INSTINCT is usually defined as the faculty1 of acting2 in such away as to produce certain ends, without foresight3 of the ends, and without previous education in the performance . That instincts, as thus defined, exist on an enormous scale in the animal kingdom needs no proof. They are the functional4 correlatives of structure. With the presence of a certain organ goes, one may say, almost always a native aptitude5 for its use.
"Has the bird a gland6 for the secretion7 of oil? She knows instinctively9 how to press the oil from the gland, and apply it to the feather. Has the rattlesnake the grooved10 tooth and gland of poison? He knows without instruction how to make both structure and function most effective against his enemies. Has the silk-worm the function of secreting11 the fluid silk? At the proper time she winds the cocoon12 such as she has never seen, as thousands before have done; and thus without instruction, pattern, or experience, forms a safe abode13 for herself in the period of transformation14. Has the hawk15 talons16? She knows by instinct how to wield17 them effectively against the helpless quarry18." 2
A very common way of talking about these admirably definite tendencies to act is by naming abstractly the purpose they subserve, such as self-preservation20, or defense21, or care for eggs and young -- and saying the animal has an instinctive8 fear of death or love of life, or that she has an instinct of self-preservation, or an instinct of maternity22 and the like. But this represents the animal as obeying abstractions which not once in a million cases is it possible it can have framed. The strict physiological24 way of interpreting the facts leads to far clearer results. The actions we call instinctive all conform to the general reflex type; they are called forth25 by determinate sensory26 stimuli27 in contact with the animal's body, or at a distance in his environment. The cat runs after the mouse, runs or shows fight before the dog, avoids falling from walls and trees, shuns28 fire and water, etc., not because he has any notion either of life or of death, or of self, or of preservation. He has probably attained29 to no one of these conceptions in such a way as to react definitely upon it. He acts in each case separately, and simply because he cannot help it; being so framed that when that particular running thing called a mouse appears in his field of vision he must pursue; that when that particular barking and obstreperous31 thing called a dog appear there he must retire, if at a distance, and scratch if clove32 by; that he must withdraw his feet from water and his face from flame, etc. His nervous system is to a great extent a pre organized bundle of such reactions -- they are as fatal as sneezing, and as exactly correlated to their special excitants as it is to its own. Although the naturalist33 may, for his own convenience, class these reactions under general heads, he must not forget that in the animal it is a particular sensation or perception or image which calls them forth.
At first this view astounds34 us by the enormous number of special adjustments it supposes animals to possess ready-made in anticipation35 of the outer things among which they are to dwell. Can mutual36 dependence37 be so intricate and go so far? Is each thing born fitted to particular other things, and to them exclusively, as locks are fitted to their keys? Undoubtedly38 this must be believed to be so. Each nook and cranny of creation, down to our very skin and entrails, has its living inhabitants, with organs suited to the place, to devour39 and digest the food it harbors and to meet the dangers it conceals41; and the minuteness of adaptation thus shown in the way of structure knows no hounds. Even so are there no bounds to the minuteness of adaptation in the way of conduct which the several inhabitants display.
The older writings on instinct are ineffectual wastes of words, because their authors never came down to this definite and simple point of view, but smothered42 everything in vague wonder at the clairvoyant43 and prophetic power of the animals -- so superior to anything in man -- and at the beneficence of God in endowing them with such a gift. But God's beneficence endows them, first of all, with a nervous system; and, turning our attention to this, makes instinct immediately appear neither more nor less wonderful than all the other facts of life.
Every instinct is an impulse . Whether we shall call such impulses as blushing, sneezing, coughing, smiling, or dodging45, or keeping time to music, instincts or not, is a mere46 matter of terminology47. The process is the same through-out. In his delightfully49 fresh and interesting work, Der Thierische Wille, Herr G. H. Schneider subdivides51 impulses (Triebe) into sensation-impulses, perception-impulses, and idea-impulses. To crouch52 from cold is a sensation-impulse; to turn and follow, if we see people running one way, is a perception-impulse; to cast about for cover, if it begins to blow and rain, is an imagination-impulse. A single complex instinctive action may involve successively the awakening54 of impulses of all three classes. Thus a hungry lion starts to seek prey55 by the awakening in him of imagination coupled with desire; he begins to stalk it when, on eye, ear, or nostril56, he gets an impression of its presence at a certain distance; he springs upon it, either when the booty takes alarm and sees, or when the distance is sufficiently57 reduced; he proceeds to tear and devour it the moment he gets a sensation of its contact with his claws and fangs58. Seeking, stalking, springing, and devouring59 are just so many different kinds of muscular contraction60, and neither kind is called forth by the stimulus61 appropriate to the other.
Schneider says of the hamster, which stores corn in its hole:
"If we analyze62 the propensity63 of storing, we find that it consists of three impulses: First, an impulse to pick up the nutritious64 object, due to perception; second, an impulse to carry it off into the dwelling-place due to the idea of this latter; and third, an impulse to lay it down there, due to the sight of the place. It lies in the nature of the hamster that it should never see a full ear of corn without feeling a desire to strip it; it lieu in its nature to feel, as soon as its cheek-pouches are filled, an irresistible65 desire to hurry to its home; and finally, it lies in its nature that the sight of the storehouse should awaken53 the impulse to empty the cheeks" (p. 208).
In certain animals of a low order the feeling of having executed one impulsive66 step is such an indispensable part of the stimulus of the next one, that the animal cannot make any variation in the order of its performance.
Now, why do the various animals do what seem to us such strange things, in the presence of such outlandish stimuli? Why does the hen, for example, submit herself to the tedium67 of incubating such a fearfully uninteresting set of objects as a nestful of eggs, unless she have some sort of a prophetic inkling of the result? The only answer is ad hominem. We can only interpret the instincts of brutes69 by what we know of instincts in ourselves. Why do men always lie down, when they can, on soft beds rather than on hard floors? Why do they sit round the stove on a cold day? 'Why, in a, room, do they place themselves, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, with their faces towards its middle rather than to the wall? Why do they prefer saddle of mutton and champagne70 to hard-tack and ditch-water? Why does the maiden71 interest the youth so that everything about her seems more important and significant than anything else in the world? Nothing more can be said than that these are human ways, and that every creature likes its own ways, and takes to the following them as a, matter of course. Science may come and consider these ways, and find that most of them are useful. But it is not for the sake of their utility that they are followed, but because at the moment of following them we feel that that is the only appropriate and natural thing to do. Not one man in a billion, when taking his dinner, ever thinks of utility. He eats because the food tastes good and makes him want more. If you ask him why he should want to eat more of what tastes like that, instead of revering72 you as a philosopher he will probably laugh at you for a fool. The connection between the savory73 sensation and the act it awakens74 is for him absolute and selbstverständlich, an ' a priori syn- thesis' of the most perfect sort, needing no proof but its own evidence. It takes, in short, what Berkeley calls a mind debauched by learning to carry the process of making the natural seem strange, so far as to ask for the why of any instinctive human act. To the metaphysician alone can such questions occur as: Why do we smile, when pleased, and not scowl75? Why are we unable to talk to a crowd as we talk to a single friend? Why does a particular maiden turn our wits so upside-down? The common man can only say, "Of course we smile, of course our heart palpitates at the sight of the crowd, of course we love the maiden, that beautiful soul clad in that perfect form, so palpably and flagrantly made from all eternity76 to be loved!"
And so, probably, does each animal feel about the particular things it tends to do in presence of particular objects. They, too, are a priori syntheses. To the lion it is the lioness which is made to be loved; to the bear, the she-bear. To the broody hen the notion would probably seem monstrous77 that there should be a creature in the world to whom a nestful of eggs was not the utterly78 fascinating and precious and never-to-be-too-much-sat-upon object which it is to her. 3
Thus we may be sure that, however mysterious some animals' instincts may appear to us, our instincts will appear no less mysterious to them. And we may conclude that, to the animal which obeys it, every impulse and every step of every instinct shines with its own sufficient light, end seems at the moment the only eternally right and proper thing to do. It is done for its own sake exclusively. What voluptuous79 thrill may not shake a fly, when she at last discovers the one particular leaf, or carrion80, or bit of dung, that out of all the world can stimulate81 her ovipositor to its discharge? Does not the discharge then seem to her the only fitting thing? And need she care or know anything about the future maggot and its food?
Since the egg-laying instincts are simple examples to consider, a few quotations82 about them from Schneider may be serviceable:
"The phenomenon so often talked about, so variously interpreted, so surrounded with mystification, that an insect should always lay her eggs in a spot appropriate to the nourishment84 of her young, is no more marvellous than the phenomenon that every animal pairs with a mate capable of bearing posterity85, or feeds on material capable of affording him nourishment. . . . Not only the choice of a place for laying the eggs, but all the various acts for depositing and protecting them, are occasioned by the perception of the proper object, and the relation of this perception to the various stages of maternal86 impulse. When the burying beetle87 perceives a carrion, she is not only impelled88 to approach it and lodge90 her eggs in it, but also to go through the movements requisite91 for burying it; just as a bird who sees his hen-bird is impelled to caress92 her, to strut93 around her, dance before her, or in some other way to woo her; just as a tiger, when he sees an antelope94, is impelled to stalk it, to pounce95 upon it, and to strangle it. When the tailor-bee cuts out pieces of rose-leaf, bends them, carries them into a caterpillar-or mouse-hole in trees or in the earth, covers their seams again with other pieces, and so makes a thimble-shaped case -- when she fills this with honey and lays an egg in it, all these various appropriate expressions of her will are to be explained by supposing that at the time when the eggs are ripe within her, the appearance of a suitable caterpillar- or mouse-hole and the perception of rose-leaves are so correlated in the insect with the several impulses in question, that the performances follow as a matter of course when the perceptions take place. . . . "
The perception of the empty nest, or of a single egg, seems in birds to stand in such a close relation to the physiological functions of oviparation, that it serves as a direct stimulus to these functions, while the perception of a sufficient. number of eggs has just the opposite effect. It is well known that hens and ducks lay more eggs if we keep removing them than if we leave them in the nest. The impulse to sit arises, as a rule, when a bird sees a certain number of eggs in her nest. If this number is not yet to be seen there, the ducks continue to lay, although they perhaps have laid twice as many eggs as they are accustomed to sit upon. . . . That sitting, also, is independent of any idea of purpose and is a pure perception-impulse is evident, among other things, from the fact that many birds, e.g. wild ducks, steal eggs from each other. . . . The bodily disposition96 to sit is, it is true, one condition [since broody hens will sit where there are no eggs], but the perception of the eggs is the other condition of the activity of the incubating impulse. The propensity of the cuckoo and of the cow-bird to lay their eggs in the nests of other species must also be interpreted as a pure perception-impulse. These birds have no bodily disposition to become broody, and there is therefore in them no connection between the perception of an egg and the impulse to sat upon it. Eggs ripen97, however, in their oviducts, and the body tends to get rid of them. And since the two birds just named do not drop their eggs any-where on the ground, but in nests, which are the only places where they may preserve the species, it might easily appear that such preservation of the species was what they had in view, and that they acted with full consciousness of the purpose. But this is not so. . . . The cuckoo is simply excited by the perception of quite determinate sorts of nest, which already contain eggs, to drop her own into them, and throw the others out, because this perception is a direct stimulus to these acts. It is impossible that she should have any notion of the other bird com-ing and sitting on her egg." 5
Instincts Not Always Blind or Invariable.
Remember that nothing is said yet of the origin of instincts, but only of the constitution of those that exist fully50 formed. How stands it with the instincts of mankind?
Nothing is commoner than the remark that Man differs from lower creatures by the almost total absence of instincts, and the assumption of their work in him by 'reason.' A fruitless discussion might be waged on this point by two theorizers who were careful not to define their terms. 'Reason' might be used, as it often has been, since Kant, not as the mere power of 'inferring,' but also as a name for the tendency to obey impulses of a certain lofty sort, such as duty, or universal ends. And 'instinct ' might have its significance so broadened as to cover all impulses whatever, even the impulse to act from the idea of a distant fact, as well as the impulse to act from a present sensation. Were the word instinct used in this broad way, it would of course be impossible to restrict it, as we began by doing, to actions done with no prevision of an end. We must of course avoid a quarrel about words, and the facts of the case are really tolerably plain. Man has a far greater variety of impulses than any lower animal; and any one of these impulses, taken in itself, is as 'blind' as the lowest instinct can be; but, owing to man's memory, power of reflection, and power of inference, they come each one to be felt by him, after he has once yielded to them and experienced their results, in connection with a foresight of those results. In this condition an impulse acted out may be said to be acted out, in pert at least, for the sake of its results. It is obvious that every instinctive act, in an animal with memory, must cease to be 'blind' after being once repeated, and must be accompanied with foresight of its 'end' just so far as that end may have fallen under the animal's cognizance. An insect that lays her eggs in a place where she never sees them hatched must always do so 'blindly;' but a hen who has already hatched a brood can hardly be assumed to sit with perfect 'blindness' on her second nest. Some expectation of consequences must in every case like this be aroused; and this expectation, according as it is that of something desired or of something disliked, must necessarily either reinforce or inhibit99 the mere impulse. The hen's idea of the chickens would probably encourage her to sit; a rat's memory, on, the other hand, of a former escape from a trap would neutralize100 his impulse to take bait from anything that reminded him of that trap. If a boy sees a fat hopping-toad101, he probably has incontinently an impulse (especially if with other boys) to smash the creature with a stone, which impulse we may suppose him blindly to obey. But something in the expression of the dying toad's clasped hands suggests the meanness of the act, or reminds him of sayings he has heard about the sufferings of animals being like his own; so that, when next he is tempted102 by a toad, an idea arises which, far from spurring him again to the torment104, prompts kindly105 actions, and may even make him the toad's champion against less reflecting boys.
