Three Men in a Boat — BG

CHAPTER 1

Three Invalids – Suf­fer­ings of George and Har­ris – A vic­tim to one hun­dred and sev­en fatal mal­adies – Use­ful pre­scrip­tionsCure for liv­er com­plaint in chil­dren – We agree that we are over­worked, and need rest – A week on the rolling deep? – George sug­gests the riv­er – Mont­moren­cy lodges an objec­tion – Orig­i­nal motion car­ried by major­i­ty of three to one.

There were four of us – George, and William Samuel Har­ris, and myself, and Mont­moren­cy. We were sit­ting in my room, smok­ing, and talk­ing about how bad we were – bad from a med­ical point of view I mean, of course.

We were all feel­ing seedy, and we were get­ting quite ner­vous about it. Har­ris said he felt such extra­or­di­nary fits of gid­di­ness come over him at times, that he hard­ly knew what he was doing; and then George said that he had fits of gid­di­ness too, and hard­ly knew what he was doing. With me, it was my liv­er that was out of order. I knew it was my liv­er that was out of order, because I had just been read­ing a patent liv­er-pill cir­cu­lar, in which were detailed the var­i­ous symp­toms by which a man could tell when his liv­er was out of order. I had them all.

It is a most extra­or­di­nary thing, but I nev­er read a patent med­i­cine adver­tise­ment with­out being impelled to the con­clu­sion that I am suf­fer­ing from the par­tic­u­lar dis­ease there­in dealt with in its most vir­u­lent form. The diag­no­sis seems in every case to cor­re­spond exact­ly with all the sen­sa­tions that I have ever felt.

I remem­ber going to the British Muse­um one day to read up the treat­ment for some slight ail­ment of which I had a touch hay fever, I fan­cy it was. I got down the book, and read all I came to read; and then, in an unthink­ing moment, I idly turned the leaves, and began to indo­lent­ly study dis­eases, gen­er­al­ly. I for­get which was the first dis­tem­per I plunged into – some fear­ful, dev­as­tat­ing scourge, I know – and, before I had glanced half down the list of “pre­mon­i­to­ry symp­toms,” it was borne in upon me that I had fair­ly got it.

I sat for awhile, frozen with hor­ror; and then, in the list­less­ness of despair, I again turned over the pages. I came to typhoid fever– read the symp­toms – dis­cov­ered that I had typhoid fever, must have had it for months with­out know­ing it – won­dered what else I had got; turned up St. Vitus’s Dance – found, as I expect­ed, that I had that too, – began to get inter­est­ed in my case, and deter­mined to sift it to the bot­tom, and so start­ed alpha­bet­i­cal­ly – read up ague, and learnt that I was sick­en­ing for it, and that the acute stage would com­mence in about anoth­er fort­night. Bright’s dis­ease, I was relieved to find, I had only in a mod­i­fied form, and, so far as that was con­cerned, I might live for years. Cholera I had, with severe com­pli­ca­tions; and diph­the­ria I seemed to have been born with. I plod­ded con­sci­en­tious­ly through the twen­ty-six let­ters, and the only mal­a­dy I could con­clude I had not got was housemaid’s knee.

I felt rather hurt about this at first; it seemed some­how to be a sort of slight. Why hadn’t I got housemaid’s knee? Why this invid­i­ous reser­va­tion? After a while, how­ev­er, less grasp­ing feel­ings pre­vailed. I reflect­ed that I had every oth­er known mal­a­dy in the phar­ma­col­o­gy, and I grew less self­ish, and deter­mined to do with­out housemaid’s knee. Gout, in its most malig­nant stage, it would appear, had seized me with­out my being aware of it; and zymo­sis I had evi­dent­ly been suf­fer­ing with from boy­hood. There were no more dis­eases after zymo­sis, so I con­clud­ed there was noth­ing else the mat­ter with me.

I sat and pon­dered. I thought what an inter­est­ing case I must be from a med­ical point of view, what an acqui­si­tion I should be to a class! Stu­dents would have no need to “walk the hos­pi­tals,” if they had me. I was a hos­pi­tal in myself. All they need do would be to walk round me, and, after that, take their diplo­ma.

Then I won­dered how long I had to live. I tried to exam­ine myself. I felt my pulse. I could not at first feel any pulse at all. Then, all of a sud­den, it seemed to start off. I pulled out my watch and timed it. I made it a hun­dred and forty-sev­en to the minute. I tried to feel my heart. I could not feel my heart. It had stopped beat­ing. I have since been induced to come to the opin­ion that it must have been there all the time, and must have been beat­ing, but I can­not account for it. I pat­ted myself all over my front, from what I call my waist up to my head, and I went a bit round each side, and a lit­tle way up the back. But I could not feel or hear any­thing. I tried to look at my tongue. I stuck it out as far as ever it would go, and I shut one eye, and tried to exam­ine it with the oth­er. I could only see the tip, and the only thing that I could gain from that was to feel more cer­tain than before that I had scar­let fever.

I had walked into that read­ing-room a hap­py, healthy man. I crawled out a decrepit wreck.

