially struck by the up-to-dateness of them. Like Tennyson's "In Memoriam," it seems to me to be work which sprang into full flower fifty years before its time. One can hardly open a page haphazard52 without lighting53 upon some passage which illustrates54 the breadth of view, the felicity of phrase, and the singular power of playful but most suggestive analogy. Here, for example, is a paragraph—no better than a dozen others—which combines all the rare qualities:—
"Insanity55 is often the logic56 of an accurate mind overtasked. Good mental machinery57 ought to break its own wheels and levers, if anything is thrust upon them suddenly which tends to stop them or reverse their motion. A weak mind does not accumulate force enough to hurt itself; stupidity often saves a man from going mad. We frequently see persons in insane hospitals, sent there in consequence of what are called religious mental disturbances58. I confess that I think better of them than of many who hold the same notions, and keep their wits and enjoy life very well, outside of the asylums59. Any decent person ought to go mad if he really holds such and such opinions…. Anything that is brutal60, cruel, heathenish, that makes life hopeless for the most of mankind, and perhaps for entire races—anything that assumes the necessity for the extermination61 of instincts which were given to be regulated—no matter by what name you call it—no matter whether a fakir, or a monk62, or a deacon believes it—if received, ought to produce insanity in every well-regulated mind."
There's a fine bit of breezy polemics63 for the dreary fifties—a fine bit of moral courage too for the University professor who ventured to say it.
I put him above Lamb as an essayist, because there is a flavour of actual knowledge and of practical acquaintance with the problems and affairs of life, which is lacking in the elfin Londoner. I do not say that the latter is not the rarer quality. There are my "Essays of Elia," and they are well-thumbed as you see, so it is not because I love Lamb less that I love this other more. Both are exquisite65, but Wendell Holmes is for ever touching66 some note which awakens67 an answering vibration68 within my own mind.
The essay must always be a somewhat repellent form of literature, unless it be handled with the lightest and deftest69 touch. It is too reminiscent of the school themes of our boyhood—to put a heading and then to show what you can get under it. Even Stevenson, for whom I have the most profound admiration70, finds it difficult to carry the reader through a series of such papers, adorned71 with his original thought and quaint64 turn of phrase. Yet his "Men and Books" and "Virginibus Puerisque" are high examples of what may be done in spite of the inherent unavoidable difficulty of the task.
But his style! Ah, if Stevenson had only realized how beautiful and nervous was his own natural God-given style, he would never have been at pains to acquire another! It is sad to read the much-lauded anecdote72 of his imitating this author and that, picking up and dropping, in search of the best. The best is always the most natural. When Stevenson becomes a conscious stylist, applauded by so many critics, he seems to me like a man who, having most natural curls, will still conceal73 them under a wig74. The moment he is precious he loses his grip. But when he will abide75 by his own sterling76 Lowland Saxon, with the direct word and the short, cutting sentence, I know not where in recent years we may find his mate. In this strong, plain setting the occasional happy word shines like a cut jewel. A really good stylist is like Beau Brummell's description of a well-dressed man—so dressed that no one would ever observe him. The moment you begin to remark a man's style the odds77 are that there is something the matter with it. It is a clouding of the crystal—a diversion of the reader's mind from the matter to the manner, from the author's subject to the author himself.
No, I have not the Edinburgh edition. If you think of a presentation—but I should be the last to suggest it. Perhaps on the whole I would prefer to have him in scattered78 books, rather than in a complete set. The half is more than the whole of most authors, and not the least of him. I am sure that his friends who reverenced79 his memory had good warrant and express instructions to publish this complete edition—very possibly it was arranged before his lamented80 end. Yet, speaking generally, I would say that an author was best served by being very carefully pruned81 before being exposed to the winds of time. Let every weak twig82, every immature83 shoot be shorn away, and nothing but strong, sturdy, well-seasoned branches left. So shall the whole tree stand strong for years to come. How false an impression of the true Stevenson would our critical grandchild acquire if he chanced to pick down any one of half a dozen of these volumes! As we watched his hand stray down the rank, how we would pray that it might alight upon the ones we love, on the "New Arabian Nights" "The Ebb-tide," "The Wrecker," "Kidnapped," or "Treasure Island." These can surely never lose their charm.