It is plain, then, that, no matter how well endowed an animal may originally be in the way of instincts, his resultant actions will be much modified if the instincts combine with experience, if in addition to impulses he have memories, associations, inferences, and expectations, on any considerable scale. An object O, on which he has an instinctive impulse to react in the manner A, would directly provoke him to that reaction. But O has meantime become for him a sign of the nearness of P, on which he has an equally strong impulse to react in the manner B, quite unlike A. So that when he meets O the immediate44 impulse A and the remote impulse B struggle in his breast for the mastery. The fatality106 and uniformity said to be characteristic of instinctive actions will be so little manifest that one might be tempted to deny to him altogether the possession of any instinct about the object O. Yet how false this judgment107 would be! The instinct about O is there; only by the complication of the associative machinery108 it has come into conflict with another instinct about P.
Here we immediately reap the good fruits of our simple physiological conception of what an instinct is. If it be a mere excite-motor impulse, due to the pre-existence of a certain 'reflex arc' in the nerve-centres of the creature, of course it must follow the law of all such reflex area. One liability of such area is to have their activity 'inhibited109,' by other processes going on at the same time. It makes no difference whether the are be organized at birth, or ripen spontaneously later, or be due to acquired habit, it must take its chances with all the other area, and sometimes succeed, and sometimes fail, in drafting off the currents through itself. The mystical view of an instinct would make it invariable. The physiological view would require it to show occasional irregularities in any animal in whom the number of separate instincts, and the possible entrance of the same stimulus into several of them, were great. And such irregularities are what every superior animal's instincts do show in abundance." 6
Wherever the mind is elevated enough to discriminate110; wherever several distinct sensory elements must combine to discharge the reflex-arc; wherever, instead of plumping into action instantly at the first rough intimation of what sort of a thing is there, the agent waits to see which one of its kind it is and what the circumstances are of its appearance; wherever different individuals and different circumstances can impel89 him in different ways; wherever these are the conditions -- we have a masking of the elementary constitution of the instinctive life. The whole story of our dealings with the lower wild animals is the history of our taking advantage of the way in which they judge of everything by its mere label, as it were, so as to ensnare or kill them. Nature, in them, has left matters in this rough way, and made them act always in the manner which would be oftenest right. There are more worms unattached to hooks than impaled111 upon them; therefore, on the whole, says Nature to her fishy112 children, bite at every worm and take your chances. But as her children get higher, and their lives more precious, she reduces the risks. Since what seems to be the same object may be now a genuine food and now a bait; since in gregarious113 species each individual may prove to be either the friend or the rival, according to the circumstances, of another; since any entirely114 unknown object may be fraught115 with weal or woe116, Nature implants117 contrary impulses to act on many classes of things, and leaves it to slight alterations118 in the conditions of the individual case to decide which impulse shall carry the day. Thus, greediness and suspicion, curiosity and timidity, coyness and desire, bashfulness and vanity, sociability119 and pugnacity120, seem to shoot over into each other as quickly, and to remain in as unstable121 equilibrium122, in the higher birds and mammals as in man. They are all impulses, congenital, blind at first, and productive of motor reactions of a rigorously determinate sort. Each one of them, then, is an instinct, as instincts are commonly defined. But they contradict each other -- 'experience' in each particular opportunity of application usually deciding the issue. The animal that exhibits them loses the 'instinctive' demeanor123 and appears to lead a life of hesitation124 and choice, an intellectual life; not, however, because he has no instincts -- rather because he has so many that they block each other's path .
Thus, then, without troubling ourselves about the words instinct and reason, we may confidently say that however uncertain man's reactions upon his environment may some-times seem in comparison with those of lower creatures, the uncertainty125 is probably not due to their possession of any principles of action which he lacks . On the contrary, man possesses all the impulses that they have, and a great many more besides . In other words, there is no material antagonism126 between instinct and reason. Reason, per se, can inhibit no impulses; the only thing that can neutralize an impulse is an impulse the other way. Reason may, however, make an inference which will excite the imagination so as to set loose the impulse the other way; and thus, though the animal richest in reason might be also the animal richest in instinctive impulses too, he would never seem the fatal automaton127 which a, merely instinctive animal would be.
Let us now turn to human impulses with a, little more detail. All we have ascertained129 so far is that impulses of an originally instinctive character may exist, and yet not betray themselves by automatic fatality of conduct. But in mall what impulses do exist? In the light of what has been said, it is obvious that an existing impulse may not always be superficially apparent even when its object is there. And we shall see that some impulses may be masked by causes of which we have not yet spoken.
Two Principles of Non-Uniformity in Instincts.
Were one devising an abstract scheme, nothing would be easier than to discover from an animal's actions just how many instincts he possessed130. He would react in one way only upon each class of objects with which his life had to deal; he would react in identically the same way upon every specimen131 of a class; and he would react invariably during his whole life. There would be no gaps among his instincts; all would come to light without perversion132 or disguise. But there are no such abstract animals, and no-where does the instinctive life display itself in such a, way. Not only, as we have seen, may objects of the same class arouse reactions of Opposite sorts in consequence of slight changes in tile circumstances, in the individual object, or in the agent's inward condition; but two other principles of which we have not yet spoken, may come into play and produce results so striking that observers as eminent133 as Messrs. D. A. Spalding and Romanes do not hesitate to call them 'derangements of the mental constitution,' and to conclude that the instinctive machinery has got out of gear.
These principles are those
1. Of the inhibition of instincts by habits; and
2. Of the transitoriness of instincts .
Taken in conjunction with the two former principles -- that the same object may excite ambiguous impulses, or suggest an impulse different from that which it excites, by suggesting a remote object -- they explain any amount of departure from uniformity of conduct, without implying any getting out of gear of the elementary impulses from which the conduct flows.
1. The law of inhibition of instincts by habits is this:
When objects of a certain class elicit134 from an animal a certain sort of reaction, it often happens that the animal becomes partial to the first specimen of the class on which it has reacted, and will not afterward135 react on any other specimen .
The selection of a particular hole to live in, of a, particular mate, of a particular feeding-ground, a particular variety of diet, a particular anything, in short, out of a possible multitude, is a very wide-spread tendency among animals, even those low down in the scale. The limpet will return to the same sticking-place in its rook, and the lobster136 to its favorite nook on the sea-bottom. The rabbit will deposit its dung in the same corner; the bird makes its nest on the same bough137. But each of these preferences carries with it an insensibility to other opportunities and occasions -- an insensibility which can only be described physiologically138 as an inhibition of new impulses by the habit of old ones already formed. The possession of homes and wives of our own makes us strangely insensible to the charms of those of other people; Few of us are adventurous139 in the matter of food; in fact, most of us think there is something disgusting in a bill of fare to which we are unused. Strangers, we are apt to think, cannot be worth knowing, especially if they come from distant cities, etc. The original impulse which got us homes, wives, dietaries, and friends at all, seems to exhaust itself in its first achievements and to leave no surplus energy for reacting on new cases. And so it comes about that, witnessing this torpor141, an observer of mankind might say that no instinctive propensity toward certain objects existed at all. It existed, but it existed miscellaneously, or as an instinct pure and simple, only before habit was formed. A habit, once grafted142 on an instinctive tendency, restricts the range of the tendency itself, and keeps us from reacting on any but the habitual143 object, although other objects might just as well have been chosen had they been the first-comers.
Another sort of arrest of instinct by habit is where the same class of objects awakens contrary instinctive impulses. Here the impulse first followed toward a given individual of the class is apt to keep him from ever awakening the opposite impulse in us. In fact, the whole class may be protected by this individual specimen from the application to it of the other impulse. Animals, for example, awaken in a child the opposite impulses of fearing and fondling. But if a child, in his first attempts to pat a dog, gets snapped at or bitten, so that the impulse of fear is strongly aroused, it may be that for years to come no dog will excite in him the impulse to fondle again. On the other hand, the greatest natural enemies, if carefully introduced to each other when young and guided at the outset by superior authority, settle down into those 'happy families' of friends which we see in our menageries. Young animals, immediately afterbirth, have no instinct of fear, but show their dependence by allowing themselves to be freely handled. Later, however, they grow 'wild,' and, if left to themselves, will not let man approach them. I am told by farmers in the Adirondack wilderness144 that it is a very serious matter if a cow wanders off and calves145 in the woods and is not found for a week or more. The calf146, by that time, is as wild and almost as fleet as a deer, and hard to capture without violence. But calves rarely show any particular wildness to the men who have been in contact with them during the first days of their life, when the instinct to attach themselves is uppermost, nor do they dread147 strangers as they would if brought up wild.
Chickens give a curious illustration of the same law. Mr. Spalding's wonderful article on instinct shall supply us with the facts. These little creatures show opposite instincts of attachment149 and fear, either of which may be aroused by the same object, man. If a chick is born in the absence of the hen, it
"will follow any moving object. And, when guided by sight alone, they seem to have no mole150 disposition to follow a hen than to follow a duck or a human being. Unreflecting lookers-on, when they saw chickens a day old running after me," says Mr. Spalding, "and older ones following me for miles, and answering to my whistle, imagined that I must have some occult power over the creatures: whereas I had simply allowed them to follow me from the first. There is the instinct to follow; and the ear, prior to experience, attaches them to the right object." 7
But if a man presents himself for the first time when the instinct of fear is strong, the phenomena151 are altogether reversed. Mr. Spalding kept three chickens hooded152 until they were nearly four days old, and thus describes their behavior:
"Each of them, on being unhooded, evinced the greatest terror tome, dashing off in the opposite direction whenever I sought to approach it. The table on which they were unhooded stood before a window, and each in its turn beat against the window like a wild bird. One of them darted153 behind some books, and, squeezing itself into a corner, remained cowering154 for a length of time. We might guess at the meaning of this strange and exceptional wildness; but the odd fact is enough for my present purpose. Whatever might have been the meaning of this marked change in their mental constitution-had they been unhooded on the previous day they would have run to me instead of from me -- it could not have been the effect of experience; it must have resulted wholly from changes in their own organizations." 8
Their case was precisely155 analogous156 to that of the Adirondack calves. The two opposite instincts relative to the same object ripen in succession. If the first one engenders157 a habit, that habit will inhibit the application of the second instinct to that object. All animals are tame during the earliest phase of their infancy158. Habits formed then limit the effects of whatever instincts of wildness may later be evolved.
Mr. Romanes gives some very curious examples of the way in which instinctive tendencies may be altered by the habits to which their first 'objects' have given rise. The cases are a little more complicated than those mentioned in the text, inasmuch as the object reacted on not only starts a habit which inhibits160 other kinds of impulse toward it (although such other kinds might be natural), but even modifies by its own peculiar161 conduct the constitution of the impulse which it actually awakens.
Two of the instances in question are those of hens who hatched out broods of chicks after having (in three previous years) hatched ducks. They strove to coax162 or to compel their new progeny163 to enter the water, and seemed much perplexed164 at their unwillingness165. Another hen adopted a brood of young ferrets which, having lost their mother, were put under her. During all the time they were left with her she had to sit on the nest, for they could not wander like young chicks. She obeyed their hoarse166 growling167 as she would have obeyed her chickens' peep. ) She combed out their hair with her bill, and "used frequently to stop and look with one eye at the wriggling168 nestful, with an inquiring graze, expressive169 of astonishment170." At other times she would fly up with aloud scream, doubtless because the orphans171 had nipped her in their search for teats. Finally, a Brahma hen nursed a young peacock during the enormous period of eighteen months, and never laid any eggs during all this time. The abnormal degree of pride which she showed in her wonderful chicken is described by Dr. Romanes as ludicrous." 9
2. This leads us to the law of transitoriness, which is this: Many instincts ripen at a certain age and then fade away . A consequence of this law is that if, during the time of such an instinct's vivacity172, objects adequate to arouse it are met with, a habit of acting on them is formed, which remains173 when the original instinct has passed away; but that if no such objects are met with, then no habit will be formed; and, later on in life, when the animal meets the objects, he will altogether fail to react, as at the earlier epoch174 he would instinctively have done.
No doubt such a law is restricted. Some instincts are far less transient than others -- those connected with feeding and 'self-preservation' may hardly be transient at all, end some, after fading out for a time, recur175 as strong as ever, e.g., the instincts of pairing and rearing young. The law, however, though not absolute, is certainly very wide-spread, and a few examples will illustrate176 just what it means.
In the chickens and calves above mentioned, it is obvious that the instinct to follow and become attached fades out after a few days, and that the instinct of flight then takes its place, the conduct of the creature toward man being decided177 by the formation or non-formation of a certain habit during those days. The transiency of the chicken's instinct to follow is also proved by its conduct toward the hen. Mr. Spalding kept some chickens shut up till they were comparatively old, and, speaking of these, he says:
"A chicken that has not heard the call of the mother till until eight or ten days old then hears it as if it heard it not. I regret to find that on this point my notes are not so full as I could wish, or as they might have been. There is, however, an account of one chicken that could not be returned to the mother when ten days old. The hen followed it, and tried to entice178 it in every way; still, it continually left her and ran to the house or to any person of whom it caught sight. This it persisted in doing, though beaten back with a small branch dozens of times, and, indeed, cruelly mistreated. It was also placed under the mother at night, but it again left her in the morning."
