As we must account for every idle word, so we must for every idle silence. — Franklin.
There can be no fairer ambition than to excel in talk; to be affable, gay, ready, clear and welcome; to have a fact, a thought, or an illustration, pat to every subject; and not only to cheer the flight of time among our intimates, but bear our part in that great international congress, always sitting, where public wrongs are first declared, public errors first corrected, and the course of public opinion shaped, day by day, a little nearer to the right. No measure comes before Parliament but it has been long ago prepared by the grand jury of the talkers; no book is written that has not been largely composed by their assistance. Literature in many of its branches is no other than the shadow of good talk; but the imitation falls far short of the original in life, freedom and effect. There are always two to a talk, giving and taking, comparing experience and according conclusions. Talk is fluid, tentative, continually “in further search and progress”; while written words remain fixed1, become idols2 even to the writer, found wooden dogmatisms, and preserve flies of obvious error in the amber4 of the truth. Last and chief, while literature, gagged with linsey-woolsey, can only deal with a fraction of the life of man, talk goes fancy free and may call a spade a spade. Talk has none of the freezing immunities5 of the pulpit. It cannot, even if it would, become merely aesthetic7 or merely classical like literature. A jest intervenes, the solemn humbug8 is dissolved in laughter, and speech runs forth9 out of the contemporary groove10 into the open fields of nature, cheery and cheering, like schoolboys out of school. And it is in talk alone that we can learn our period and ourselves. In short, the first duty of a man is to speak; that is his chief business in this world; and talk, which is the harmonious11 speech of two or more, is by far the most accessible of pleasures. It costs nothing in money; it is all profit; it completes our education, founds and fosters our friendships, and can be enjoyed at any age and in almost any state of health.
The spice of life is battle; the friendliest relations are still a kind of contest; and if we would not forego all that is valuable in our lot, we must continually face some other person, eye to eye, and wrestle12 a fall whether in love or enmity. It is still by force of body, or power of character or intellect, that we attain13 to worthy14 pleasures. Men and women contend for each other in the lists of love, like rival mesmerists; the active and adroit15 decide their challenges in the sports of the body; and the sedentary sit down to chess or conversation. All sluggish16 and pacific pleasures are, to the same degree, solitary17 and selfish; and every durable18 band between human beings is founded in or heightened by some element of competition. Now, the relation that has the least root in matter is undoubtedly19 that airy one of friendship; and hence, I suppose, it is that good talk most commonly arises among friends. Talk is, indeed, both the scene and instrument of friendship. It is in talk alone that the friends can measure strength, and enjoy that amicable20 counter-assertion of personality which is the gauge21 of relations and the sport of life.
A good talk is not to be had for the asking. Humours must first be accorded in a kind of overture22 or prologue23; hour, company and circumstance be suited; and then, at a fit juncture24, the subject, the quarry25 of two heated minds, spring up like a deer out of the wood. Not that the talker has any of the hunter’s pride, though he has all and more than all his ardour. The genuine artist follows the stream of conversation as an angler follows the windings26 of a brook27, not dallying28 where he fails to “kill.” He trusts implicitly29 to hazard; and he is rewarded by continual variety, continual pleasure, and those changing prospects30 of the truth that are the best of education. There is nothing in a subject, so called, that we should regard it as an idol3, or follow it beyond the promptings of desire. Indeed, there are few subjects; and so far as they are truly talkable, more than the half of them may be reduced to three: that I am I, that you are you, and that there are other people dimly understood to be not quite the same as either. Wherever talk may range, it still runs half the time on these eternal lines. The theme being set, each plays on himself as on an instrument; asserts and justifies31 himself; ransacks32 his brain for instances and opinions, and brings them forth new-minted, to his own surprise and the admiration33 of his adversary34. All natural talk is a festival of ostentation35; and by the laws of the game each accepts and fans the vanity of the other. It is from that reason that we venture to lay ourselves so open, that we dare to be so warmly eloquent36, and that we swell37 in each other’s eyes to such a vast proportion. For talkers, once launched, begin to overflow38 the limits of their ordinary selves, tower up to the height of their secret pretensions39, and give themselves out for the heroes, brave, pious40, musical and wise, that in their most shining moments they aspire41 to be. So they weave for themselves with words and for a while inhabit a palace of delights, temple at once and theatre, where they fill the round of the world’s dignities, and feast with the gods, exulting42 in Kudos43. And when the talk is over, each goes his way, still flushed with vanity and admiration, still trailing clouds of glory; each declines from the height of his ideal orgie, not in a moment, but by slow declension. I remember, in the entr’acte of an afternoon performance, coming forth into the sunshine, in a beautiful green, gardened corner of a romantic city; and as I sat and smoked, the music moving in my blood, I seemed to sit there and evaporate The Flying Dutchman (for it was that I had been hearing) with a wonderful sense of life, warmth, well-being44 and pride; and the noises of the city, voices, bells and marching feet, fell together in my ears like a symphonious orchestra. In the same way, the excitement of a good talk lives for a long while after in the blood, the heart still hot within you, the brain still simmering, and the physical earth swimming around you with the colours of the sunset.