I went to my med­ical man. He is an old chum of mine, and feels my pulse, and looks at my tongue, and talks about the weath­er, all for noth­ing, when I fan­cy I’m ill; so I thought I would do him a good turn by going to him now. “What a doc­tor wants,” I said, “is prac­tice. He shall have me. He will get more prac­tice out of me than out of sev­en­teen hun­dred of your ordi­nary, com­mon­place patients, with only one or two dis­eases each.” So I went straight up and saw him, and he said:

“Well, what’s the mat­ter with you?

I said:

“I will not take up your time, dear boy, with telling you what is the mat­ter with me. Life is brief, and you might pass away before I had fin­ished. But I will tell you what is not the mat­ter with me. I have not got housemaid’s knee. Why I have not got housemaid’s knee, I can­not tell you; but the fact remains that I have not got it. Every­thing else, how­ev­er, I have got.”

And I told him how I came to dis­cov­er it all.

Then he opened me and looked down me, and clutched hold of my wrist, and then he hit me over the chest when I wasn’t expect­ing it – a cow­ard­ly thing to do, I call it – and imme­di­ate­ly after­wards butted me with the side of his head. After that, he sat down and wrote out a pre­scrip­tion, and fold­ed it up and gave it me, and I put it in my pock­et and went out.

I did not open it. I took it to the near­est chemist’s, and hand­ed it in. The man read it, and then hand­ed it back.

He said he didn’t keep it.

I said:

“You are a chemist?”

He said:

“I am a chemist. If I was a co-oper­a­tive stores and fam­i­ly hotel com­bined, I might be able to oblige you. Being only a chemist ham­pers me.”

I read the pre­scrip­tion. It ran:

“1 lb. beef­steak, with

1 pt. bit­ter beer every 6 hours.

1 ten-mile walk every morn­ing.

1 bed at 11 sharp every night.

And don’t stuff up your head with things you don’t under­stand.”

I fol­lowed the direc­tions, with the hap­py result – speak­ing for myself – that my life was pre­served, and is still going on.

In the present instance, going back to the liv­er-pill cir­cu­lar, I had the symp­toms, beyond all mis­take, the chief among them being “a gen­er­al dis­in­cli­na­tion to work of any kind.”

What I suf­fer in that way no tongue can tell. From my ear­li­est infan­cy I have been a mar­tyr to it. As a boy, the dis­ease hard­ly ever left me for a day. They did not know, then, that it was my liv­er. Med­ical sci­ence was in a far less advanced state than now, and they used to put it down to lazi­ness.

“Why, you skulk­ing lit­tle dev­il, you,” they would say, “get up and do some­thing for your liv­ing, can’t you?” – not know­ing, of course, that I was ill.

And they didn’t give me pills; they gave me clumps on the side of the head. And, strange as it may appear, those clumps on the head often cured me – for the time being. I have known one clump on the head have more effect upon my liv­er, and make me feel more anx­ious to go straight away then and there, and do what was want­ed to be done, with­out fur­ther loss of time, than a whole box of pills does now.

You know, it often is so – those sim­ple, old-fash­ioned reme­dies are some­times more effi­ca­cious than all the dis­pen­sary stuff.

We sat there for half-an-hour, describ­ing to each oth­er our mal­adies. I explained to George and William Har­ris how I felt when I got up in the morn­ing, and William Har­ris told us how he felt when he went to bed; and George stood on thehearth-ruggave us a clever and pow­er­ful piece of act­ing, illus­tra­tive of how he felt in the night.

George fan­cies he is ill; but there’s nev­er any­thing real­ly the mat­ter with him, you know.

At this point, Mrs. Pop­pets knocked at the door to know if we were ready for sup­per. We smiled sad­ly at one anoth­er, and said we sup­posed we had bet­ter try to swal­low a bit. Har­ris said a lit­tle some­thing in one’s stom­ach often kept the dis­ease in check; and Mrs. Pop­pets brought the tray in, and we drew up to the table, and toyed with a lit­tle steak and onions, and some rhubarb tart.

I must have been very weak at the time; because I know, after the first half-hour or so, I seemed to take no inter­est what­ev­er in my food – an unusu­al thing for me – and I didn’t want any cheese.

This duty done, we refilled our glass­es, lit our pipes, and resumed the dis­cus­sion upon our state of health. What it was that was actu­al­ly the mat­ter with us, we none of us could be sure of; but the unan­i­mous opin­ion was that it – what­ev­er it was – had been brought on by over­work.

“What we want is rest,” said Har­ris.

“Rest and a com­plete change,” said George. “The over­strain upon our brains has pro­duced a gen­er­al depres­sion through­out the sys­tem. Change of scene, and absence of the neces­si­ty for thought, will restore the men­tal equi­lib­ri­um.”

George has a cousin, who is usu­al­ly described in the charge-sheet as a med­ical stu­dent, so that he nat­u­ral­ly has a some­what fam­i­ly-physi­cia­nary way of putting things.

I agreed with George, and sug­gest­ed that we should seek out some retired and old-world spot, far from the madding crowd, and dream away a sun­ny week among its drowsy lanes– some half-for­got­ten nook, hid­den away by the fairies, out of reach of the noisy world – some quaint-perched eyrie on the cliffs of Time, from whence the surg­ing waves of the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry would sound far-off and faint.

Har­ris said he thought it would be humpy. He said he knew the sort of place I meant; where every­body went to bed at eight o’clock, and you couldn’t get a Ref­er­ee for love or mon­ey, and had to walk ten miles to get your bac­cy.