The instinct of sucking is ripe in all mammals at birth, and leads to that habit of taking the breast which, in the human infant, may be prolonged by daily exercise long beyond its usual term of a year or a year and a half. But the instinct itself is transient, in the sense that if, for any reason, the child be fed by spoon during the first few days of its life and not put to the breast, it may be no easy matter after that to make it suck at all. So of calves. If their mother die, or be dry, or refuse to let them suck for a day or two, so that they are fed by hand, it becomes hard to get them to suck at all when a new nurse is provided. The ease with which sucking creatures are weaned, by simply breaking the habit and giving them food in a new way, shows that the instinct, purely179 as such, must be entirely extinct.
Assuredly the simple fact that instincts are transient, and that the effect of later ones may be altered by the habits which earlier ones have left behind, is a far more philosophical180 explanation than the notion of an instinctive constitution vaguely182 'deranged183' or 'thrown out of gear.'
I have observed a Scotch184 terrier, born on the floor of a stable in December, and transferred six weeks later to a, carpeted house, make, when he was less than four months old, a very elaborate pretense185 of burying things, such as gloves, etc., with which he had played till he was tired. He scratched the carpet with his forefeet, dropped the object from his mouth upon the spot, and then scratched all about it (with both fore- and hind-feet, if I remember rightly, and finally went away and let it lie. Of course, the act was entirely useless. I saw him perform it at that age, some four or five times, and never again in his life. The conditions were not present to fix a habit which should last when the prompting instinct died away. But suppose meat instead of a, glove, earth instead of a carpet, hunger-pangs instead of a fresh supper a few hours later, and it is easy to see how this dog might have got into a habit of burying superfluous187 food, which might have lasted all his life. Who can swear that the strictly188 instructive part of the food-burying propensity in the wild Canidæ may not be as short-lived as it was in this terrier?
A similar instance is given by Dr. H. D. Schmidt 10 of New Orleans:
"I may cite the example of a young squirrel which I had tamed, a number of years ago, when serving in the army, and when I had sufficient leisure; and opportunity to study the habits of animals. In the autumn, before the winter sets in, adult squirrels bury as many nuts as they can collect, separately, in the ground. Holding the nut firmly between their teeth, they first scratch a hole in the ground, and, after pointing their ears in all directions to convince themselves that no enemy is near, they ram23 -- the head, with the nut still between the front teeth, serving as a sledge-hammer -- the nut into the ground, and then fill up the hole by means of their paws. The whole process is executed with great rapidity, and, as it appeared to me, always with exactly the same movements; in fact, it is done so well that I could never discover the traces of the burial-ground. Now, as regards the young squirrel, which, of course, never had been present at the burial of a nut, I observed that, after having eaten a number of hickory-nuts to appease189 its appetite, it would take one between its teeth, then sit upright and listen in all directions. Finding all right, it would scratch upon the smooth blanket on which I was playing with it as if to make a hole, then hammer with the nut between its teeth upon the blanket, and finally perform all the motions required to fill up a hole -- in the air; after which it would jump away, leaving the nut, of course, uncovered."
The anecdote190, of course, illustrates191 beautifully the close relation of instinct to reflex action -- a particular perception calls forth particular movements, and that is all. Dr. Schmidt writes me that the squirrel in question soon passed away from his observation. It may fairly be presumed that, if he had been long retained prisoner in a cage, he would soon have forgotten his gesticulations over the hickory-nuts.
One might, indeed, go still further with safety, and expect that, if such a captive squirrel were then set free, he would never afterwards acquire this peculiar instinct of his tribe. 11
Leaving lower animals aside, and turning to human instincts, we see the law of transiency corroborated193 on the widest scale by the alternation of different interests and passions as human life goes on. With the child, life is all play and fairy-tales and learning the external properties of 'things;' with the youth, it is bodily exercises of a more systematic194 sort, novels of the real world, boon-fellowship and song, friendship and love, nature, travel and adventure, science and philosophy; with the man, ambition-and policy, acquisitiveness, responsibility to others, and the selfish zest195 of the battle of life. If a boy grows up alone at the age of games and sports, and learns neither to play ball, nor row, nor sail, nor ride, nor skate, nor shoot, probably he will be sedentary to the end of his days; and, though the best of opportunities be afforded him for learning these things later, it is a hundred to one but he will pass them by and shrink back from the effort of taking those necessary first steps the prospect196 of which, at an earlier age, would have filled him with eager delight. The sexual passion expires after a protracted197 reign198; but it is well known that its peculiar manifestations200 in a given individual depend almost entirely on the habits he may form during the early period of its activity. Exposure to bad company then makes him a loose liver all his days; chastity kept at first makes the same easy later on. In all pedagogy the great thing is to strike the iron while hot, and to seize the wave of the pupil's interest in each successive subject before its ebb201 has come, so that knowledge may be got and a habit of skill acquired -- a headway of interest, in short, secured, on which afterward the individual may float. There is a happy moment for fixing skill in drawing, for making boys collectors in natural history, and presently dissectors and botanists202; then for initiating203 them into the harmonies of mechanics and the wonders of physical and chemical law. Later, introspective psychology204 and the metaphysical and religious mysteries take their turn; and, last of all, the drama of human affairs and worldly wisdom in the widest sense of the term. In each of us a saturation-point is soon reached in all these things; the impetus205 of our purely intellectual zeal206 expires, and unless the topic be one associated with some urgent personal need that keeps our wits constantly whetted207 about it, we settle into an equilibrium, and live on what we learned when our interest was fresh and instinctive, without adding to the store. Outside of their own business, the ideas gained by men before they are twenty-five are practically the only ideas they shall have in their lives. They cannot get anything new. Disinterested208 curiosity is past, the mental grooves209 and channels set, the power of assimilation gone. If by chance we ever do learn anything about some entirely new topic we are afflicted210 with a strange sense of insecurity, and we fear to advance a resolute211 opinion. But, with things learned in the plastic days of instinctive curiosity we never lose entirely our sense of being at home. There remains a kinship, a sentiment of intimate acquaintance, which, even when we know we have failed to keep abreast212 of the subject, matters us with a sense of power over it, and makes us feel not altogether out of the pale.
Whatever individual exceptions might be cited to this are of the sort that 'prove the rule.'
To detect the moment of the instinctive readiness for the subject is, then, the first duty of every educator. As for the pupils, it would probably lead to a more earnest temper on the part of college students if they had less belief in their unlimited213 future intellectual potentialities, and could be brought to realize that whatever physics and political economy and philosophy they are now acquiring are, for better or worse, the physics and political economy and philosophy that will have to serve them to the end.
The natural conclusion to draw from this transiency of instincts is that most instincts are implanted for the sake of giving rise to habits, and that, this purpose once accomplished215, the instincts themselves, as such, have no raison d'être in the psychical217 economy, and consequently fade away . That occasionally an instinct should fade before circumstances permit of a habit being formed, or that, if the habit be formed, other factors than the pure instinct should modify its course, need not surprise us. Life is full of the imperfect adjustment to individual cases, of arrangements which, taking the species as a whole, are quite orderly and regular. Instinct cannot be expected to escape this general risk.
Special Human Instincts.
Let us now test our principles by turning to human instincts in more detail. We cannot pretend in these pages to be minute or exhaustive. But we can say enough to set all the above generalities in a more favorable light. But, first, what kind of motor reactions upon objects shall we count as instincts? This, as aforesaid, is a somewhat arbitrary matter. Some of the actions aroused in us by objects go no further than our own bodies. Such is the bristling218 up of the attention when a novel object is perceived, or the 'expression' on the face or the breathing apparatus219 of an emotion it may excite. These movements merge220 into ordinary reflex actions like laughing when tickled221, or making a wry222 face at a bad taste. Other actions take effect upon the outer world. Such are flight from a wild beast, imitation of what we see a comrade do, etc. On the whole it is best to be catholic, since it is very hard to draw an exact line; and call both of these kinds of activity instinctive, so far as either may be naturally provoked by the presence of special sorts of outward fact.
Professor Preyer223, in his careful little work, 'Die Seeles Kindes,' says "instinctive acts are in man few in number, and, apart from those connected with the sexual passion, difficult to recognize after early youth is past." And he adds, "so much the more attention should we pay to the instinctive movements of new-born babies, sucklings, and small children." That instinctive acts should be easiest recognized in childhood would be a very natural effect of our principles of transitoriness, and of the restrictive influence of habits once acquired; but we shall see how far they are from being 'few in number' in man. Professor Preyer divides the movements of infants into impulsive, reflex, and instinctive. By impulsive movements he means random224 movements of limbs, body, and voice, with no aim, and before perception is aroused. Among the first reflex movements are crying on contact with the air, sneezing, snuffling, snoring, coughing, sighing, sobbing225, gagging, vomiting226, hiccuping227, starting, moving the limbs when tickled, touched, or blown upon, etc., etc.
Of the movements called by him instinctive in the child, Professor Preyer gives a full account. Herr Schneider does the same; and as their descriptions agree with each other and with what other writers about infancy say, I will base my own very brief statement on theirs.
Sucking: almost perfect at birth; not coupled with any congenital tendency to seek the breast, this being a later acquisition. As we have seen, sucking is a transitory instinct.
Biting an object placed in the mouth, chewing and grinding the teeth; licking sugar; making characteristic grimaces229 over bitter and sweet tastes; spitting out.
Clasping an object which touches the fingers or toes. Later, attempts to grasp at an object seen at a distance.
Pointing at such objects, and making a peculiar sound expressive of desire, which, in my own three children, was the first manifestation199 of speech, occurring many weeks before other significant sounds.
Carrying to the mouth of the object, when grasped. This instinct, guided and inhibited by the sense of taste, and combined with the instincts of biting, chewing, sucking, spitting-out, etc., and with the reflex act of swallowing, leads in the individual to a set of habits which constitute his function of alimentation, and which may or may not be gradually modified as life goes on.
Crying at bodily discomfort230, hunger, or pain, and at solitude231. Smiling at being noticed, fondled, or smiled at by others. It seems very doubtful whether young infants have any instinctive fear of a terrible or scowling232 face. I have been unable to make my own children, under a year old, change their expression when I changed mine; at most they manifested attention or curiosity. Preyer instances a protrusion233 of the lips, which, he says, may be so great as to remind one of that in the chimpanzee, as an instinctive expression of concentrated attention in the human infant.
Turning the head aside as a gesture of rejection234, a gesture usually accompanied with a frown and a bending back of the body, and with holding the breath.
Holding head erect235.
Sitting up.
Standing236.
Locomotion237 . The early movements of children's limbs are more or less symmetrical. Later a baby will move his legs in alternation if suspended in the air. But until the impulse to walk awakens by the natural ripening238 of the nerve-centres, it seems to make no difference how often the child's feet may be placed in contact with the ground; the legs remain limp, and do not respond to the sensation of contact in the soles by muscular contractions239 pressing downwards240 . No sooner, however, is the standing impulse born, than the child stiffens241 his legs and presses downward as soon as he feels the floor. In some babies this is the first locomotory reaction. In others it is preceded by the instinct to creep, which arises, as I can testify, often in a very sudden way. Yesterday the baby sat quite contentedly242 wherever he was put; to-day it has become impossible to keep him sitting at all, so irresistible is the impulse, aroused by the sight of the floor, to throw himself forward upon his hands. Usually the arms are too weak, and the ambitious little experimenter falls on his nose. But his perseverance243 is dauntless, and he ends in a few days by learning to travel rapidly around the room in the quadrupedal way. The position of the legs in 'creeping' varies much from one child to another. My own child, when creeping, was often observed to pick up objects from the floor with his mouth, a phenomenon which, as Dr. O. W. Holmes has remarked, like the early tendency to grasp with the toes, easily lends itself to interpretation244 as a reminiscence of prehuman ancestral habits.
The walking instinct may awaken with no less sudden-ness, and its entire education be completed within a week's compass, barring, of course, it little 'grogginess245' in the gait. Individual infants vary enormously; but on the whole it is safe to say that the mode of development of these locomotor instincts is inconsistent with the account given by the older English associationist school, of their being results of the individual's education, due altogether to the gradual association of certain perceptions with certain hap-hazard movements and certain resultant pleasures. Mr Bain has tried, 12 by describing the demeanor of new-born lambs, to show that locomotion is learned by a very rapid experience. But the observation recorded proves the faculty to be almost perfect from the first; and all others who have observed new-born calves, lambs, and pigs agree that in these animals the powers of standing and walking, and of interpreting the topographical significance of sights and sounds, are all but fully developed at birth. Often in animals who seem to be 'learning' to walk or fly the semblance246 is illusive247. The awkwardness shown is not due to the fact that 'experience' has not yet been there to associate the successful movements and exclude the failures, but to the fact that the animal is beginning his attempts before the co-ordinating centres have quite ripened248 for their work. Mr. Spalding's observations on this point are conclusive249 as to birds.