Natural talk, like ploughing, should turn up a large surface of life, rather than dig mines into geological strata45. Masses of experience, anecdote46, incident, cross-lights, quotation47, historical instances, the whole flotsam and jetsam of two minds forced in and in upon the matter in hand from every point of the compass, and from every degree of mental elevation48 and abasement49 — these are the material with which talk is fortified50, the food on which the talkers thrive. Such argument as is proper to the exercise should still be brief and seizing. Talk should proceed by instances; by the apposite, not the expository. It should keep close along the lines of humanity, near the bosoms51 and businesses of men, at the level where history, fiction and experience intersect and illuminate52 each other. I am I, and You are You, with all my heart; but conceive how these lean propositions change and brighten when, instead of words, the actual you and I sit cheek by jowl, the spirit housed in the live body, and the very clothes uttering voices to corroborate53 the story in the face. Not less surprising is the change when we leave off to speak of generalities — the bad, the good, the miser54, and all the characters of Theophrastus — and call up other men, by anecdote or instance, in their very trick and feature; or trading on a common knowledge, toss each other famous names, still glowing with the hues55 of life. Communication is no longer by words, but by the instancing of whole biographies, epics56, systems of philosophy, and epochs of history, in bulk. That which is understood excels that which is spoken in quantity and quality alike; ideas thus figured and personified, change hands, as we may say, like coin; and the speakers imply without effort the most obscure and intricate thoughts. Strangers who have a large common ground of reading will, for this reason, come the sooner to the grapple of genuine converse58. If they know Othello and Napoleon, Consuelo and Clarissa Harlowe, Vautrin and Steenie Steenson, they can leave generalities and begin at once to speak by figures.
Conduct and art are the two subjects that arise most frequently and that embrace the widest range of facts. A few pleasures bear discussion for their own sake, but only those which are most social or most radically59 human; and even these can only be discussed among their devotees. A technicality is always welcome to the expert, whether in athletics60, art or law; I have heard the best kind of talk on technicalities from such rare and happy persons as both know and love their business. No human being ever spoke57 of scenery for above two minutes at a time, which makes me suspect we hear too much of it in literature. The weather is regarded as the very nadir61 and scoff62 of conversational63 topics. And yet the weather, the dramatic element in scenery, is far more tractable64 in language, and far more human both in import and suggestion than the stable features of the landscape. Sailors and shepherds, and the people generally of coast and mountain, talk well of it; and it is often excitingly presented in literature. But the tendency of all living talk draws it back and back into the common focus of humanity. Talk is a creature of the street and market-place, feeding on gossip; and its last resort is still in a discussion on morals. That is the heroic form of gossip; heroic in virtue65 of its high pretensions; but still gossip, because it turns on personalities66. You can keep no men long, nor Scotchmen at all, off moral or theological discussion. These are to all the world what law is to lawyers; they are everybody’s technicalities; the medium through which all consider life, and the dialect in which they express their judgments67. I knew three young men who walked together daily for some two months in a solemn and beautiful forest and in cloudless summer weather; daily they talked with unabated zest68, and yet scarce wandered that whole time beyond two subjects — theology and love. And perhaps neither a court of love nor an assembly of divines would have granted their premisses or welcomed their conclusions.