“No,” said Har­ris, “if you want rest and change,you can’t beat a sea trip.”

I object­ed to the sea trip strong­ly. A sea trip does you good when you are going to have a cou­ple of months of it, but, for a week, it is wicked.

You start on Mon­day with the idea implant­ed in your bosom that you are going to enjoy your­self. You wave an airy adieu to the boys on shore, light your biggest pipe, and swag­ger about the deck as if you were Cap­tain Cook, Sir Fran­cis Drake, and Christo­pher Colum­bus all rolled into one. On Tues­day, you wish you hadn’t come. On Wednes­day, Thurs­day, and Fri­day, you wish you were dead. On Sat­ur­day, you are able to swal­low a lit­tle beef tea, and to sit up on deck, and answer with a wan, sweet smile when kind-heart­ed peo­ple ask you how you feel now. On Sun­day, you begin to walk about again, and take sol­id food. And on Mon­day morn­ing, as, with your bag and umbrel­la in your hand, you stand by the gun­wale, wait­ing to step ashore, you begin to thor­ough­ly like it.

I remem­ber my broth­er-in-law going for a short sea trip once, for the ben­e­fit of his health. He took a return berth from Lon­don to Liv­er­pool; and when he got to Liv­er­pool, the only thing he was anx­ious about was to sell that return tick­et.

It was offered round the town at a tremen­dous reduc­tion, so I am told; and was even­tu­al­ly sold for eigh­teen­pence to a bil­ious-look­ing youth who had just been advised by his med­ical men to go to the sea-side, and take exer­cise.

“Sea-side!” said my >broth­er-in-law, press­ing the tick­et affec­tion­ate­ly into his hand; “why, you’ll have enough to last you a life­time; and as for exer­cise! why, you’ll get more exer­cise, sit­ting down on that ship, than you would turn­ing som­er­saults on dry land.”

He him­self – my >broth­er-in-law – came back by train. He said the North-West­ern Rail­way was healthy enough for him.

Anoth­er fel­low I knew went for a week’s voy­age round the coast, and, before they start­ed, the stew­ard came to him to ask whether he would pay for each meal as he had it, or arrange before­hand for the whole series.

The stew­ard rec­om­mend­ed the lat­ter course, as it would come so much cheap­er. He said they would do him for the whole week at two pounds five. He said for break­fast there would be fish, fol­lowed by a grill. Lunch was at one, and con­sist­ed of four cours­es. Din­ner at six – soup, fish, entree, joint, poul­try, sal­ad, sweets, cheese, and dessert. And a light meat sup­per at ten.

My friend thought he would close on the two-pound-five job (he is a hearty eater), and did so.

Lunch came just as they were off Sheer­ness. He didn’t feel so hun­gry as he thought he should, and so con­tent­ed him­self with a bit of boiled beef, and some straw­ber­ries and cream. He pon­dered a good deal dur­ing the after­noon, and at one time it seemed to him that he had been eat­ing noth­ing but boiled beef for weeks, and at oth­er times it seemed that he must have been liv­ing on straw­ber­ries and cream for years.

Nei­ther the beef nor the straw­ber­ries and cream seemed hap­py, either – seemed dis­con­tent­ed like.

At six, they came and told him din­ner was ready. The announce­ment aroused no enthu­si­asm with­in him, but he felt that there was some of that two-pound-five to be worked off, and he held on to ropes and things and went down. A pleas­ant odour of onions and hot ham, min­gled with fried fish and greens, greet­ed him at the bot­tom of the lad­der; and then the stew­ard came up with an oily smile, and said:

“What can I get you, sir?”

“Get me out of this,” was the fee­ble reply.

And they ran him up quick, and propped him up, over to lee­ward, and left him.

For the next four days he lived a sim­ple and blame­less life on thin captain’s bis­cuits (I mean that the bis­cuits were thin, not the cap­tain) and soda-water; but, towards Sat­ur­day, he got uppish, and went in for weak tea and dry toast, and on Mon­day he was gorg­ing him­self on chick­en broth. He left the ship on Tues­day, and as it steamed away from theland­ing-stage he gazed after it regret­ful­ly.

“There she goes,” he said, “there she goes, with two pounds’ worth of food on board that belongs to me, and that I haven’t had.”

He said that if they had giv­en him anoth­er day he thought he could have put it straight.

So I set my face against the sea trip. Not, as I explained, upon my own account. I was nev­er queer. But I was afraid for George. George said he should be all right, and would rather like it, but he would advise Har­ris and me not to think of it, as he felt sure we should both be ill. Har­ris said that, to him­self, it was always a mys­tery how peo­ple man­aged to get sick at sea – said he thought peo­ple must do it on pur­pose, from affec­ta­tion – said he had often wished to be, but had nev­er been able.

Then he told us anec­dotes of how he had gone across the Chan­nel when it was so rough that the pas­sen­gers had to be tied into their berths, and he and the cap­tain were the only two liv­ing souls on board who were not ill. Some­times it was he and the sec­ond mate who were not ill; but it was gen­er­al­ly he and one oth­er man. If not he and anoth­er man, then it was he by him­self.

It is a curi­ous fact, but nobody ever is sea-sick – on land. At sea, you come across plen­ty of peo­ple very bad indeed, wholeboat-loads of them; but I nev­er met a man yet, on land, who had ever known at all what it was to be sea-sick. Where the thou­sands upon thou­sands of bad sailors that swarm in every ship hide them­selves when they are on land is a mys­tery.