"Birds," he says, "do not learn to fly. Two years ago I shut up five unfledged swallows in a small box, not much larger than the nest from which they were taken. The little box, which had a wire front, was hung on the wall near the nest, and the young swallows were fed by their parents through the wires. In this confinement250, where they could not even extend their wings, they were kept until after they were fully fledged. . . . On going to set the prisoners free, one was found dead. . . . The remaining four were allowed to escape one at a time. Two of these were perceptibly wavering and unsteady in their flight. One of them, after a flight of some ninety yards, disappeared among some trees." No. 3 and No. 4 "never flew against anything, nor was there, in their avoiding objects, any appreciable251 difference between them and the old birds. No. 3 swept round the Wellingtonia, and No. 4 rose over the hedge, just as we see the old swallows doing every hour of the day. I have this summer verified these observations. Of two swallows I had similarly confined, one, on being set free, hew228 a yard or two close to the ground, rose in the direction of a beech-tree, which it gracefully252 avoided; it was seen for a considerable time sweeping253 round the beeches254 and performing magnificent evolutions in the air high above them. The other, which was observed to beat the air with its wings more than usual, was soon lost to sight, behind some trees. Titmice, tomtits, and wrens255 I have made the subjects of similar observations, and with similar results." 13
In the light of this report, one may well be tempted to make a prediction about the human child, slid say that if a baby were kept from getting on his feet for two or three weeks after the first impulse to walk had shown itself in him, -- a small blister256 on each sole would do the business, -- he might then be expected to walk about as well, through the mere ripening of his nerve-centres, as if the ordinary process of 'learning' had been allowed to occur during all the blistered257 time. It is to be hoped that some scientific widower258, left alone with his offspring at the critical moment, may ere long test this suggestion on the living subject. Climbing on trees, fences, furniture, banisters, etc., is a well-marked instinctive propensity which ripens259 after the fourth year.
Vocalization . This may be either musical or significant. Very few weeks after birth the baby begins to express its spirits by emitting vowel260 sounds, as much during inspiration as during expiration261, and will lie on its back cooing and gurgling to itself for nearly an hour. But this singing has nothing to do with speech. Speech is sound significant . During the second year a certain number of significant sounds are gradually acquired; but talking proper does not set in till the instinct to imitate sounds ripens in the nervous system; and this ripening seems in some children to be quite abrupt262. Then speech grows rapidly in extent and perfection. The child imitates every word he hears uttered, and repeats it again and again with the most evident plea-sure at his new power. At this time it is quite impossible to talk with him, for his condition is that of 'Echolalia,' --instead of answering the question, he simply reiterates263 it. The result is, however, that his vocabulary increases very fast; and little by little, with teaching from above, the young prattler264 understands, puts words together to express his own wants and perceptions, and even makes intelligent replies. From a, speechless, he has become a speaking, animal. The interesting point with regard to this instinct is the oftentimes very sudden birth of the impulse to imitate sounds. Up to the date of its awakening the child may have been as devoid265 of it as a dog. Four days later his whole energy may be poured into this new channel. The habits of articulation266 formed during the plastic age of childhood are in most persons sufficient to inhibit the formation of new ones of a fundamentally different sort witness the inevitable267 'foreign accent' which distinguishes the speech of those who learn a language after early youth.
Imitation . The child's first words are in part vocables of his own invention, which his parents adopt, and which, as far as they go, form a new human tongue upon the earth; and in part they are his more or less successful imitations of words he beers the parents use. But the instinct of imitating gestures develops earlier than that of imitating sounds, -- unless the sympathetic crying of a baby when it hears another cry may be reckoned as imitation of a sound. Professor Preyer speaks of his child imitating the protrusion of the father's lips in its fifteenth week. The various accomplishments268 of infancy, making 'pat-a-cake,' saying 'bye-bye', 'blowing out the candle,' etc., usually fall well inside the limits of the first year. Later come all the various imitative games in which childhood revels269, playing 'horse,' 'soldiers,' etc., etc. And from this time onward270 man is essentially271 the imitative animal. His whole educability and in fact the whole history of civilization depend on this trait, which his strong tendencies to rivalry272, jealousy273, and acquisitiveness reinforce. 'Nil274 humani a me alienum puto' is the motto of each individual of the species; and makes him, whenever another individual shows a power or superiority of any kind, restless until he can exhibit it himself. But apart from this kind of imitation, of which the psychological roots are complex, there is the more direct propensity to speak and walk and behave like others, usually without any conscious intention of so doing. And there is the imitative tendency which shows itself in large masses of men, and produces panics, and orgies, and frenzies275 of violence, and which only the rarest individuals can actively276 withstand. This sort of imitativeness is possessed by man in common with other gregarious animals, and is an instinct in the fullest sense of the term, being a, blind impulse to act as soon as a certain perception occurs. It is particularly hard not to imitate gaping277, laughing, or looking and running in a certain direction, if we see others doing so. Certain mesmerized278 subjects must automatically imitate whatever motion their operator makes before their eyes. 14 A successful piece of mimicry279 gives to both bystanders and mimic280 a peculiar kind of aesthetic281 pleasure. The dramatic impulse, the tendency to pretend one is someone else, contains this pleasure of mimicry as one of its elements. Another element seems to be a peculiar sense of power in stretching one's own personality so as to include that of a strange person. In young children this instinct often knows no bounds. For a few months in one of my children's third year, he literally282 hardly ever appeared in his own person. It was always, "Play I am So-and-so, and you are So-and-so, and the chair is such a thing, and then we'll do this or that." If you called him by his name, H., you invariably got the reply, "I'm not H., I'm a hyena283, or a horse-car," or whatever the feigned285 object might it be. He outwore this impulse after a time; but while it lasted, it had every appearance of being the automatic result of ideas, often suggested by perceptions, working out irresistible motor effects. Imitation shades into
Emulation286 or Rivalry, a very intense instinct, especially rife287 with young children, or at least especially undisguised. Everyone knows it. Nine-tenth of the work of the world is done by it. We know that if we do not do the task some-one else will do it and get the credit, so we do it. It has very little connection with sympathy, but rather more with pugnacity, which we proceed in turn to consider.
Pugnacity; anger; resentment288 . In many respects man is the most ruthlessly ferocious289 of beasts. As with all gregarious animals, 'two souls,' as Faust says, 'dwell with-in his breast,' the one of sociability and helpfulness, the other of jealousy and antagonism to his mates. Though in a general way he cannot live without them, yet, as regards certain individuals, it often falls out that he cannot live with them either. Constrained290 to be a member of a tribe, he still has a right to decide, as far as in him lies, of which other members the tribe shall consist. Killing291 off a few obnoxious292 ones may often better the chances of those that remain. And killing off a neighboring tribe from whom no good thing comes, but only competition, may materially better the lot of the whole tribe. Hence the gory293 cradle, the bellum onnium contra omnes, in which our race was reared; hence the fickleness294 of human ties, the ease with which the foe295 of yesterday becomes the ally of to-day, the friend of to-day the enemy of to-morrow; hence the fact that we, the lineal representatives of the successful enactors of one scene of slaughter296 after another, must, whatever more pacific virtues297 we may also possess, still carry about with us, ready at any moment to burst into flame, the smouldering and sinister298 traits of character by means of which they lived through so many massacres299, harming others, but themselves unharmed.
Sympathy is an emotion as to whose instinctiveness psychologists have held hot debate, some of them contending that it is no primitive300 endowment, but, originally at least, the result of a rapid calculation of the good consequences to ourselves of the sympathetic act. Such a calculation, at first conscious, would grow more unconscious as it became more habitual, and at last, tradition and association aiding, might prompt to actions which could not be distinguished301 from immediate impulses. It is hardly needful to argue against the falsity of this view. Some forms of sympathy, that of mother with child, for example, are surely primitive, and not intelligent forecasts of board and lodging302 and other support to be reaped in old age. Danger to the child blindly and instantaneously stimulates303 the mother to actions of alarm or defence. Menace or harm to the adult beloved or friend excites us in a corresponding way, often against all the dictates304 of prudence305. It is true that sympathy does not necessarily follow from the mere fact of gregariousness306. Cattle do not help a wounded comrade; on the contrary, they are more likely to dispatch him. But a dog will lick another sick dog, and even bring him food; and the sympathy of monkeys is proved by many observations to be strong. In man, then, we may lay it down that the sight of suffering or danger to others is a direct exciter of interest, and an immediate stimulus, if no complication hinders, to acts of relief. There is nothing unaccountable or pathological about this -- nothing to justify307 Professor Bain's assimilation of it to the 'fixed308 ideas' of insanity309, as 'clashing with the regular outgoings of the will.' It may be as primitive as any other 'outgoing,' and may be due to a random variation selected, quite as probably as gregariousness and maternal love are, even in Spencer's opinion, due to such variations.
It is true that sympathy is peculiarly liable to inhibition from other instincts which its stimulus may call forth. The traveller whom the good Samaritan rescued may well have prompted such instinctive fear or disgust in the priest and Levite who passed him by, that their sympathy could not come to the front. Then, of course, habits, reasoned reflections, and calculations may either check or reinforce one's sympathy; as may also the instincts of love or hate, if these exist, for the suffering individual. The hunting and pugnacious310 instincts, when aroused, also inhibit our sympathy absolutely. This accounts for the cruelty of collections of men hounding each other on to bait or torture a victim. The blood mounts to the eyes, and sympathy's chance is gone. 15
The hunting instinct has an equally remote origin in the evolution of the race. 16 The hunting and the fighting instinct combine in many manifestations. They both support the emotion of anger; they combine in the fascination311 which stories of atrocity312 have for most minds; and the utterly blind excitement of giving the rein98 to our fury when our blood is up (an excitement whose intensity313 is greater than that of any other human passion save one) is only explicable as an impulse aboriginal314 in character, and having more to do with immediate and overwhelming tendencies to muscular discharge than to any possible reminiscences of effects of experience, or association of ideas. I say this here, because the pleasure of disinterested cruelty has been thought a paradox315, and writers have sought to show that it is no primitive attribute of our nature, but rather a resultant of the subtle combination of other less malignant316 elements of mind. This is a hopeless task. If evolution and the survival of the fittest be true at all, the destruction of prey and of human rivals must have been among the most important of man's primitive functions, the fighting and the chasing instincts must have become ingrained. Certain perceptions must immediately, and without the intervention317 of inferences and ideas, have prompted emotions and motor discharges; and both the latter must, from the nature of the case, have been very violent, and therefore, when unchecked, of an intensely pleasurable kind. It is just because human bloodthirstiness is such a primitive part of us that it is so hard to eradicate318, especially where a fight or a hunt is promised as part of the fun. 17
As Rochefoucauld says, there is something in the misfortunes of our very friends that does not altogether displease319 us; and an apostle of peace will feel a certain vicious thrill run through him, and enjoy a vicarious brutality320, as he turns to the column in his newspaper at the top of which 'Shocking Atrocity' stands printed in large capitals. See how the crowd hocks round a street-brawl! Consider the enormous annual sale of revolvers to persons, not one in a thousands of whom has any serious intention of using them, but of whom each one has his carnivorous self-consciousness agreeably tickled by the notion, as he clutches the handle of his weapon, that he will be rather a dangerous customer to meet. See the ignoble321 crew that escorts every great pugilist -- parasites322 who feel as if the glory of his brutality rubbed off upon them, and whose darling hope, from day today, is to arrange some set-to of which they may share the rapture323 without enduring the pains! The first blows at a prize-fight are apt to make a refined spectator sick; but his blood is soon up in favor of one party, and it will then seem as if the other fellow could not be banged and pounded and mangled324 enough -- the refined spectator would like to reinforce the blows himself. Over the sinister orgies of blood of certain depraved and insane persons let a curtain be drawn325, as well as over the ferocity with which otherwise fairly decent men may be animated326, when (at the sacking of a town, for instance), the excitement of victory long delayed, the sudden freedom of rapine and of lust148, the contagion327 of a crowd, and the impulse to imitate and outdo, all combine to swell328 the blind drunkenness of the killing-instinct, and carry it to its extreme. No! those who try to account for this from above downwards, as if it resulted from the consequences of the victory being rapidly inferred, and from the agreeable sentiments associated with them in the imagination, have missed the root of the matter. Our ferocity is blind, and can only be explained from below. Could we trace it back through our line of descent, we should see it taking more and more the form of a fatal reflex response, and at the same time becoming more and more the pure and direct emotion that it is. 18
In childhood it takes this form. The boys who pullout grasshoppers329' legs and butterflies' wings, and disembowel every frog they catch, have no thought at all about the matter. The creatures tempt103 their hands to a fascinating occupation, to which they have to yield. It is with them as with the 'boy-fiend' Jesse Pomeroy, who cut a little girl's throat, 'just to see how she'd act.' The normal provocatives of the impulse are all living beasts, great and small, toward which a contrary habit has not been formed -- all human beings in whom we perceive a certain intent towards us, and a large number of human beings who offend us peremptorily330, either by their look, or gait, or by some circumstance in their lives which we dislike. Inhibited by sympathy, and by reflection calling up impulses of an opposite kind, civilized331 men lose the habit of acting out their pugnacious instincts in a perfectly332 natural way, and a passing feeling of anger, with its comparatively feint bodily expressions, may be the limit of their physical combativeness333. Such a feeling as this may, however, be aroused by a wide range of objects. Inanimate things, combinations of color and sound, bad bills of fare, may in persons who combine fastidious taste with an irascible:temperament produce real ebullitions of rage. Though the female sex is often said to have less pugnacity than the male, the difference seems connected more with the extent of the motor consequences of the impulse than with its frequency. Women take offence and get angry, if anything, more easily than men, but their anger is inhibited by fear and other principles of their nature from expressing itself in blows. The hunting-:instinct proper seems to be decidedly weaker in them than in men. The latter instinct is easily restricted by habit to certain objects, which become legitimate334 'game,' while other things are spared. If the hunting-instinct be not exercised at all, it may even entirely die out, and a man may enjoy letting a wild creature live, even though he might easily kill it. Such a type is now becoming frequent; but there is no doubt that in the eyes of a child of nature such a, personage would seem a sort of moral monster. Fear is a reaction aroused by the same objects that arouse ferocity. The antagonism of the two is an interesting study in instinctive dynamics335. We both fear, and wish to kill, anything that may kill us; and the question which of the two impulses we shall follow is usually decided by some one of those collateral336 circumstances of the particular case, to be moved by which is the mark of superior mental natures. Of course this introduces uncertainty into the reaction; but it is an uncertainty found in the higher brutes as well as in men, and ought not to be taken as proof that we are less instinctive than they.