Conclusions, indeed, are not often reached by talk any more than by private thinking. That is not the profit. The profit is in the exercise, and above all in the experience; for when we reason at large on any subject, we review our state and history in life. From time to time, however, and specially69, I think, in talking art, talk becomes elective, conquering like war, widening the boundaries of knowledge like an exploration. A point arises; the question takes a problematical, a baffling, yet a likely air; the talkers begin to feel lively presentiments70 of some conclusion near at hand; towards this they strive with emulous ardour, each by his own path, and struggling for first utterance71; and then one leaps upon the summit of that matter with a shout, and almost at the same moment the other is beside him; and behold72 they are agreed. Like enough, the progress is illusory, a mere6 cat’s cradle having been wound and unwound out of words. But the sense of joint73 discovery is none the less giddy and inspiriting. And in the life of the talker such triumphs, though imaginary, are neither few nor far apart; they are attained74 with speed and pleasure, in the hour of mirth; and by the nature of the process, they are always worthily75 shared.
There is a certain attitude, combative76 at once and deferential77, eager to fight yet most averse78 to quarrel, which marks out at once the talkable man. It is not eloquence79, not fairness, not obstinacy80, but a certain proportion of all of these that I love to encounter in my amicable adversaries81. They must not be pontiffs holding doctrine82, but huntsmen questing after elements of truth. Neither must they be boys to be instructed, but fellow-teachers with whom I may wrangle83 and agree on equal terms. We must reach some solution, some shadow of consent; for without that, eager talk becomes a torture. But we do not wish to reach it cheaply, or quickly, or without the tussle84 and effort wherein pleasure lies.
The very best talker, with me, is one whom I shall call Spring-Heel’d Jack85. I say so, because I never knew any one who mingled86 so largely the possible ingredients of converse. In the Spanish proverb, the fourth man necessary to compound a salad, is a madman to mix it: Jack is that madman. I know not which is more remarkable87; the insane lucidity88 of his conclusions the humorous eloquence of his language, or his power of method, bringing the whole of life into the focus of the subject treated, mixing the conversational salad like a drunken god. He doubles like the serpent, changes and flashes like the shaken kaleidoscope, transmigrates bodily into the views of others, and so, in the twinkling of an eye and with a heady rapture89, turns questions inside out and flings them empty before you on the ground, like a triumphant90 conjuror91. It is my common practice when a piece of conduct puzzles me, to attack it in the presence of Jack with such grossness, such partiality and such wearing iteration, as at length shall spur him up in its defence. In a moment he transmigrates, dons the required character, and with moonstruck philosophy justifies the act in question. I can fancy nothing to compare with the vim92 of these impersonations, the strange scale of language, flying from Shakespeare to Kant, and from Kant to Major Dyngwell —
“As fast as a musician scatters93 sounds
Out of an instrument”
the sudden, sweeping94 generalisations, the absurd irrelevant95 particularities, the wit, wisdom, folly96, humour, eloquence and bathos, each startling in its kind, and yet all luminous97 in the admired disorder98 of their combination. A talker of a different calibre, though belonging to the same school, is Burly. Burly is a man of a great presence; he commands a larger atmosphere, gives the impression of a grosser mass of character than most men. It has been said of him that his presence could be felt in a room you entered blindfold99; and the same, I think, has been said of other powerful constitutions condemned101 to much physical inaction. There is something boisterous102 and piratic in Burly’s manner of talk which suits well enough with this impression. He will roar you down, he will bury his face in his hands, he will undergo passions of revolt and agony; and meanwhile his attitude of mind is really both conciliatory and receptive; and after Pistol has been out Pistol’d, and the welkin rung for hours, you begin to perceive a certain subsidence in these spring torrents103, points of agreement issue, and you end arm-inarm, and in a glow of mutual104 admiration. The outcry only serves to make your final union the more unexpected and precious. Throughout there has been perfect sincerity105, perfect intelligence, a desire to hear although not always to listen, and an unaffected eagerness to meet concessions106. You have, with Burly, none of the dangers that attend debate with Spring-Heel’d Jack; who may at any moment turn his powers of transmigration on yourself, create for you a view you never held, and then furiously fall on you for holding it. These, at