If most men were like a fel­low I saw on the Yarmouth boat one day, I could account for the seem­ing enig­ma eas­i­ly enough. It was just off Southend Pier, I rec­ol­lect, and he was lean­ing out through one of theport-holes in a very dan­ger­ous posi­tion. I went up to him to try and save him.

“Hi! come fur­ther in,” I said, shak­ing him by the shoul­der. “You’ll be over­board.”

Oh my! I wish I was,” was the only answer I could get; and there I had to leave him.

Three weeks after­wards, I met him in thecof­fee-room of a Bath hotel, talk­ing about his voy­ages, and explain­ing, with enthu­si­asm, how he loved the sea.

Good sailor!” he replied in answer to a mild young man’s envi­ous query; “well, I did feel a lit­tle queer once, I con­fess. It was off Cape Horn. The ves­sel was wrecked the next morn­ing.”

I said:

“Weren’t you a lit­tle shaky by Southend Pier one day, and want­ed to be thrown over­board?”

Southend Pier!” he replied, with a puz­zled expres­sion.

“Yes; going down to Yarmouth, last Fri­day three weeks.”

“Oh, ah – yes,” he answered, bright­en­ing up; “I remem­ber now. I did have a headache that after­noon. It was the pick­les, you know. They were the most dis­grace­fulpick­les I ever tast­ed in a respectable boat. Did you have any?”

For myself, I have dis­cov­ered an excel­lent pre­ven­tive against sea-sick­ness, in bal­anc­ing myself. You stand in the cen­tre of the deck, and, as the ship heaves and pitch­es, you move your body about, so as to keep it always straight. When the front of the ship ris­es, you lean for­ward, till the deck almost touch­es your nose; and when its back end gets up, you lean back­wards. This is all very well for an hour or two; but you can’t bal­ance your­self for a week.

George said:

“Let’s go up the riv­er.”

He said we should have fresh air, exer­cise and qui­et; the con­stant change of scene would occu­py our minds (includ­ing what there was of Harris’s); and the hard work would give us a good appetite, and make us sleep well.

Har­ris said he didn’t think George ought to do any­thing that would have a ten­den­cy to make him sleepi­er than he always was, as it might be dan­ger­ous.

He said he didn’t very well under­stand how George was going to sleep any more than he did now, see­ing that there were only twen­ty-four hours in each day, sum­mer and win­ter alike; but thought that if he did sleep any more, he might just as well be dead, and so save his board and lodg­ing.

Har­ris said, how­ev­er, that the riv­er would suit him to a “T.” I don’t know what a “T” is (except a six­pen­ny one, which includes bread-and-but­ter and cake ad lib., and is cheap at the price, if you haven’t had any din­ner). It seems to suit every­body, how­ev­er, which is great­ly to its cred­it.

It suit­ed me to a “T” too, and Har­ris and I both said it was a good idea of George’s; and we said it in a tone that seemed to some­how imply that we were sur­prised that George should have come out so sen­si­ble.

The only one who was not struck with the sug­ges­tion was Mont­moren­cy. He nev­er did care for the riv­er, did Mont­moren­cy.

“It’s all very well for you fel­lows,” he says; “you like it, but I don’t. There’s noth­ing for me to do. Scenery is not in my line, and I don’t smoke. If I see a rat, you won’t stop; and if I go to sleep, you get fool­ing about with the boat, and slop me over­board. If you ask me, I call the whole thing bal­ly fool­ish­ness.”

We were three to one, how­ev­er, and the motion was car­ried.

suf­fer­ing [ˈsʌfəriŋ] n страдание.

vic­tim [ˈvik­tim] n жертва.

fatal [ˈfeitl] adj фатален.

mal­a­dy [ˈmælə­di] n болест.

pre­scrip­tion [priˈskripʃn] n мед. рецепта.

cure [kjuə] n цяр, лекарство.

liv­er [ˈlivə] n черен дроб.

com­plaint [kəmˈ­pleint] n болка, болест, оплакване.

roll [roul] v вълнувам се, нося големи бавни вълни (за море).

deep [di:p] n поет. море, океан

lodge [ˈlɔdʒ] v юр. подавам (жалба и пр.), депозирам (обвинение).

objec­tion [əbˈdʒekʃn] n възражение, протест.

motion [ˈmouʃn] n предложение (на събрание).

car­ry [ˈkæri] v прокарвам, приемам (предложение, законопроект).

major­i­ty [məˈdʒɔri­ti] n мнозинство.

point of view ⇒ гледна точка.

seedy [ˈsi:di] adj разг. неразположен, в лошо настроение.

fit [fit] n пристъп.

gid­di­ness [ˈgi­di­nis] n виене на свят, замайване, шемет.

to come over ⇒ обвземам, обхващам, усещам.

at times ⇒ понякога.

with meтук на мен ми имаше.

out of order ⇒ не в ред.

patent med­i­cine [ˈpeitənt ˈmedsin] n лекарство, което се купува без рецепта.

pill [pil] n хапче за черен дроб.

cir­cu­lar [ˈsə:kjulə] n рекламна листовка.

adver­tise­ment [ədˈvə:tismənt, ам. ˌædvə:ˈtaizmənt] n реклама.