Fear has bodily expressions of an extremely energetic kind, and stands, beside lust and anger, as one of the three most exciting emotions of which our nature is susceptible337. The progress from brute68 to man is characterized by nothing so much as by the decrease in frequency of proper occasions for fear. In civilized life, in particular, it has at last become possible for large numbers of people to pass from the cradle to the grave without ever having had a pang186 of genuine fear. Many of us need an attack of mental disease to teach us the meaning of the word. Hence the possibility of so much blindly optimistic philosophy and religion. The atrocities338 of life become 'like a tale of little meaning though the words are strong;' we doubt if anything like us ever really was within the tiger's jaws339, and conclude that the horrors we hear of are but a sort of painted tapestry340 for the chambers341 in which we lie so comfortably at peace with ourselves and with the world.
Be this as it may, fear is a genuine instinct, and one of the earliest shown by the ]lumen child. Noises seem especially to call it forth. Most noises from the outer world, to a child bred in the house, have no exact significance. They are simply startling. To quote a good observer, M. Perez:
"Children between three and ten months are less often alarmed by visual than by auditory impressions. In cats, from the fifteenth day, the contrary is the case. A child, three And a half months old, in the midst of the turmoil342 of a conflagration343, in presence of the devouring flames and ruined walls, showed neither astonishment nor fear, but smiled at the woman who was taking care of him, while his parents were busy. The noise, however, of the trumpet344 of the firemen, who were approaching, and that of the wheels of the engine, made him start and cry. At this age I have never yet seen an infant startled at a flash of lightning, even when intense; but I have seen many of them alarmed at the voice of the thunder. . . . Thus fear comes rather by the ears than by the eyes, to the child without experience. It is natural that this should be reversed, or reduced, in animals organized to perceive danger afar. Accordingly, although I have never seen a child frightened at his first sight of fire, I have many a time seen young dogs, young cats, young chickens, and young birds frightened thereby345. . . . I picked up some years ago a lost cat about a year old. Some months afterward at the onset346 of cold weather I lit the fire in the grate of my study, which was her reception-room. She first looked at the flame in a very frightened way. Brought her near to it. She leaped away and ran to hide under the bed. Although the he was lighted every day, it was not until the end of the winter that I could prevail upon her to stay upon a chair near it. The next winter, however, all apprehension347 had disappeared. . . . Let us, then, conclude that there are hereditary348 dispositions349 to fear, which are independent of experience, but which experiences may end by attenuating350 very considerably351. In the human infant I believe them to be particularly connected with the ear." 19
The effect of noise in heightening any terror we may feel in adult years is very marked. The howling of the storm, whether on sea or land, is a principal cause of our anxiety when exposed to it. The writer has been interested in noticing in his own person, while lying in bed, and kept awake by the wind outside, how invariably each loud gust140 of it arrested momentarily his heart. A dog, attacking us, is much more dreadful by reason of the noises he makes.
Strange men, and strange animals, either large or small, excite fear, but especially men or animals advancing toward us in a threatening way. This is entirely instinctive and antecedent to experience. Some children will cry with terror at their very first sight of a cat or dog, and it will often be impossible for weeks to make them touch it. Others will wish to fondle it almost immediately. Certain kinds of 'vermin,' especially spiders and snakes, seem to excite a fear unusually difficult to overcome. It is impossible to say how much of this difference is instinctive and how much the result of stories heard about these creatures. That the fear of 'vermin' ripens gradually, seemed to me to be proved in a child of my own to whom I gave a live frog once, at the age of six to eight months, and again when he was a year and a half old. The first time he seized it promptly352, and holding it, in spite of its struggling, at last got its head into his mouth. He then let it crawl up his breast, and get upon his face, without showing alarm. But the second time, although he had seen no frog and heard no story about a frog between whiles, it was almost impossible to induce him to touch it. Another child, a year old, eagerly took some very large spiders into his hand. At present he is afraid, but has been exposed meanwhile to the teachings of the nursery. One of my children from her birth upwards353 saw daily the pet pug-dog of the house, and never betrayed the slightest fear until she was (if I recollect354 rightly) about eight months old. Then the instinct suddenly seemed to develop, and with such intensity that familiarity had no mitigating355 effect. She screamed whenever the dog entered the room, and for many months remained afraid to touch him. It is needless to say that no change in the pug's unfailingly friendly conduct had anything to do with this change of feeling in the child.
Preyer tells of a young child screaming with fear on being carried near to the sea . The great source of terror to infancy is solitude. The teleology356 of this is obvious, as is also that of the infant's expression of dismay -- the never-failing cry -- on waking up and finding himself alone.
Black things, and especially dark places, holes, caverns357, etc., arouse a peculiarly gruesome fear. This fear, as well as that of solitude, of being 'lost,' are explained after a, fashion by ancestral experience. Says Schneider:
"It is a fact that men, especially in childhood, fear to go into a dark cavern358 or a gloomy wood. This feeling of fear arises, to be sure, partly from the fact that we easily suspect that dangerous beasts may lurk359 in these localities -- a suspicion due to stories we have heard and read. But, on the other hand, it is quite sure that this fear at a certain perception is also directly inherited. Children who hare been carefully guarded from all ghost-stories are nevertheless terrified and cry if led into a dark place, especially if sounds are made there. Even an adult can easily observe that an uncomfortable timidity steals over him in a lonely wood at night, although he may have the fixed conviction that not the slightest danger is near." This feeling of fear occurs in many men even in their own house after dark, although it is much stronger in a dark cavern or forest. The fact of such instinctive fear is easily explicable when we consider that our savage360 ancestors through innumerable generations were accustomed to meet with dangerous beasts in caverns, especially bears, and were for the most part attacked by such beasts during the night and in the woods, and that thus an inseparable association between the perceptions of darkness of caverns and woods, and fear took place, and was inherited." 20
High places cause fear of a peculiarly sickening sort, though here, again, individuals differ enormously. The utterly blind instinctive character of the motor impulses here is shown by the fact that they are almost always entirely unreasonable361, but that reason is powerless to1 suppress them. That they are a mere incidental peculiarity362 of the nervous system, like liability to sea-sickness, or love of music, with no teleological363 significance, seems more than probable. The fear in question varies so much from one person to another, and its detrimental364 effects are so much more obvious than its uses, that it is hard to see how it could be a selected instinct. Man is anatomically one of the best fitted of animals for climbing about high places. The best psychical complement365 to this equipment would seem to be a 'level head' when there, not a dread of going there at all. In fact, the teleology of fear, beyond a certain point, is very dubious366. Professor Mosso, in his interesting monograph367, 'la Paura' (which has been translated into French), concludes that many of its manifestations must be considered pathological rather than useful; Pain, in several places, expresses the same opinion; and this, I think, is surely the view which any observer without a priori prejudices must take. A certain amount of timidity obviously adapts us to the world we live in, but the fear-paroxysm is surely altogether harmful to him who is its prey.
Fear of the supernatural is one variety of fear. It is difficult to assign ally normal object for this fear, unless it were a genuine ghost. But, in spite of psychical research-societies, science has not yet adopted ghosts; so we can only say that certain ideas of supernatural agency, associated with real circumstances, produce a peculiar kind of horror. This horror is probably explicable as the result of a combination of simpler horrors. To bring the ghostly terror to its maximum, many usual elements of the dreadful must combine, such as loneliness, darkness, inexplicable368 sounds, especially of a dismal369 character, moving figures half discerned (or, if discerned, of dreadful aspect), and a vertiginous370 baffling of the expectation. This last element, which is intellectual, is very important. It produces a strange emotional 'curdle371' in our blood to see a process with which we are familiar deliberately372 taking an unwonted course. Anyone's heart would stop beating if he perceived his chair sliding unassisted across the floor. The lower animals appear to be sensitive to the mysteriously exceptional as well as ourselves. My friend Professor W. K. Brooks373, of the; Johns Hopkins University, told me of his large and noble dog being frightened into a sort of epileptic fit by a bone being drawn across the floor by a thread which the dog did not see. Darwin and Romanes have given similar experiences. 21 The idea of the supernatural involves that the usual should be set at naught374. In the witch and hobgoblin supernatural, other elements still of fear are brought in -- caverns, slime and ooze375, vermin, corpses377, and the like. 22 A human corpse376 seems normally to produce an instinctive dread, which is no doubt somewhat due to its mysteriousness, and which familiarity rapidly dispels378. But, in view of the fact that cadaveric379, reptilian380, and underground horrors play so specific and constant a part in many nightmares and forms of delirium381, it seems not altogether unwise to ask whether these forms of dreadful circumstance may not at a former period have been more normal objects of the environment than now. The ordinary cock-sure evolutionist ought to have no difficulty in explaining these terrors, and the scenery that provokes them, as relapses into the consciousness of the cave-men, a consciousness usually overlaid in us by experiences of more recent date.
There are certain other pathological fears, and certain peculiarities382 in the expression of ordinary fear, which might receive an explanatory light from ancestral conditions, even infra-human ones. In ordinary fear, one may either run, or remain semi-paralyzed. The latter condition reminds us of the so-called death-shamming instinct shown by many animals. Dr. Lindsay, in his work 'Mind in Animals,' says this must require great self-command in those that practise it. But it is really no feigning383 of death at all, and requires no self-command. It is simply a terror-paralysis which has been so useful as to become hereditary. The beast of prey does not think the motionless bird, insect, or crustacean384 dead. He simply fails to notice them at all; because his senses, like ours, are much more strongly excited by a moving object than by a still one. It is the same instinct which leads a boy playing 'I spy' to hold his very breath when the seeker is near, and which makes the beast of prey himself in many cases motionlessly lie in wait for his victim or silently 'stalk' it, by rapid approaches alternated with periods of immobility. It is the opposite of the instinct which makes us jump up and down and move our arms when we wish to attract the notice of some one passing far away, and makes the shipwrecked sailor frantically385 wave a cloth upon the raft where he is floating when a distant sail appears. Now, may not the statue-like, crouching386 immobility of some melancholiacs, insane with general anxiety and fear of everything, be in some way connected with this old instinct? They can give no reason for their fear to move; but immobility makes them feel safer and more comfortable. Is not this the mental state of the 'feigning' animal?
Again, take the strange symptom which has been described of late years by the rather absurd name of agoraphobia . The patient is seized with palpitation and terror at the sight of any open place or broad street which he has to cross alone. He trembles, his knees bend, he may even faint at the idea. Where he has sufficient self-command he sometimes accomplishes the object by keeping safe under the lee of a vehicle going across, or joining himself to a knot of other people. But usually he slinks round the sides of the square, hugging the houses as closely as he can. This emotion has no utility in a, civilized man, but when we notice the chronic387 agoraphobia of our domestic cats, and see the tenacious388 way in which many wild animals, especially rodents389, cling to cover, and only venture on a dash across the open as a desperate measure -- even then making for every stone or bunch of weeds which may give a momentary390 shelter -- when we see this we are strongly tempted to ask whether such an odd kind of fear in us be not due to the accidental resurrection, through disease, of a sort of instinct which may in some of our ancestors have had a permanent and on the whole a useful part to play?
Appropriation391 or Acquisitiveness . The beginnings of acquisitiveness are seen in the impulse which very young children display, to snatch at, or beg for, any object which pleases their attention. Later, when they begin to speak, among the first words they emphasize are 'me ' and 'mine.' 23 Their earliest quarrels with each other are about questions of ownership; and parents of twins soon learn that it conduces to a quiet house to buy all presents in impartial392 duplicate. Of the later evolution of the proprietary393 instinct I need not speak. Everyone knows how difficult a thing it is not to covet394 whatever pleasing thing we see, and how the sweetness of the thing often is as gall395 to us so long as it is another's. Then another is in possession, the impulse to appropriate the thing often turns into the impulse to harm him -- what is called envy, or jealousy, ensues. In civilized life the impulse to own is usually checked by a variety of considerations, and only passes over into action under circumstances legitimated396 by habit and common consent, an additional example of the way in which one instinctive tendency may be inhibited by others. A variety of the proprietary instinct is the impulse to form collections of the same sort of thing. It differs much in individuals, and shows in a striking way how instinct and habit interact. For, although a collection of any given thing -- like postage-stamps -- need not be begun by any given person, yet the chances are that if accidentally it be begun by a person with the collecting instinct, it will probably be continued. The chief interest of the objects, in the collector's eyes, is that they are a collection, and that they are his. Rivalry, to be sure, inflames397 this, as it does every other passion, yet the objects of a collector's mania398 need not be necessarily such as are generally in demand. Boys will collect anything that they see another boy collect, from pieces of chalk and peach-pits up to books and photographs. Out of a hundred students whom I questioned, only four or five had never collected anything. 24
The associationist psychology denies that there is any blind primitive instinct to appropriate, and would explain all acquisitiveness, in the first instance, as a desire to secure the pleasures' which the objects possessed may yield; and, secondly399, as the association of the idea of pleasantness with the holding of the thing, even though the pleasure originally got by it was only gained through its expense or destruction. Thus the miser400 is shown to us as one who has transferred to the gold by which he may buy the goods of this life all the emotions which the goods themselves would yield; and who thereafter loves the gold for its own sake, preferring the means of pleasure to the pleasure itself. There call belittle401 doubt that much of this analysis a broader view of the facts would have dispelled402. 'The miser' is an abstraction. There are all kinds of misers403. The common sort, the excessively niggardly404 man, simply exhibits the psychological law that the potential has often a far greater influence over our mind than the actual. A man will not marry now, because to do so puts an end to his indefinite potentialities of choice of a partner. He prefers the latter. He will not use open fires or wear his good clothes, because the day may come when he will have to use the furnace or dress in a worn-out coat, 'and then where will he be? For him, better the actual evil than the fear of it; and so it is with the common lot of misers. Better to live poor now, with the power of living rich, than to live rich at the risk of losing the power. These men value their gold, not for its own sake, but for its powers. Demonetize it, and see how quickly they will get rid of it! The associationist theory is, as regards them, entirely at fault: they care nothing for the gold in se.