What noble books of their class are those last, "Kidnapped" and "Treasure Island"! both, as you see, shining forth84 upon my lower shelf. "Treasure Island" is the better story, while I could imagine that "Kidnapped" might have the more permanent value as being an excellent and graphic85 sketch86 of the state of the Highlands after the last Jacobite insurrection. Each contains one novel and admirable character, Alan Breck in the one, and Long John in the other. Surely John Silver, with his face the size of a ham, and his little gleaming eyes like crumbs87 of glass in the centre of it, is the king of all seafaring desperadoes. Observe how the strong effect is produced in his case: seldom by direct assertion on the part of the story-teller, but usually by comparison, innuendo88, or indirect reference. The objectionable Billy Bones is haunted by the dread89 of "a seafaring man with one leg." Captain Flint, we are told, was a brave man; "he was afraid of none, not he, only Silver—Silver was that genteel." Or, again, where John himself says, "there was some that was feared of Pew, and some that was feared of Flint; but Flint his own self was feared of me. Feared he was, and proud. They was the roughest crew afloat was Flint's. The devil himself would have been feared to go to sea with them. Well, now, I will tell you. I'm not a boasting man, and you seen yourself how easy I keep company; but when I was quartermaster, lambs wasn't the word for Flint's old buccaneers." So, by a touch here and a hint there, there grows upon us the individuality of the smooth-tongued, ruthless, masterful, one-legged devil. He is to us not a creation of fiction, but an organic living reality with whom we have come in contact; such is the effect of the fine suggestive strokes with which he is drawn. And the buccaneers themselves, how simple and yet how effective are the little touches which indicate their ways of thinking and of acting90. "I want to go in that cabin, I do; I want their pickles91 and wine and that." "Now, if you had sailed along o' Bill you wouldn't have stood there to be spoke twice—not you. That was never Bill's way, not the way of sich as sailed with him." Scott's buccaneers in "The Pirate" are admirable, but they lack something human which we find here. It will be long before John Silver loses his place in sea fiction, "and you may lay to that."
Stevenson was deeply influenced by Meredith, and even in these books the influence of the master is apparent. There is the apt use of an occasional archaic92 or unusual word, the short, strong descriptions, the striking metaphors93, the somewhat staccato fashion of speech. Yet, in spite of this flavour, they have quite individuality enough to constitute a school of their own. Their faults, or rather perhaps their limitations, lie never in the execution, but entirely94 in the original conception. They picture only one side of life, and that a strange and exceptional one. There is no female interest. We feel that it is an apotheosis95 of the boy-story—the penny number of our youth in excelsis. But it is all so good, so fresh, so picturesque96, that, however limited its scope, it still retains a definite and well-assured place in literature. There is no reason why "Treasure Island" should not be to the rising generation of the twenty-first century what "Robinson Crusoe" has been to that of the nineteenth. The balance of probability is all in that direction.
The modern masculine novel, dealing97 almost exclusively with the rougher, more stirring side of life, with the objective rather than the subjective98, marks the reaction against the abuse of love in fiction. This one phase of life in its orthodox aspect, and ending in the conventional marriage, has been so hackneyed and worn to a shadow, that it is not to be wondered at that there is a tendency sometimes to swing to the other extreme, and to give it less than its fair share in the affairs of men. In British fiction nine books out of ten have held up love and marriage as the be-all and end-all of life. Yet we know, in actual practice, that this may not be so. In the career of the average man his marriage is an incident, and a momentous99 incident; but it is only one of several. He is swayed by many strong emotions—his business, his ambitions, his friendships, his struggles with the recurrent dangers and difficulties which tax a man's wisdom and his courage. Love will often play a subordinate part in his life. How many go through the world without ever loving at all? It jars upon us then to have it continually held up as the predominating, all-important fact in life; and there is a not unnatural100 tendency among a certain school, of which Stevenson is certainly the leader, to avoid altogether a source of interest which has been so misused101 and overdone102. If all love-making were like that between Richard Feverel and Lucy Desborough, then indeed we could not have too much of it; but to be made attractive once more, the passion must be handled by some great master who has courage to break down conventionalities and to go straight to actual life for his inspiration.