impel [imˈpel] v подтиквам, подбуждам.

con­clu­sion [kənˈklu:ʒən] n заключение, извод.

par­tic­u­lar [pəˈtikjulə] adj особен, специален.

dis­ease [diˈzi:z] n болест.

there­in [ˌðɛərˈin] adv книж., юрид. там, на това място.

to deal with ⇒ ;имам работа с.

vir­u­lent [ˈvir­ulənt] adj опасен, злокачествен (за болест).

sen­sa­tion [senˈ­seiʃn] n усещане, чувство.

treat­ment [ˈtri:tmənt] n лечение.

slight [slait] adj лек, незначителен.

ail­ment [ˈeilmənt] n неразположение, болест, болка.

touch [tʌtʃ] n лек пристъп на болест, атака.

hay fever [ˈheiˌfi:və] n сенна треска/хрема.

fan­cy [ˈfæn­si] v струва ми се, мисля.

to get down ⇒ свалям (книга от рафт и т.н.).

to come to ⇒ ;достигам, намирам.

in an unthink­ing momentтук без да мисля.

idly [ˈaidli] adj лениво; безцелно.

indo­lent­ly [ˈindələntli] adj лениво, мързеливо, отпуснато, вяло.

dis­tem­per [dis­ˈtem­pə] n неразположение, заболяване.

plunge [ˈplʌndʒ] v прен. задълбавам, потъвам, задълбочавам се.

dev­as­tat­ing [ˈde­vəˌsteitiŋ] adj опустошителен, унищожителен.

scourge [ˈskə:dʒ] прен. бедствие, бич, напаст, мор.

half [ha:f] ;adv донякъде, отчасти, отгоре-отгоре.

pre­mon­i­to­ry symp­toms [pri:ˈmɔnitəri] предварителни симптоми.

it was borne in upon me ⇒ това сочеше/показваше; стана ми ясно.

I had fair­ly got it ⇒ определено го имам.

to sit for awhile ⇒ посядам за малко.

list­less­ness [ˈlistlis­nis] n апатия, равнодушие, безразличие.

despair [diˈspɛə] n отчаяние.

to turn over the pagesv прелиствам страниците.

typhoid (fever) [ˈtaifɔid] n мед. коремен тиф.

St. Vitus’s Dance [ˈvaitəs] мед. хорея (заболяване, характеризиращо се с чести неволни движения).

to get inter­est­ed in o.’s case ⇒ заинтересувам се от случая.

to sift s.th. to the bot­tom ⇒ разнищтвам до основи.

ague [ˈeigju:] n малария, треска.

acute [əˈkju:t] adj мед. остър.

com­mence [kəˈ­mens] v започвам.

in about ⇒ около.

fort­night [ˈfɔ:tˌnait] n две седмици.

Bright’s dis­ease [ˈbraits ;diˈzi:z] Брайтова болест, нефрит (остро бъбречно заболяване).

cholera [ˈkɔlərə] n мед. холера.

com­pli­ca­tion [ˌkɔm­pliˈkeiʃn] n усложнение (и мед.).

diph­the­ria [difˈθiəriə] n дифтерит.

plod [plɔd] v работя упорито, бъхтя се.

con­sci­en­tious­ly [ˌkɔnʃiˈenʃəs] adj добросъвестно.

con­clude [kənˈklu:d] v заключавам, правя заключение (извод).

housemaid’s knee [ˈhaus mei­dzˌni:] n мед. артрит в коляното.

to feel hurt about s.th. ⇒ чувствам се засегнат поради.

a sort of slight [slait] до известна степен пренебрежение/обида.

invid­i­ous [inˈ­vidiəs] adj обиден, несправедлив, неудобен.

reser­va­tion [ˌrezəˈveiʃən] n резервираност, сдържаност.

grasp­ing [ˈgra:spiŋ] adj алчен, лаком.

pre­vail [priˈveil] v вземам надмощие.

reflect [riˈflekt] v мисля, разсъждавам.

grew [gru:] pt от grow [grou] ставам.

self­ish [ˈselfiʃ] adj егоистичен.

to be deter­mined to do ⇒ решен да я карам.

gout [gaut] n подагра.

malig­nant [məˈlignənt] n мед. злокачествен.

to be aware of s.th. ⇒ наясно съм.

zymo­sis [zaiˈ­mousis] n инфекционна болест.

there is noth­ing else the mat­ter with me ⇒ няма ми нищо друго.

pon­der [ˈpɔndə] v размишлявам.

acqui­si­tion [ˌæk­wiˈz­iʃən] n придобивка.

to walk the hos­pi­tals ⇒ на практика съм в болница (за студент-медик).

exam­ine [igˈzæmin] v мед. преглеждам.

all of a sud­den ⇒ изведнъж.

start off ⇒ почвам; тръгвам.

pull out ⇒ вадя, изваждам; измъквам.

time [taim] v засичам (време).

make [meik] v изкарвам (се); представям, изобразявам като; тук измервам.

to the minute ⇒ в минута.

induce [inˈdju:s] v придумвам, скланям (c inf).

to come to the opin­ion ⇒ на мнение съм че, стигам до заключение че.

to account for ⇒ обяснявам си, давам си сметка за.

pat [pæt] v потупвам; приглаждам.

call [kɔ:l] v наричам.