least, are my two favourites, and both are loud, copious107, intolerant talkers. This argues that I myself am in the same category; for if we love talking at all, we love a bright, fierce adversary, who will hold his ground, foot by foot, in much our own manner, sell his attention dearly, and give us our full measure of the dust and exertion108 of battle. Both these men can be beat from a position, but it takes six hours to do it; a high and hard adventure, worth attempting. With both you can pass days in an enchanted109 country of the mind, with people, scenery and manners of its own; live a life apart, more arduous110, active and glowing than any real existence; and come forth again when the talk is over, as out of a theatre or a dream, to find the east wind still blowing and the chimney-pots of the old battered111 city still around you. Jack has the far finer mind, Burly the far more honest; Jack gives us the animated112 poetry, Burly the romantic prose, of similar themes; the one glances high like a meteor and makes a light in darkness; the other, with many changing hues of fire, burns at the sea-level, like a conflagration113; but both have the same humour and artistic114 interests, the same unquenched ardour in pursuit, the same gusts115 of talk and thunderclaps of contradiction.
Cockshot [the late Fleeming Jenkin] is a different article, but vastly entertaining, and has been meat and drink to me for many a long evening. His manner is dry, brisk and pertinacious116, and the choice of words not much. The point about him is his extraordinary readiness and spirit. You can propound117 nothing but he has either a theory about it ready-made, or will have one instantly on the stocks, and proceed to lay its timbers and launch it in your presence. “Let me see,” he will say. “Give me a moment. I should have some theory for that.” A blither spectacle than the vigour118 with which he sets about the task, it were hard to fancy. He is possessed119 by a demoniac energy, welding the elements for his life, and bending ideas, as an athlete bends a horse-shoe, with a visible and lively effort. He has, in theorising, a compass, an art; what I would call the synthetic120 gusto; something of a Herbert Spencer, who should see the fun of the thing. You are not bound, and no more is he, to place your faith in these brand-new opinions. But some of them are right enough, durable even for life; and the poorest serve for a cock shy — as when idle people, after picnics, float a bottle on a pond and have an hour’s diversion ere it sinks. Whichever they are, serious opinions or humours of the moment, he still defends his ventures with indefatigable121 wit and spirit, hitting savagely122 himself, but taking punishment like a man. He knows and never forgets that people talk, first of all, for the sake of talking; conducts himself in the ring, to use the old slang, like a thorough “glutton,” and honestly enjoys a telling facer from his adversary. Cockshot is bottled effervescency, the sworn foe123 of sleep. Three-inthe-morning Cockshot, says a victim. His talk is like the driest of all imaginable dry champagnes. Sleight124 of hand and inimitable quickness are the qualities by which he lives. Athelred, on the other hand, presents you with the spectacle of a sincere and somewhat slow nature thinking aloud. He is the most unready man I ever knew to shine in conversation. You may see him sometimes wrestle with a refractory125 jest for a minute or two together, and perhaps fail to throw it in the end. And there is something singularly engaging, often instructive, in the simplicity126 with which he thus exposes the process as well as the result, the works as well as the dial of the clock. Withal he has his hours of inspiration. Apt words come to him as if by accident, and, coming from deeper down, they smack127 the more personally, they have the more of fine old crusted humanity, rich in sediment128 and humour. There are sayings of his in which he has stamped himself into the very grain of the language; you would think he must have worn the words next his skin and slept with them. Yet it is not as a sayer of particular good things that Athelred is most to he regarded, rather as the stalwart woodman of thought. I have pulled on a light cord often enough, while he has been wielding129 the broad-axe; and between us, on this unequal division, many a specious130 fallacy has fallen. I have known him to battle the same question night after night for years, keeping it in the reign131 of talk, constantly applying it and re-applying it to life with humorous or grave intention, and all the while, never hurrying, nor flagging, nor taking an unfair advantage of the facts. Jack at a given moment, when arising, as it were, from the tripod, can be more radiantly just to those from whom he differs; but then the tenor132 of his thoughts is even calumnious133; while Athelred, slower to forge excuses, is yet slower to condemn100, and sits over the welter of the world, vacillating but still judicial134, and still faithfully contending with his doubts.