With other misers there combines itself with this preference of the power over the act the far more instinctive element of the simple collecting propensity. Every one collects money, and when a man of petty ways is smitten405 with the collecting mania for this object he necessarily becomes a miser. Here again the associationist psychology is wholly at fault. The hoarding407 instinct prevails widely among animals as well as among men. Professor Silliman has thus described one of the hoards408 of the California wood-rat, made in an empty stove of an unoccupied house:
" I found the outside to be composed entirely of spikes409, all laid with symmetry, so as to present the points of the nails outward. In the centre of this mass was the nest, composed of finely-divided fibres of hemp-packing. Interlaced with the spikes were the following: about two dozen knives, forks, and spoons; all the butcher's knives, three in number; a large carving-knife, fork, and steel; several large plugs of tobacco, . . . an old purse containing some silver, matches, and tobacco; nearly all the small tools from the tool-closets, with several large angers, . . . all of which must have been transported some distance, as they were originally stored in different parts of the house. . . . The outside casing of a silver watch was disposed of in one part of the pile, the glass of the same watch in another, and the works in still another." 25
In every lunatic asylum410 we find the collecting instinct developing itself in an equally absurd way. Certain patients will spend all their time picking pins from the floor and hoarding them. Others collect bits of thread, buttons, or rags, and prize them exceedingly. Now, 'the Miser' par30 excellence411 of the popular imagination and of melodrama412, the monster of squalor and misanthropy, is simply one of these mentally deranged persons. His intellect may in many matters be clear, but his instincts, especially that of ownership, are insane, and their insanity has no more to do with the association of ideas than with the precession of the equinoxes. As a matter of fact his hoarding usually is directed to money; but it also includes almost anything besides. Lately in a Massachusetts town there died a miser who principally hoarded413 newspapers. These had ended by so filling all the rooms of his good-sized house from floor to ceiling that his living-space was restricted to a few narrow channels between them. Even as I write, the morning paper gives an account of the emptying of a miser's den19 in Boston by the City Board of Health. What the owner hoarded is thus described:
"He gathered old newspapers, wrapping-paper, incapacitated umbrellas, canes414, pieces of common wire, cast-off clothing, empty barrels, pieces of iron, old bones, battered415 tin-ware, fractured pots, and bushels of such miscellany as is to be found only at the city 'dump.' The empty barrels were filled, shelves were filled, every hole and corner was filled, and in order to make more storage-room, 'the hermit416' covered his store-room with a network of ropes, and hung the ropes as full as they could hold of his curious collections. There was nothing one could think of that wasn't in that room. As a wood-sawyer, the old man had never thrown away a saw-blade or a wood-buck. The bucks417 were rheumatic and couldn't stand up, and the saw-blades were worn down to almost nothing in the middle. Some had been actually worn in two, but the ends were carefully saved and stored away. As a coal-heaver, the old man had never cast of a worn-out basket, and there were dozens of the remains of the old things, patched up with canvas and rope-yarns, in the store-room. There were at least two dozen old hats, fur, cloth, silk, and straw," etc.
Of course there may be a great many 'associations of ideas' in the miser's mind about the things he hoards. He is a thinking being, and must associate things; but, without an entirely blind impulse in this direction behind all his ideas, such practical results could never be reached. 26
Kleptomania418, as it is called, is an uncontrollable impulse to appropriate, occurring in persons whose 'associations of ideas' would naturally all be of a counteracting419 sort.
Kleptomaniacs420 often promptly restore, or permit to be re-stored, what they have taken; so the impulse need not be to keep, but only to take. But elsewhere hoarding complicates421 the result. A gentleman, with whose case I am acquainted, was discovered, after his death, to have a hoard406 in his barn of all sorts of articles, mainly of a trumpery422 sort, but including pieces of silver which he had stolen from his own dining-room, and utensils423 which he had stolen from his own kitchen, and for which he had afterward bought substitutes with his own money.
Constructiveness424 is as genuine and irresistible an instinct in man as in the bee or the beaver426. Whatever things are plastic to his hands, those things he must remodel427 into shapes of his own, and the result of the remodeling, however useless it may be, gives him more pleasure than the original thing. The mania of young children for breaking and pulling apart whatever is given them is more often the expression of a rudimentary constructive425 impulse than of a, destructive one. 'Blocks' are the playthings of which they are least apt to tire. Clothes, weapons, tools, habitations, and works of art are the result of the discoveries to which the plastic instinct leads, each individual starting where his forerunners428 left off, and tradition preserving all that once is gained. Clothing, where not necessitated429 by cold, is nothing but a sort of attempt to re-model the human body itself -- an attempt still better shown in the various tattooings, tooth-filings, scarrings, and other mutilations that are practised by savage tribes. As for habitation, there can be no doubt that the instinct to seek a sheltered nook, open only on one side, into which he may retire and be safe, is in man quite as specific as the instinct of birds to build a nest. It is not necessarily in the shape of a shelter from wet and cold that the need comes before him, but he feels less exposed and more at home when not altogether uninclosed than when lying all abroad. Of course the utilitarian430 origin of this instinct is obvious. But to stick to bare facts at present and not to trace origins, we must admit that this instinct now exists, and probably always has existed, since man was man. Habits of the most complicated kind are reared upon it. But even in the midst of these habits we see the blind instinct cropping out; as, for example, in the fact that we feign284 a shelter within a, shelter, by backing up beds in rooms with their heads against the wall, and never lying in them the other way -- just as dogs prefer to get cinder431 or upon some piece of furniture to sleep, instead of lying in the middle of the room. The first habitations were caves and leafy grottoes, bettered by the bends; and we see children to-day, when playing in wild places, take the greatest delight in discovering and appropriating such retreats and 'playing house' there.
Play. The impulse to play in special ways is certainly instinctive. A boy can no more help running after another boy who runs provokingly near him, than a kitten can help running after a rolling ball. A child trying to get into its own hand some object which it sees another child pick up, and the latter trying to get away with the prize, are just as much slaves of an automatic prompting as are two chickens or fishes, of which one has taken a big morsel432 into its mouth and decamps with it, while the other darts433 after in pursuit. All simple active games are attempts to gain the excitement yielded by certain primitive instincts, through feigning that the occasions for their exercise are there. They involve imitation, hunting, fighting, rivalry, acquisitiveness, and construction, combined in various ways; their special rules are habits, discovered by accident, selected by intelligence, and propagated by tradition; but unless they were founded in automatic impulses, games would lose most of their zest. The sexes differ somewhat in their play-impulses. As Schneider says:
"The little boy imitates soldiers, models clay into an oven, builds houses, makes a wagon434 out of chairs, rides on horseback upon a stick, drives nails with the hammer, harnesses his brethren and comrades together and plays the stage-driver, or lets himself be captured as a wild horse by some one else; The girl, on the contrary, plays with her doll, washes and dresses it, strokes it, clasps and kisses it, puts it to bed and tucks it in, sings it a cradle-song, or speaks with it as if it were a living being. . . . This fact that a sexual difference exists in the play-impulse, that a boy gets more pleasure from a horse and rider and a soldier than from a doll, while with the girl the opposite is the case, is proof that an hereditary connection exists between the perception of certain things (horse, doll, etc.), and the feeling of pleasure, as well as between this latter and the impulse to play. 27
There is another sort of human play, into which higher aesthetic feelings enter.. I refer to that love of festivities, ceremonies, ordeals435, etc., which seems to be universal in our species. The lowest savages436 have their dances, more or less formally conducted. The various religions have their solemn rites192 and exercises, and civic437 and military power symbolize438 their grandeur439 by processions and celebrations of divers440 sorts. We have our operas and parties and masquerades. An element common to all these ceremonial games, as they may be called, is the excitement of concerted action as one of an organized crowd. The same acts, performed with a crowd, seem to mean vastly more than when performed alone. A walk with the people on a holiday afternoon, an excursion to drink beer or coffee at a popular 'resort,' or an ordinary ball-room, are examples of this. Not only are we amused at seeing so many strangers, but there is a distinct stimulation441 at feeling our share in their collective life. The perception of them is the stimulus; and our reaction upon it is our tendency to join them and do what they are doing, and our unwillingness to be the first to leave off and go home alone. This seems a primitive element in our nature, as it is difficult to trace any association of ideas that could lead up to it; although, once granting it to exist, it is very easy to see what its uses to a tribe might be in facilitating prompt and vigorous collective action. The formation of armies and the undertaking442 of military expeditions would be among its fruits. In the ceremonial games it is but the impulsive starting-point. What particular things the crowd then shall do, depends for the most part on the initiative of individuals, fixed by imitation and habit, and continued by tradition. The co-operation of other aesthetic pleasures with games, ceremonial or other, has a great deal to do with the selection of such as shall become stereotyped443 and habitual. The peculiar form of excitement called by Professor Bain the emotion of pursuit, the pleasure of a crescendo444, is the soul of many common games. The immense extent of the play-activities in human life is too obvious to be more than mentioned. 28
Curiosity . Already pretty low down among vertebrates we find that any object may excite attention, provided it be only novel, and that attention may be followed by approach and exploration by nostril, lips, or touch. Curiosity and fear form a couple of antagonistic445 emotions liable to be awakened446 by the same outward thing, and manifestly both useful to their possessor. The spectacle of their alternation is often amusing enough, as in the timid approaches and scared wheelings which sheep or cattle will make in the presence of some new object they are investigating. I have seen alligators447 in the water act in precisely the same way towards a man seated on the beach in front of them -- gradually drawing near as long as he kept still, frantically careering back as soon as he made a movement. Inasmuch as new objects may always be advantageous448, it is better that an animal should not absolutely fear them. But, inasmuch as they may also possibly be harmful, it is better that he should not be quite indifferent to them either, but on the whole remaining on the survive, ascertain128 as much about them, and what they may be likely to bring forth, as he can, before settling down to rest in their presence. Some such susceptibility for being excited and irritated by the mere novelty, as such, of any movable feature of the environment must form the instinctive basis of all human curiosity; though, of course, the superstructure absorbs contributions from so many other factors of the emotional life that the original root may be hard to find. With what is called a scientific curiosity, and with metaphysical wonder, the practical instinctive root has probably nothing to do. The stimuli here are not objects, but ways of conceiving objects; and the emotions and actions they give rise to are to be classed, with many other aesthetic manifestations, sensitive and motor, as incidental features of our mental life. The philosophic181 brain responds to an inconsistency or a gap in its knowledge, just as the musical brain responds to a discord449 in what it hears. At certain ages the sensitiveness to particular gaps and the pleasure of resolving particular puzzles reach their maximum, and then it is that stores of scientific knowledge are easiest and most naturally laid in. But these effects may have had nothing to do with the uses for which the brain was originally gives; and it is probably only within a few centuries, since religious beliefs and economic applications of science have played a prominent part in the conflicts of one race with another, that they may have helped to 'select' for survival a particular type of brain. I shall have to consider this matter of incidental and supernumerary faculties450 in Chapter XXVIII.
Sociability and Shyness . As a gregarious animal, man is excited both by the absence and by the presence of his kind. To be alone is one of the greatest of evils for him. Solitary451 confinement is by many regarded as a mode of torture too cruel and unnatural452 for civilized countries to adopt. To one long pent up on a desert island, the sight of a human footprint or a human form in the distance would be the most tumultuously exciting of experiences. In morbid453 states of mind, one of the commonest symptoms is the fear of being alone. This fear may be assuaged454 by the presence of a little child, or even of a baby. In a case of hydrophobia known to the writer, the patient insisted on keeping his room crowded with neighbors all the while, so intense was his fear of solitude. In a gregarious animal, the perception that he is alone excites him to vigorous activity. Mr. Galton thus describes the behavior of the South African cattle whom he had such good opportunities for observing:
"Although the ox has little affection for, or interest in, his fellows, he cannot endure even a momentary separation from his herd455. If he be separated from it by stratagem456 or force, he exhibits every sign of mental agony; he strives with all his might to get back again, and when he succeeds he plunges457 into its middle to bathe his whole body with the comfort of closest companionship." 29
Man is also excited by the presence of his kind. The bizarre actions of dogs meeting strange dogs are not altogether without a parallel in our own constitution. We cannot meet strangers without a certain tension, or talk to them exactly as to our familiars. This is particularly the case if the stranger be an important personage. It may then happen that we not only shrink from meeting his eye, but actually cannot collect our wits or do ourselves any sort of justice in his presence.