waist [weist] n талия, кръст.

to go a bit round each side ⇒ завъртам се леко на всяка страна.

back [bæk] n гръб.

tongue [tʌŋ] n език.

stick out [stik] v показвам, изкарвам навън; (тук) изплезвам.

exam­ine [ɪgˈzæmɪn] v оглеждам, разглеждам (изпитателно, проучвателно).

tip [tip] n връх (на игла и т.н.).

gain [gein] v получавам, придобивам, постигам.

scar­let fever [ˈska:litˌfi:və] n скарлатина.

to crawl out ⇒ изпълзявам.

decrepit [diˈkrepit] adj грохнал, немощен.

wreck [rek] n развалина, руина.

med­ical man ⇒ лекар.

chum [tʃʌm] n приятел, другар.

all for noth­ing ⇒ напразно.

to do s.b. a good turn ⇒ правя на някого добра услуга.

com­mon­place [ˈkɒmənˌ­pleɪs] adj обикновен, обичаен (всекидневен).

straight [stre­it] adv незабавно, веднага; направо.

what is the mat­ter with… ? какво му е на…?

to take up o.’s time отнемам, губя време на някого.

pass away умирам, издъхвам.

how come ⇒ как така? защо?

to clutch hold of ⇒ стискам здраво.

wrist [rist] n китка (на ръка).

chest [tʃest] n гръден кош; гърди.

cow­ard­ly [ˈkaʊədlɪ] adj малодушен, страхлив, боязлив.

butt [bʌt] v бутам, блъскам/мушкам с глава.

write out v изписвам (рецепта).

fold up ⇒ сгъвам, свивам.

go out ⇒ излизам.

take [teik] v отнасям.

chemist’s (shop) [ˈkemists] n аптека (брит.).

hand in ⇒ връчвам; давам на ръка, предавам.

hand back ⇒ връщам.

keep [ki:p] v продавам, харча (стоки).

chemist [ˈkemist] n аптекар.

oblige [əˈblaidʒ] v услужвам, правя услуга на.

ham­per [ˈhæm­pə] v възпрепятствам, спъвам, преча.

ran pt от run [rʌn] v глася (за писмо и пр.).

lb. = [Чете се: ˈpaund] abbr (от libra) lat фунт (0,453 kg).

pt. [paint] пинта (английска мярка за вместимост, равна на 0.568 л).

sharp [ʃa:p] adv точно (за време).

to stuff up o.’s head пълня главата на.

direc­tion [daiˈrekʃən] n обикн. pl указание; упътване; наставления.

pre­serve [priˈzə:v] v запазвам, защитавам.

still going on ⇒ все още продължава.

in the present instance ⇒ в този случай.

go back ⇒ връщам се.

beyond all mis­take ⇒ извън всяко съмнение.

dis­in­cli­na­tion [ˌdis­iŋk­liˈneiʃən] n нежелание, неохота.

in that way ⇒ по този начин.

no tongue can tell ⇒ няма думи за това.

infan­cy [ˈin­fən­si] n ранно детство.

mar­tyr [ˈma:tə] n мъченик.

then [ðen] adv тогава, по това време.

to put s.th. down to ⇒ приписват нещо на.

lazi­ness [ˈleizi­nis] n безделие, мързел.

skulk [skʌlk] v кръшкам, клинча.

lit­tle dev­il разг. негодник.

get up ставам.

liv­ing [ˈliviŋ] n прехрана, издръжка, средства за препитание.

clump [klʌmp] n разг. удар.

strange as it may appear ⇒ колкото и странно да изглежда.

cure [kjuə] v лекувам, церя.

for the time being ⇒ засега, до момента.

anx­ious [ˈæŋʃəs] adj загрижен, разтревожен.

straight away ⇒ незабавно, веднага, тутакси.

then and there ⇒ в същия момент, веднага, на часа, в момента; на място.

it often is so ⇒ често се случва.

rem­e­dy [ˈremi­di] n лек, лекарство.

effi­ca­cious [ˌefiˈkeiʃəs] adj ефикасен, резултатен.

dis­pen­sary [dis­ˈpen­səri] n аптечен пункт.

hearth-rug [ˈha:θˌrʌg] n килимче пред камина.

gave us a piece of act­ing ⇒ изигра пиеса.

illus­tra­tive of [ˈiləsˌtrə­tiv] който показва, разкрива (доказва, е пример за).

fan­cy [ˈfæn­si] v представям си, въобразявам си.

at this point ⇒ в този момент.

swal­low [ˈswɔlou] v гълтам, глътвам, преглътвам.

to keep s.th. in check ⇒ възпирам, сдържам, контролирам.

to draw up to the table ⇒ приближихме се до масата.

toy [tɔi] v играя си, забавлявам се.

rhubarb [ˈru:ba:b] n бот. ревен.

tart [ta:t] n плодова пита.

at the time ⇒ навремето, по онова време, тогава.

to take no inter­est ⇒ не проявявам никакъв интерес.

this duty done ⇒ като приключихме с това задължение.

pipe [paip] n лула.

resume [riˈzju:m] v възобновявам.

unan­i­mous [ju:ˈnæniməs] adj единодушен.

over­work [ˌouvəˈwə:k] n премного работа, преумора.

over­strain [ˌou­vəˈstrein] n преумора, силно напрежение.