The use of novel and piquant103 forms of speech is one of the most obvious of Stevenson's devices. No man handles his adjectives with greater judgment104 and nicer discrimination. There is hardly a page of his work where we do not come across words and expressions which strike us with a pleasant sense of novelty, and yet express the meaning with admirable conciseness105. "His eyes came coasting round to me." It is dangerous to begin quoting, as the examples are interminable, and each suggests another. Now and then he misses his mark, but it is very seldom. As an example, an "eye-shot" does not commend itself as a substitute for "a glance," and "to tee-hee" for "to giggle106" grates somewhat upon the ear, though the authority of Chaucer might be cited for the expressions.
Next in order is his extraordinary faculty107 for the use of pithy108 similes109, which arrest the attention and stimulate110 the imagination. "His voice sounded hoarse111 and awkward, like a rusty112 lock." "I saw her sway, like something stricken by the wind." "His laugh rang false, like a cracked bell." "His voice shook like a taut113 rope." "My mind flying like a weaver's shuttle." "His blows resounded114 on the grave as thick as sobs115." "The private guilty considerations I would continually observe to peep forth in the man's talk like rabbits from a hill." Nothing could be more effective than these direct and homely116 comparisons.
After all, however, the main characteristic of Stevenson is his curious instinct for saying in the briefest space just those few words which stamp the impression upon the reader's mind. He will make you see a thing more clearly than you would probably have done had your eyes actually rested upon it. Here are a few of these word-pictures, taken haphazard from among hundreds of equal merit—
his mouth, and his hand upon his chin, like a dull fellow
thinking hard.
"Stewart ran after us for more than a mile, and I could not
help laughing as I looked back at last and saw him on a hill,
holding his hand to his side, and nearly burst with running.
"Ballantrae turned to me with a face all wrinkled up, and his
teeth all showing in his mouth…. He said no word, but his
whole appearance was a kind of dreadful question.
a detected thief.
"He looked me all over with a warlike eye, and I could see the
challenge on his lips."
What could be more vivid than the effect produced by such sentences as these?
There is much more that might be said as to Stevenson's peculiar and original methods in fiction. As a minor119 point, it might be remarked that he is the inventor of what may be called the mutilated villain120. It is true that Mr. Wilkie Collins has described one gentleman who had not only been deprived of all his limbs, but was further afflicted121 by the insupportable name of Miserrimus Dexter. Stevenson, however, has used the effect so often, and with such telling results, that he may be said to have made it his own. To say nothing of Hyde, who was the very impersonation of deformity, there is the horrid122 blind Pew, Black Dog with two fingers missing, Long John with his one leg, and the sinister123 catechist who is blind but shoots by ear, and smites124 about him with his staff. In "The Black Arrow," too, there is another dreadful creature who comes tapping along with a stick. Often as he has used the device, he handles it so artistically125 that it never fails to produce its effect.
Is Stevenson a classic? Well, it is a large word that. You mean by a classic a piece of work which passes into the permanent literature of the country. As a rule, you only know your classics when they are in their graves. Who guessed it of Poe, and who of Borrow? The Roman Catholics only canonize their saints a century after their death. So with our classics. The choice lies with our grandchildren. But I can hardly think that healthy boys will ever let Stevenson's books of adventure die, nor do I think that such a short tale as "The Pavilion on the Links" nor so magnificent a parable126 as "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" will ever cease to be esteemed127. How well I remember the eagerness, the delight with which I read those early tales in "Cornhill" away back in the late seventies and early eighties. They were unsigned, after the old unfair fashion, but no man with any sense of prose could fail to know that they were all by the same author. Only years afterwards did I learn who that author was.
I have Stevenson's collected poems over yonder in the small cabinet. Would that he had given us more! Most of them are the merest playful sallies of a freakish mind. But one should, indeed, be a classic, for it is in my judgment by all odds the best narrative128 ballad129 of the last century—that is if I am right in supposing that "The Ancient Mariner130" appeared at the very end of the eighteenth. I would put Coleridge's tour de force of grim fancy first, but I know none other to compare in glamour131 and phrase and easy power with "Ticonderoga." Then there is his immortal epitaph. The two pieces alone give him a niche132 of his own in our poetical133 literature, just as his character gives him a niche of his own in our affections. No, I never met him. But among my most prized possessions are several letters which I received from Samoa. From that distant tower he kept a surprisingly close watch upon what was doing among the bookmen, and it was his hand which was among the first held out to the striver, for he had quick appreciation134 and keen sympathies which met another man's work half-way, and wove into it a beauty from his own mind.