Both the last talkers deal much in points of conduct and religion studied in the “dry light” of prose. Indirectly136 and as if against his will the same elements from time to time appear in the troubled and poetic137 talk of Opalstein. His various and exotic knowledge, complete although unready sympathies, and fine, full, discriminative138 flow of language, fit him out to be the best of talkers; so perhaps he is with some, not quite with me — proxime accessit, I should say. He sings the praises of the earth and the arts, flowers and jewels, wine and music, in a moonlight, serenading manner, as to the light guitar; even wisdom comes from his tongue like singing; no one is, indeed, more tuneful in the upper notes. But even while he sings the song of the Sirens, he still hearkens to the barking of the Sphinx. Jarring Byronic notes interrupt the flow of his Horatian humours. His mirth has something of the tragedy of the world for its perpetual background; and he feasts like Don Giovanni to a double orchestra, one lightly sounding for the dance, one pealing139 Beethoven in the distance. He is not truly reconciled either with life or with himself; and this instant war in his members sometimes divides the man’s attention. He does not always, perhaps not often, frankly140 surrender himself in conversation. He brings into the talk other thoughts than those which he expresses; you are conscious that he keeps an eye on something else, that he does not shake off the world, nor quite forget himself. Hence arise occasional disappointments; even an occasional unfairness for his companions, who find themselves one day giving too much, and the next, when they are wary141 out of season, giving perhaps too little. Purcel is in another class from any I have mentioned. He is no debater, but appears in conversation, as occasion rises, in two distinct characters, one of which I admire and fear, and the other love. In the first, he is radiantly civil and rather silent, sits on a high, courtly hilltop, and from that vantage-ground drops you his remarks like favours. He seems not to share in our sublunary contentions142; he wears no sign of interest; when on a sudden there falls in a crystal of wit, so polished that the dull do not perceive it, but so right that the sensitive are silenced. True talk should have more body and blood, should be louder, vainer and more declaratory of the man; the true talker should not hold so steady an advantage over whom he speaks with; and that is one reason out of a score why I prefer my Purcel in his second character, when he unbends into a strain of graceful143 gossip, singing like the fireside kettle. In these moods he has an elegant homeliness144 that rings of the true Queen Anne. I know another person who attains145, in his moments, to the insolence146 of a Restoration comedy, speaking, I declare, as Congreve wrote; but that is a sport of nature, and scarce falls under the rubric, for there is none, alas147! to give him answer.
One last remark occurs: It is the mark of genuine conversation that the sayings can scarce be quoted with their full effect beyond the circle of common friends. To have their proper weight they should appear in a biography, and with the portrait of the speaker. Good talk is dramatic; it is like an impromptu148 piece of acting149 where each should represent himself to the greatest advantage; and that is the best kind of talk where each speaker is most fully135 and candidly150 himself, and where, if you were to shift the speeches round from one to another, there would be the greatest loss in significance and perspicuity151. It is for this reason that talk depends so wholly on our company. We should like to introduce Falstaff and Mercutio, or Falstaff and Sir Toby; but Falstaff in talk with Cordelia seems even painful. Most of us, by the Protean152 quality of man, can talk to some degree with all; but the true talk, that strikes out all the slumbering153 best of us, comes only with the peculiar154 brethren of our spirits, is founded as deep as love in the constitution of our being, and is a thing to relish155 with all our energy, while yet we have it, and to be grateful for forever.