equi­lib­ri­um [ˌi:kwi;ˈlibriəm] n равновесие.

cousin [kʌzn] n братовчед.

charge-sheet [ˈtʃa:dʒˌʃi:t] n списък на арестуваните лица и обвиненията срещу тях.

physi­cia­nary [fiˈz­iʃənəri] adj лекарски.

way of putting things ⇒ начин на изразяване.

to seek out ⇒ издирим, изнамерим.

retired [rɪˈ­taɪəd] adj (за място) тихо и усамотено.

spot [spɔt] n място, местенце.

drowsy [ˈdrauzi] adj сънлив, дремлив.

lane [lein] n уличка.

nook [nu:k] n кът, ъгъл.

fairy [ˈfɛəri] n фея.

out of reach ⇒ далече от.

quaint [kweint] adj странен, чудат, необикновен.

perch [pə:tʃ] v кацвам (on); сядам, настанявам (се) нависоко.

eyrie [ˈɛəri] n орлово гнездо.

cliff [klif] n стръмна скала, канара.

whence [wens] cj откъдето.

surge [sə:dʒ] v издигам се, надигам се.

humpy [ˈhʌmpi] adj сърдит, мрачен.

the sort of place ⇒ такова място.

ref­er­ee [ˌre­fəˈri:] n препоръчител.

not for love or mon­ey ⇒ за нищо на света.

bac­cy [ˈbæ­ki] n разг. тютюн.

you can’t beat ⇒ нищо не е по-добро от.

I strong­ly object [əb;ˈdʒekt] енергично протестирам.

wicked [ˈwikid] adj разг. неприятен, отвратителен, противен.

implant­ed [imˈpla:nt] v насаждам.

bosom [ˈbuzəm] v гърди.

airy [ˈɛəri] adj въздушен.

adieu [əˈd­ju:] n сбогом, сбогуване, прощаване.

swag­ger [ˈswægə] v ходя важно; перча се.

deck [dek] n палуба.

Cap­tain Cook [ˈkæptin kuk] английски мореплавател, пръв картографирал Австралия и Нова Зеландия.

Fran­cis Drake [ˈfrɑːn­sis dreik] Франсиз Дрейк, английски пират, мореплавател, изследовател, герой от много морски битки.

Christo­pher Colum­bus [ˈkrɪstəfə kəˈlʌm­bəs] Христофор Колумб, генуезки мореплавател и търговец, откривател на Америка.

all rolled into one ⇒ всички заедно, накуп, в едно.

beef tea ⇒ телешки бульон.

wan [wɔn] adj (за усмивка) вял, без ентусиазъм.

gun­wale [gʌnəl] n мор. планшир, перило; фалшборт.

ashore [əˈʃɔ:] adv към, на брега; на суша.

broth­er-in-law [ˈbrʌðəinˈlɔ:] n (pl broth­ers-in-law) шурей, девер, баджанак, зет.

for the ben­e­fit of his health ⇒ заради здравето му.

berth [bə:θ] n спално място в пароход.

tremen­dous [triˈ­mendəs] adj огромен, страхотен, страшен.

reduc­tion [riˈdʌkʃən] n намаление, отстъпка (на цени).

even­tu­al­ly [iˈven­tjuəli] adv накрая, в края на краищата, рано или късно.

bil­ious [ˈbil­iəs] adj който страда от жлъчка.

affec­tion­ate­ly [əˈfekʃənitli] adj нежено; привързано, с любов.

to turn som­er­sault ⇒ правя салто.

voy­age [ˈvɔi­idʒ] n дълго пътешествие по море.

coast [ koust ] n морски бряг, крайбрежие.

stew­ard [ˈstjuəd] n сервитьор, стюард (на кораб).

before­hand [biˈfɔ:ˌhænd] adv предварително.

the lat­ter [ˈlætə] последен, втори (при споменати две неща).

course [kɔ:s] n линия на поведение, политика; начин на действие; тук алтернатива.

to come so much cheap­er ⇒ излиза далеч по-евтино.

do for ⇒ “разчиствам си сметките със”.

course [kɔ:s] n блюдо, ястие, ядене.

entree [ˈɔn­trеi] n фр. предястие.

joint [dʒɔint] n голямо парче месо (бут, плешка и пр.).

poul­try [ˈpoul­tri] n домашни птици.

to close onфин. затварям (на дадена стойност).

a hearty eater ⇒ човек, който обича да си похапва.

Sheer­ness град на о‑в Шепи в графство Кент.

to con­tent o.s. with s.th. ⇒ задоволявам се само с нещо.

pon­der [ˈpɔndə] v потъвам в размисъл, умувам, премислям.

a good deal ⇒ доста.

dis­con­tent­ed [ˌdiskənˈ­ten­tid] adj недоволен, незадоволен.

arouse [əˈrauz] v възбуждам, предизвиквам, раздвижвам.

to work off ⇒ изразходвам.

to hold on ⇒ държа се здраво (за нещо).

odour [ˈoudə] n миризма, аромат.

min­gle [miŋgl] v смесвам (се) (with).

lad­der [ˈlædə] n стълба.

come up ⇒ идвам, приближавам се.

oily [ˈɔili] adj прен. мазен, ласкателен.

fee­ble [fi:bl] adj слаб, неясен.

to prop up v подкрепям.