And now, my very patient friend, the time has come for us to part, and I hope my little sermons have not bored you over-much. If I have put you on the track of anything which you did not know before, then verify it and pass it on. If I have not, there is no harm done, save that my breath and your time have been wasted. There may be a score of mistakes in what I have said—is it not the privilege of the conversationalist to misquote? My judgments135 may differ very far from yours, and my likings may be your abhorrence136; but the mere thinking and talking of books is in itself good, be the upshot what it may. For the time the magic door is still shut. You are still in the land of faerie. But, alas137, though you shut that door, you cannot seal it. Still come the ring of bell, the call of telephone, the summons back to the sordid138 world of work and men and daily strife139. Well, that's the real life after all—this only the imitation. And yet, now that the portal is wide open and we stride out together, do we not face our fate with a braver heart for all the rest and quiet and comradeship that we found behind the Magic Door?
该作者的其它作品
《福尔摩斯历险记The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes》
《巴斯克维尔的猎犬 The Hound of Baskervilles》
《福尔摩斯归来记 THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES》
该作者的其它作品
《福尔摩斯历险记The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes》
《巴斯克维尔的猎犬 The Hound of Baskervilles》
《福尔摩斯归来记 THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES》
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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pedantic
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| adj.卖弄学问的；迂腐的 | |
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perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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pedants
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| n.卖弄学问的人，学究，书呆子( pedant的名词复数 ) | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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butting
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| 用头撞人（犯规动作） | |
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repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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zoology
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| n.动物学，生态 | |
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moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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archaeology
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| n.考古学 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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materialist
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| n. 唯物主义者 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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tact
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discretion
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prehistoric
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remains
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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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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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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bind
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meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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ardent
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psychic
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terminology
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subliminal
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| adj.下意识的，潜意识的；太弱或太快以至于难以觉察的 | |
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38
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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40
credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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41
adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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42
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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43
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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44
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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45
piquancy
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| n.辛辣，辣味，痛快 | |
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46
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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47
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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48
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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49
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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50
leaven
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| v.使发酵；n.酵母；影响 | |
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51
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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52
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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53
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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54
illustrates
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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55
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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56
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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57
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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58
disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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59
asylums
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| n.避难所( asylum的名词复数 )；庇护；政治避难；精神病院 | |
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60
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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61
extermination
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| n.消灭，根绝 | |
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62
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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63
polemics
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| n.辩论术，辩论法；争论( polemic的名词复数 )；辩论；辩论术；辩论法 | |
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64
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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65
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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66
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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67
awakens
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的第三人称单数 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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68
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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69
deftest
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的( deft的最高级 ) | |
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70
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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71
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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72
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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73
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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74
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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75
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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76
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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77
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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78
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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79
reverenced
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| v.尊敬，崇敬( reverence的过去式和过去分词 )；敬礼 | |
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80
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
pruned
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| v.修剪（树木等）( prune的过去式和过去分词 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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82
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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83
immature
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| adj.未成熟的，发育未全的，未充分发展的 | |
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84
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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85
graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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86
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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87
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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88
innuendo
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| n.暗指，讽刺 | |
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89
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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90
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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91
pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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92
archaic
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| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
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93
metaphors
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| 隐喻( metaphor的名词复数 ) | |
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94
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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95
apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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96
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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97
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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98
subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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99
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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100
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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101
misused
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| v.使用…不当( misuse的过去式和过去分词 )；把…派作不正当的用途；虐待；滥用 | |
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102
overdone
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| v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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103
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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104
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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105
conciseness
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| n.简洁，简短 | |
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106
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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107
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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108
pithy
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| adj.(讲话或文章)简练的 | |
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109
similes
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| （使用like或as等词语的）明喻( simile的名词复数 ) | |
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110
stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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111
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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112
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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113
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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114
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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115
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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116
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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117
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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118
gulping
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的现在分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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119
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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120
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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121
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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122
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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123
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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124
smites
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的第三人称单数 ) | |
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125
artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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126
parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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127
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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128
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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129
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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130
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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131
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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132
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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133
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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134
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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135
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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136
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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137
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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138
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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139
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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