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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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idols
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| 偶像( idol的名词复数 )； 受崇拜的人或物； 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物； 神像 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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immunities
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| 免除，豁免( immunity的名词复数 )； 免疫力 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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aesthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
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humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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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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adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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durable
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| adj.持久的，耐久的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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amicable
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| adj.和平的，友好的；友善的 | |
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gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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overture
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| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
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prologue
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| n.开场白，序言；开端，序幕 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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dallying
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的现在分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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justifies
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| 证明…有理( justify的第三人称单数 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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ransacks
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的第三人称单数 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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41
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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42
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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43
kudos
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| n.荣誉，名声 | |
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44
well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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45
strata
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| n.地层（复数）；社会阶层 | |
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46
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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47
quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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48
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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49
abasement
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| n.滥用 | |
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50
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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51
bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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52
illuminate
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| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
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53
corroborate
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| v.支持，证实，确定 | |
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54
miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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55
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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56
epics
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| n.叙事诗( epic的名词复数 )；壮举；惊人之举；史诗般的电影（或书籍） | |
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57
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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58
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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59
radically
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| ad.根本地，本质地 | |
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60
athletics
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| n.运动，体育，田径运动 | |
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61
nadir
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| n.最低点，无底 | |
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62
scoff
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| n.嘲笑，笑柄，愚弄；v.嘲笑，嘲弄，愚弄，狼吞虎咽 | |
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63
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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64
tractable
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| adj.易驾驭的；温顺的 | |
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65
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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66
personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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67
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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68
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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69
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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70
presentiments
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| n.（对不祥事物的）预感( presentiment的名词复数 ) | |
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71
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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72
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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73
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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74
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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75
worthily
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| 重要地，可敬地，正当地 | |
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76
combative
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| adj.好战的；好斗的 | |
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77
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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78
averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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79
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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80
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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81
adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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82
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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83
wrangle
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| vi.争吵 | |
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84
tussle
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| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
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85
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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86
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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87
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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88
lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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89
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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90
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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91
conjuror
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| n.魔术师，变戏法者 | |
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92
vim
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| n.精力，活力 | |
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93
scatters
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| v.（使）散开， （使）分散，驱散( scatter的第三人称单数 )；撒 | |
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94
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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95
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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96
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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97
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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98
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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99
blindfold
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| vt.蒙住…的眼睛；adj.盲目的；adv.盲目地；n.蒙眼的绷带[布等]； 障眼物，蒙蔽人的事物 | |
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100
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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101
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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102
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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103
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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104
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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105
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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106
concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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107
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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108
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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109
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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110
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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111
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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112
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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113
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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114
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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115
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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116
pertinacious
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| adj.顽固的 | |
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117
propound
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| v.提出 | |
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118
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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119
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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120
synthetic
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| adj.合成的，人工的；综合的；n.人工制品 | |
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121
indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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122
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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123
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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124
sleight
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| n.技巧，花招 | |
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125
refractory
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| adj.倔强的，难驾驭的 | |
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126
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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127
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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128
sediment
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| n.沉淀，沉渣，沉积(物) | |
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129
wielding
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的现在分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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130
specious
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| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
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131
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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132
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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133
calumnious
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| adj.毁谤的，中伤的 | |
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134
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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135
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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136
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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137
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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138
discriminative
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| 有判别力 | |
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139
pealing
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的现在分词 ) | |
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140
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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141
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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142
contentions
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| n.竞争( contention的名词复数 )；争夺；争论；论点 | |
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143
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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144
homeliness
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| n.简朴，朴实；相貌平平 | |
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145
attains
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的第三人称单数 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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146
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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147
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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148
impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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149
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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150
candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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151
perspicuity
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| n.（文体的）明晰 | |
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152
protean
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| adj.反复无常的；变化自如的 | |
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153
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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154
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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155
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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