lee­ward [ˈli:wəd] n мор. подветрена страна.

blame­less [ˈbleim­lis] adj безупречен, добродетелен.

uppish [ˈʌpiʃ] adj дързък, нахален.

to go in for ⇒ предпочитам.

gorge [gɔ:dʒ] v тъпча се, лапам, плюскам.

broth [brɔθ] n супа, бульон.

steam [sti:m] v пътувам, плавам (с пара).

land­ing-stage [ˈlændiŋ;ˌsteidʒ] n кей.

gaze [geiz] v втренчвам се, впервам поглед; вглеждам се (at, on, upon).

regret­ful­ly [riˈ­gret­fuli] adv със съжаление (разкаяние), неохотно.

she ⇒ употребява се за кораби, тъй като думата е в женски род.

to put s.th. straight ⇒ да оправи нещата.

to set o.’s face against ⇒ твърдо се противопоставям на.

upon o.’s own account ⇒ заради себе си.

queer [kwiə] adj неразположен, болнав.

to do s.th. on pur­pose ⇒ правя нещо нарочно.

affec­ta­tion [ˌæfekˈteiʃən] n преструвка, превземка.

the Chan­nel [ˈtʃænl] Ламанш.

rough [rʌf] adj развълнуван, бурен (за море).

tie [tai] v вържа, връзвам; свързвам; привързвам (to).

berth [bə:θ] n спално място в пароход.

sec­ond mate [meit] мор. втори помощник-капитан.

by one­self ⇒ сам (без ничия помощ; непридружен).

curi­ous [ˈkjuəriəs] adj любопитен.

sea-sick [ˈsi:ˌsik] adj страдащ от морска болест.

come across ⇒ срещам случайно, натъквам се на.

boat-load of peo­ple ⇒ цяла лодка хора.

thou­sands upon thou­sands ⇒ хиляди и хиляди (предлогът on/upon изразява повтаряемост).

swarm [swɔ:m] v тълпя се, трупам се.

Yarmouth [ˈja:məθ] Ярмут, пристанищен град в графство Норфолк, Англия.

to account for ⇒ справям се с, разрешавам, обяснявам.

seem­ing [ˈsi:miŋ] adj привиден; мним.

enig­ma [iˈnig­mə] n загадка.

Southend Pier [ˈsauθendˈ-piə] известен кей за приставане на кораби, използван и за разходки.

rec­ol­lect [ˌrekəˈlekt] v спомням си.

lean­ing out [ˈli:niŋ] v провесвам се от.

port-hole [ˈpɔ:tˌhoul] n мор. порт, страничен отвор на кораб (за слагане дулото на оръдие, за товарене и разтоварване); илюминатор.

come fur­ther in ⇒ прибери се навътре.

Oh my! int О, Боже!

cof­fee room [ˈkɔfiˌru:m] n обща трапезария (столова) в хотел.

Bath [ˈba:θ] Бат е курортен град в крайната североизточна част на графство Съмърсет, Югозападна Англия.

voy­age [ˈvɔi­idʒ] n дълго пътешествие по море.

a bad/good sailor ⇒ (използва се да покаже дали някой страда от морска болест или не).

mild [maild] adj кротък, тих, безобиден; мек, благ.

envi­ous [ˈen­viəs] adj завистлив.

query [ˈkwiəri] n въпрос.

did (спомагателният глагол се използва за усилване на действието) действително, наистина.

con­fess [kənˈfes] v признавам.

Cape Horn [ˈkeipˈhɔ:n] нос Хорн, най-южната точка на Южна Америка.

ves­sel [vesl] n плавателен съд, кораб.

wreck [rek] v претърпявам корабокрушение.

puz­zled [ˈpʌ­zlid] adv озадачен, объркан.

expres­sion [iksˈpreʃən] n израз; изражение

to bright­en up ⇒ оживявам се.

pick­le [pikl] n мн. туршия.

dis­grace­ful [dis­ˈ­gre­is­ful] adj позорен, срамен; безчестен.

respectable [risˈpek­təbl] adj почтен, достоен за уважение, уважаван.

pre­ven­tive [priˈven­tiv] n предпазно средство.

deck [dek] n мор. палуба.

heave [hi:v] v издигам (се).

pitch [pitʃ] v мор. клатя cе надлъжно.

go up the riv­er ⇒ вървя срещу течението на реката.

he might as well be dead ⇒ все едно беше мъртав.

board [bɔ:d] n храна (особ. в пансион).

lodg­ing [ˈlɔdʒiŋ] n жилище (обикн. временно).

ad lib [ˌædˈlib] лат. разг. по желание, както искам, неограничено, по избор.

to its cred­it ⇒ в негова полза.

imply [imˈ­plai] v заключавам в себе си.

to come out ⇒ излизам, оказвам се.

be struck with ⇒ запалвам се по.

to do care for s.th. ⇒ харесвам, обичам, искам.

scenery [ˈsi:nəri] n пейзаж, природа.

not in o.&aposs line ⇒ не е в нечие занятие или сфера на интерес.

rat [ræt] n плъх.

fool about [fu:l] v действам/играя си безотговорно.

slop [slɔp] v разливам (се), изсипвам.

bal­ly fool­ish­nessост. пълни простотии.

to car­ry a motion ⇒ прокарвам, приемам предложение.

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