'This odd state of mind," says Darwin, 30 "is chiefly recognized by the face reddening, by the eyes being averted458 or cast down, and by awkward, nervous movements of the body. . . . Shyness seems to depend on sensitiveness to the opinion, whether good or bad, of others, more especially with respect to external appearance. Strangers neither know nor care anything about our conduct or character, but they may, and often do, criticise459 our appearance. . . . The consciousness of anything peculiar, or even new, in the dress, or any slight blemish460 on the person, and more especially on the face -- points which are likely to attract the attention of strangers -- makes the shy intolerably shy. 31 On the other hand, in those cases in which conduct, and not personal appearance, is concerned, we are much more apt to be shy in the presence of acquaintances whose judgment we in some degree value than in that of strangers. . . . Some persons, however, are so sensitive that the mere act of speaking to almost any one is sufficient to rouse their self-consciousness, and a slight blush is the result. Disapprobation . . . causes shyness and blushing much more readily than does approbation461. . . . Persons who are exceedingly shy are rarely shy in the presence of those with whom they are quite familiar, and of whose good opinion and sympathy they are quite assured; for instance, a girl in presence of her mother. . . . Shyness . . . is closely related to fear; yet it is distinct from fear in the ordinary sense. A shy man dreads462 the notice of strangers, but can hardly be said to be afraid of them; he may be as bold as a hero in battle, and yet hare no self-confidence about trifles in the presence of strangers. Almost every one is extremely nervous when first addressing a public assembly, and most men remain so through their lives."
As Mr. Darwin observes, a real dread of definite consequences may enter into this 'stage-fright' and complicate159 the shyness. Even so our shyness before an important personage may be complicated by what Professor Bain calls 'servile terror,' based on representation of definite dangers if we fail to please. But both stage-fright and servile terror may exist with the most indefinite apprehensions463 of danger, and, in fact, when our reason tells us there is no occasion for alarm. We must, therefore, admit a certain amount of purely instinctive perturbation and constraint464, clue to the consciousness that we have become objects for other people's eyes. Mr. Darwin goes on to say: "Shyness comes on at a very early age. In one of my own children, two years and three months old, I saw a trace of what certainly appeared to be shyness directed toward myself, after an absence from home of only a week." Every parent has noticed the same sort of thing. Considering the despotic powers of rulers in savage tribes, respect and awe465 must, from time immemorial, have been emotions excited by certain individuals; and stage-fright servile terror, and shyness, must have had as copious466 opportunities for exercise as at the present time. Whether these impulses could ever have been useful, and selected for usefulness, is a question which, it would seem, can only be answered in the negative. Apparently467 they are pure hindrances468, like fainting at sight of blood or disease, sea-sickness, a dizzy head on high places, and certain squeamishnesses of æsthetic taste. They are incidental emotions, in spite of which we get along. But they seem to play an important part in the production of two other propensities469, about the instinctive character of which a good deal of controversy470 has prevailed. I refer to cleanliness and modesty471, to which we must proceed, but not before Tire have said a word about another impulse closely allied472 to shyness. I mean -- Secretiveness, which, although often due to intelligent calculation and the dread of betraying our interests in some more or less definitely foreseen way, is quite as often a blind propensity, serving no useful purpose, and is so stubborn and ineradicable a part of the character as fully to deserve a place among the instincts. Its natural stimuli are unfamiliar473 human beings, especially those whom we respect. Its reactions are the arrest of whatever we are saying or doing when such strangers draw nigh, coupled often with the pretense that we were not saying or doing that thing, but possibly something different. Often there is added to this a disposition to mendacity when asked to give an account of ourselves. With many persons the first impulse, when the door-bell rings, or a visitor is suddenly announced, is to scuttle474 out of the room, so as not to be 'caught.' When a person at whom we have been looking becomes aware of us, our immediate impulse may be to look the other way, end pretend we have not seen him. Many friends have confessed tome that this is a frequent phenomenon with them in meeting acquaintances in the street, especially unfamiliar ones. The bow is a secondary correction of the primary feint that we do not see the other person. Probably most readers will recognize in themselves, at least, the start, the nascent475 disposition, on many occasions, to act in each and all of these several ways. That the 'start' is neutralized476 by second thought proves it to come from a, deeper region than thought. There is unquestionably a native impulse in every one to conceal40 love-affairs, and the acquired impulse to conceal pecuniary477 affairs seems in many to be almost equally strong. It is to be noted478 that even where a given habit of concealment479 is reflective and deliberate, its motive480 is far less often definite prudence than a vague aversion to have one's sanctity invaded and one's personal concerns fingered and turned over by other people. Thus, some persons will never leave anything with their name written on it, where others may pick it up-even in the woods; an old envelope must not be thrown on the ground. Many cut all the leaves of a book of which they may be reading a single chapter, so that no one shall know which one they have singled out, and all this with no definite notion of harm. The impulse to conceal is more apt to be provoked by superiors than by equals or inferiors. How differently do boys talk together when their parents are not by! Servants see more of their masters' characters than masters of servants'. 32 Where we conceal from our equals and familiars, there is probably always a definite element of prudential prevision involved. Collective secrecy481, mystery, enters into the emotional interest of many games, and is one of the elements of the importance men attach to freemasonries of various sorts, being delightful48 apart from any end.
Cleanliness . Seeing how very filthy482 savages and exceptional individuals among civilized people may be, philosophers have doubted whether any genuine instinct of cleanliness exists, and whether education and habit be not responsible for whatever amount of it is found. Were it an instinct, its stimulus would be dirt, and its characteristic reaction the shrinking from contact therewith, and the cleaning of it away after contact had occurred. Now, if some animals are cleanly, men may be so, and there can be no doubt that some kinds of matter are natively repugnant, both to sight, touch, and smell -- excrementitious and putrid484 things, blood, pus, entrails, and diseased tissues, for example. It is true that the shrinking from contact with these things may be inhibited very easily, as by a medical education; and it is equally true that the impulse to clean them away may be inhibited by so slight an obstacle as the thought of the coldness of the ablution, or the necessity of getting up to perform it. It is also true than an impulse to cleanliness, habitually485 checked, will become obsolete486 fast enough. But none of these facts prove the impulse never to have been there. 33 It seems to be there in all cases; and then to be particularly amenable487 to outside influences, the child having his own degree of squeamishness about what he shall touch or eat, and later being either hardened or made more fastidious still by the habits he is forced to acquire and the examples among which he lives.
Examples get their hold on him in this way, that a, particularly evil-smelling or catarrhal or lousy comrade is rather offensive to him, and that he sees the odiousness488 in another of an amount of dirt to which he would have no spontaneous objection if it were on his own skin. That we dislike in others things which we tolerate in ourselves is a law of our æsthetic nature about which there can be no doubt. But as soon as generalization489 and reflection step in, this judging of others leads to anew way of regarding ourselves. "Who taught you politeness? The impolite," is, I believe, a Chinese proverb. The concept, 'dirty fellow,' which we have formed, becomes one under which we personally shrink from being classed; and so we 'wash up,' and set ourselves right, at moments when our social self-conscious-ness is awakened, in a manner toward which no strictly instinctive native prompting exists. But the standard of cleanliness attained in this way is not likely to go beyond the mutual tolerance490 for one another of the members of the tribe, and hence may comport491 a good deal of actual filth483.
Modesty, Shame . Whether there be an instinctive impulse to hide certain parts of the body and certain acts' is perhaps even more open to doubt than whether there be an instinct of cleanliness. Anthropologists have denied it, and in the utter shamelessness of infancy and of many savage tribes have seemed to find a good basis for their views. It must, however, be remembered that infancy proves nothing, and that, as far as sexual modesty goes, the sexual impulse itself works directly against it at times of excitement, and with reference to certain people; and that habits of immodesty contracted with those people may forever afterwards inhibit it any impulse to be modest towards them. This would account for a great deal of actual immodesty, even if an original modest impulse were there. On the other hand, the modest impulse, if it do exist, must be admitted to have a singularly ill-defined sphere of influence, both as regards the presences that call it forth, and as regards the acts to which it leads. Ethnology shows it to have very little backbone492 of its own, and to follow easily fashion and example. Still, it is hard to see the ubiquity of some sort of tribute to shame, however perverted493 -- as where female modesty consists in covering the face alone, or immodesty in appearing before strangers unpainted -- and to believe it to have no impulsive root whatever. Now, what may the impulsive root be? I believe that, for one thing, it is shyness, the feeling of dread that unfamiliar persons, as explained above, may inspire us withal. Such persons are the original stimuli to our modesty. 34 But the actions of modesty are quite different from the actions of shyness. They consist of the restraint of certain bodily functions, and of the covering of certain parts; and why do such particular actions necessarily ensue? That there may be in the human animal, as such, a 'blind' and immediate automatic impulse to such restraints and coverings in respect-inspiring presences is a possibility difficult of actual disproof. But it seems more likely, from the facts, that the actions of modesty are suggested to us in a roundabout way; and that, even more than those of cleanliness, they arise from the application in the second instance to ourselves of judgments494 primarily passed upon our mates. It is not easy to believe that, even among the nakedest savages, an unusual degree of cynicism and indecency in an individual should not beget495 a certain degree of contempt, and cheapen him in his neighbor's eyes. Human nature is sufficiently homogeneous for us to be sure that everywhere reserve must inspire some respect, and that persons who suffer every liberty are persons whom others disregard. Not to be like such people, then, would be one of the first resolutions suggested by social self-consciousness to a. child of nature just emerging from the unreflective state. And the resolution would probably acquire effective pungency496 for the first time when the social self-consciousness was sharpened into a real fit of shyness by some person being present whom it was important not to disgust or displease. Public opinion would of course go on to build its positive precepts497 upon this germ; and, through a variety of examples and experiences, the ritual of modesty would grow, until it reached the New England pitch of sensitiveness and range, making us say stomach instead of belly498, limb instead of leg, retire instead of go to bed, and forbidding us to call a female dog by name. At bottom this amounts to the admission that, though in some shape or other a natural and inevitable feature of human life, modesty need not necessarily be an instinct in the pure and simple excite-motor sense of the term.
Love . Of all propensities, the sexual impulses bear on their face the most obvious signs of being instinctive, in the sense of blind, automatic, and untaught. The teleology they contain is often at variance499 with the wishes of the individuals concerned; and the actions are performed for no assignable reason but because Nature urges just that way. Here, if ever, then, we ought to find those characters of fatality, infallibility, and uniformity, which, we are told, make of actions done from instinct a class so utterly apart. But is this so? The facts are just the reverse: the sexual instinct is particularly liable to be checked and modified by slight differences in the individual stimulus, by the inward condition of the agent himself, by habits once acquired, and by the antagonism of contrary impulses operating on the mind. One of these is the ordinary shyness recently described; another is what might be called the essential instinct, the instinct of personal isolation500, the actual repulsiveness501 to us of the idea of intimate contact with most of the persons we meet, especially those of our own sex. 35 Thus it comes about that this strongest passion of all, so far from being the most 'irresistible,' may, on the contrary, be the hardest one to give rein to and that individuals in whom the inhibiting502 influences are potent214 may pass through life and never find an occasion to have it gratified. There could be no better proof of the truth of that proposition with which we began our study of the instinctive life in man, that irregularity of behavior may come as well from the possession of too many instincts as from the lack of any at all.
The instinct of personal isolation, of which we have spoken, exists more strongly in men with respect to one another, and more strongly in women with respect to men. In women it is called coyness, and has to be positively503 overcome by a process of wooing before the sexual instinct inhibits it and takes its place. As Darwin has shown in his book on the 'Descent of Man and Sexual Selection,' it has played a vital part in the amelioration of all higher animal types, and is to a great degree responsible for whatever degree of chastity the human race may show. It illustrates strikingly, however, the law of the inhibition of instincts by habits -- for, once broken through with a given person, it is not apt to assert itself again; and habitually broken through, as by prostitutes, with various persons, it may altogether decay. Habit also fixes it in us toward certain individuals: nothing is so particularly displeasing504 as the notion of close personal contact with those whom we have long known in a respectful and distant way. The fondness of the ancients and of modern Orientals for forms of unnatural vice83, of which the notion affects us with horror, is probably a mere case of the way in which this instinct may be inhibited by habit. me can hardly suppose that the ancients had by gift of Nature a propensity of which we are devoid, and were all victims of what is now a pathological aberration505 limited to individuals. It is more probable that with them the instinct of physical aversion toward a, certain class of objects was inhibited early in life by habits, formed under the influence of example; and that then a kind of sexual appetite, of which very likely most men possess the germinal possibility, developed itself in an unrestricted way. That the development of it in an abnormal way may check its development in the normal way, seems to be a well-ascertained medical fact. And that the direction of the sexual instinct towards one individual tends to inhibit its application to other individuals, is a law, upon which, though it suffers many exceptions, the whole regime of monogamy is based. These details are a little unpleasant to discuss, but they show so beautifully the correctness of the general principles in the light of which our review has been made, that it was impossible to pass them over unremarked.
Jealousy is unquestionably instinctive.
Parental506 Love is an instinct stronger in woman than in man, at least in the early childhood of its object. I need do little more than quote Schneider's lively description of it as it exists in her:
"As soon as a wife becomes a mother her whole thought and feeling, her whole being, is altered. Until then she had only thought of her own well-being507, of the satisfaction of her vanity; the whole world appeared made only for her; everything that went on about her was only noticed so far as it had personal reference to herself; she asked of every one that he should appear interested in her, pay her the requisite attention, and as far as possible fulfil her wishes. Now, however, the centre of the world is no longer herself, but her child. She does not think of her own hunger, she must first be sure that the child is fed. It is nothing to her that she herself is tired and needs rest, so long as she sees that the child's sleep is disturbed; the moment it stirs she awakes, though far stronger noises fail to arouse her now. She, who formerly508 could not bear the slightest carelessness of dress, and touched everything with gloves, allows herself to be soiled by the infant, and does not shrink from seizing its clouts509 with her naked hands. Now, she has the greatest patience with the ugly, piping cry-baby (Schreihals ), whereas until now every discordant510 sound, every slightly unpleasant noise, made her nervous. Every limb of the still hideous511 little being appears to her beautiful, every movement fills her with delight. She has, in one word, transferred her entire egoism to the child, and lives only in it. Thus, at least, it is in all unspoiled, naturally-bred mothers, who, alas512! seem to be growing rarer; and thus it is with ah the higher animal-mothers. The maternal joys of a cat, for example, are not to be disguised. With an expression of infinite comfort she stretches out her forelegs to offer her teats to her children, and moves her tail with delight when the little hungry mouths tug513 and suck . . . But not only the contact, the bare look of the offspring affords endless delight, not only because the mother thinks that the child will someday grow great and handsome and bring her many joys, but because she has received from Nature an instinctive love for her children. She does not herself know why she is so happy, and why the look of the child and the care of it are so agreeable, any more than the young man can give an account of why he loves a maiden, and is so happy when she is near. Few mothers, in caring for their child, think of the proper purpose of maternal love for the preservation of the species. Such a thought may arise in the father's mind; seldom in that of the mother. The latter feels only . . . that it is an everlasting514 delight to hold the being which she has brought forth protectingly in her arms, to dress it, to wash it, to rock it to sleep, or to still its hunger."
So far the worthy515 Schneider, to whose words may be added this remark, that the passionate516 devotion of a mother -- in herself, perhaps -- to a sick or dying child is perhaps the most simply beautiful moral spectacle that human life affords. Contemning517 every danger, triumphing over every difficulty, outlasting518 all fatigue519, woman's love is here invincibly520 superior to anything that man can show.
These are the most prominent of the tendencies which are worthy of being called instinctive in the human species. 36
It will be observed that no other mammal, not even the monkey, shows so large an array . In a perfectly-rounded development, every one of these instincts would start a habit toward certain objects and inhibit a habit toward certain others. Usually this is the case; but, in the one-sided development of civilized life, it happens that the timely age goes by in a sort of starvation of objects, and the individual then grows up with gaps in his psychic216 constitution which future experiences can never fill. Compare the accomplished gentleman with the poor artisan or tradesman of a city: during the adolescence521 of the former, objects appropriate to his growing interests, bodily and mental, were offered as fast as the interests awoke, and, as a consequence, he is armed and equipped at every angle to meet the world. Sport came to the rescue and completed his education where real things were lacking. He has tasted of the essence of every side of human life, being sailor, hunter, athlete, scholar, fighter, talker, dandy, man of affairs, etc., all in one. Over the city poor boy's youth no such golden opportunities were hung, and in his man-hood no desires for most of them exist. Fortunate it is for him if gaps are the only anomalies his instinctive life presents; perversions522 are too often the fruit of his unnatural bringing up.
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1 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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2 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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3 foresight | |
n.先见之明,深谋远虑 | |
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4 functional | |
adj.为实用而设计的,具备功能的,起作用的 | |
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5 aptitude | |
n.(学习方面的)才能,资质,天资 | |
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6 gland | |
n.腺体,(机)密封压盖,填料盖 | |
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7 secretion | |
n.分泌 | |
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8 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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9 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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10 grooved | |
v.沟( groove的过去式和过去分词 );槽;老一套;(某种)音乐节奏 | |
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11 secreting | |
v.(尤指动物或植物器官)分泌( secrete的现在分词 );隐匿,隐藏 | |
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12 cocoon | |
n.茧 | |
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13 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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14 transformation | |
n.变化;改造;转变 | |
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15 hawk | |
n.鹰,骗子;鹰派成员 | |
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16 talons | |
n.(尤指猛禽的)爪( talon的名词复数 );(如爪般的)手指;爪状物;锁簧尖状突出部 | |
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17 wield | |
vt.行使,运用,支配;挥,使用(武器等) | |
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18 quarry | |
n.采石场;v.采石;费力地找 | |
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19 den | |
n.兽穴;秘密地方;安静的小房间,私室 | |
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20 preservation | |
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21 defense | |
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22 maternity | |
n.母性,母道,妇产科病房;adj.孕妇的,母性的 | |
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23 ram | |
(random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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24 physiological | |
adj.生理学的,生理学上的 | |
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25 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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26 sensory | |
adj.知觉的,感觉的,知觉器官的 | |
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27 stimuli | |
n.刺激(物) | |
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28 shuns | |
v.避开,回避,避免( shun的第三人称单数 ) | |
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29 attained | |
(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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30 par | |
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31 obstreperous | |
adj.喧闹的,不守秩序的 | |
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32 clove | |
n.丁香味 | |
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33 naturalist | |
n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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34 astounds | |
v.使震惊,使大吃一惊( astound的第三人称单数 ) | |
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35 anticipation | |
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36 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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37 dependence | |
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38 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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39 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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40 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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41 conceals | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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42 smothered | |
(使)窒息, (使)透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 ); 覆盖; 忍住; 抑制 | |
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43 clairvoyant | |
adj.有预见的;n.有预见的人 | |
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44 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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45 dodging | |
n.避开,闪过,音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 );回避 | |
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46 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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47 terminology | |
n.术语;专有名词 | |
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48 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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49 delightfully | |
大喜,欣然 | |
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50 fully | |
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51 subdivides | |
再分,细分( subdivide的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52 crouch | |
v.蹲伏,蜷缩,低头弯腰;n.蹲伏 | |
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53 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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54 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
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55 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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56 nostril | |
n.鼻孔 | |
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57 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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58 fangs | |
n.(尤指狗和狼的)长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 );(蛇的)毒牙;罐座 | |
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59 devouring | |
吞没( devour的现在分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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60 contraction | |
n.缩略词,缩写式,害病 | |
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61 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
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62 analyze | |
vt.分析,解析 (=analyse) | |
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63 propensity | |
n.倾向;习性 | |
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64 nutritious | |
adj.有营养的,营养价值高的 | |
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65 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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66 impulsive | |
adj.冲动的,刺激的;有推动力的 | |
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67 tedium | |
n.单调;烦闷 | |
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68 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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69 brutes | |
兽( brute的名词复数 ); 畜生; 残酷无情的人; 兽性 | |
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70 champagne | |
n.香槟酒;微黄色 | |
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71 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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72 revering | |
v.崇敬,尊崇,敬畏( revere的现在分词 ) | |
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73 savory | |
adj.风味极佳的,可口的,味香的 | |
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74 awakens | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的第三人称单数 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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75 scowl | |
vi.(at)生气地皱眉,沉下脸,怒视;n.怒容 | |
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76 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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77 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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78 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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79 voluptuous | |
adj.肉欲的,骄奢淫逸的 | |
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80 carrion | |
n.腐肉 | |
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81 stimulate | |
vt.刺激,使兴奋;激励,使…振奋 | |
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82 quotations | |
n.引用( quotation的名词复数 );[商业]行情(报告);(货物或股票的)市价;时价 | |
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83 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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84 nourishment | |
n.食物,营养品;营养情况 | |
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85 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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86 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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87 beetle | |
n.甲虫,近视眼的人 | |
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88 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89 impel | |
v.推动;激励,迫使 | |
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90 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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91 requisite | |
adj.需要的,必不可少的;n.必需品 | |
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92 caress | |
vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
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93 strut | |
v.肿胀,鼓起;大摇大摆地走;炫耀;支撑;撑开;n.高视阔步;支柱,撑杆 | |
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94 antelope | |
n.羚羊;羚羊皮 | |
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95 pounce | |
n.猛扑;v.猛扑,突然袭击,欣然同意 | |
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96 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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97 ripen | |
vt.使成熟;vi.成熟 | |
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98 rein | |
n.疆绳,统治,支配;vt.以僵绳控制,统治 | |
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99 inhibit | |
vt.阻止,妨碍,抑制 | |
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100 neutralize | |
v.使失效、抵消,使中和 | |
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101 toad | |
n.蟾蜍,癞蛤蟆 | |
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102 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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103 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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104 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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105 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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106 fatality | |
n.不幸,灾祸,天命 | |
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107 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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108 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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109 inhibited | |
a.拘谨的,拘束的 | |
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110 discriminate | |
v.区别,辨别,区分;有区别地对待 | |
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111 impaled | |
钉在尖桩上( impale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112 fishy | |
adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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113 gregarious | |
adj.群居的,喜好群居的 | |
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114 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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115 fraught | |
adj.充满…的,伴有(危险等)的;忧虑的 | |
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116 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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117 implants | |
n.(植入身体中的)移植物( implant的名词复数 ) | |
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118 alterations | |
n.改动( alteration的名词复数 );更改;变化;改变 | |
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119 sociability | |
n.好交际,社交性,善于交际 | |
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120 pugnacity | |
n.好斗,好战 | |
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121 unstable | |
adj.不稳定的,易变的 | |
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122 equilibrium | |
n.平衡,均衡,相称,均势,平静 | |
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123 demeanor | |
n.行为;风度 | |
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124 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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125 uncertainty | |
n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
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126 antagonism | |
n.对抗,敌对,对立 | |
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127 automaton | |
n.自动机器,机器人 | |
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128 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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129 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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131 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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132 perversion | |
n.曲解;堕落;反常 | |
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133 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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134 elicit | |
v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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135 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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136 lobster | |
n.龙虾,龙虾肉 | |
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137 bough | |
n.大树枝,主枝 | |
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138 physiologically | |
ad.生理上,在生理学上 | |
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139 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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140 gust | |
n.阵风,突然一阵(雨、烟等),(感情的)迸发 | |
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141 torpor | |
n.迟钝;麻木;(动物的)冬眠 | |
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142 grafted | |
移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 ); 嫁接; 使(思想、制度等)成为(…的一部份); 植根 | |
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143 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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144 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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145 calves | |
n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子,腓;腿肚子( calf的名词复数 );牛犊;腓;小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 );(冰川)崩解;生(小牛等),产(犊);使(冰川)崩解 | |
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146 calf | |
n.小牛,犊,幼仔,小牛皮 | |
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147 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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148 lust | |
n.性(淫)欲;渴(欲)望;vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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149 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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150 mole | |
n.胎块;痣;克分子 | |
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151 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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152 hooded | |
adj.戴头巾的;有罩盖的;颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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153 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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154 cowering | |
v.畏缩,抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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155 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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156 analogous | |
adj.相似的;类似的 | |
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157 engenders | |
v.产生(某形势或状况),造成,引起( engender的第三人称单数 ) | |
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158 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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159 complicate | |
vt.使复杂化,使混乱,使难懂 | |
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160 inhibits | |
阻止,抑制( inhibit的第三人称单数 ); 使拘束,使尴尬 | |
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161 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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162 coax | |
v.哄诱,劝诱,用诱哄得到,诱取 | |
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163 progeny | |
n.后代,子孙;结果 | |
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164 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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165 unwillingness | |
n. 不愿意,不情愿 | |
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166 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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167 growling | |
n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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168 wriggling | |
v.扭动,蠕动,蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 );(使身体某一部位)扭动;耍滑不做,逃避(应做的事等);蠕蠕 | |
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169 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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170 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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171 orphans | |
孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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172 vivacity | |
n.快活,活泼,精神充沛 | |
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173 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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174 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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175 recur | |
vi.复发,重现,再发生 | |
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176 illustrate | |
v.举例说明,阐明;图解,加插图 | |
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177 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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178 entice | |
v.诱骗,引诱,怂恿 | |
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179 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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180 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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181 philosophic | |
adj.哲学的,贤明的 | |
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182 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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183 deranged | |
adj.疯狂的 | |
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184 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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185 pretense | |
n.矫饰,做作,借口 | |
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186 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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187 superfluous | |
adj.过多的,过剩的,多余的 | |
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188 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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189 appease | |
v.安抚,缓和,平息,满足 | |
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190 anecdote | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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191 illustrates | |
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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192 rites | |
仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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193 corroborated | |
v.证实,支持(某种说法、信仰、理论等)( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
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194 systematic | |
adj.有系统的,有计划的,有方法的 | |
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195 zest | |
n.乐趣;滋味,风味;兴趣 | |
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196 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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197 protracted | |
adj.拖延的;延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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198 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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199 manifestation | |
n.表现形式;表明;现象 | |
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200 manifestations | |
n.表示,显示(manifestation的复数形式) | |
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201 ebb | |
vi.衰退,减退;n.处于低潮,处于衰退状态 | |
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202 botanists | |
n.植物学家,研究植物的人( botanist的名词复数 ) | |
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203 initiating | |
v.开始( initiate的现在分词 );传授;发起;接纳新成员 | |
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204 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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205 impetus | |
n.推动,促进,刺激;推动力 | |
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206 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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207 whetted | |
v.(在石头上)磨(刀、斧等)( whet的过去式和过去分词 );引起,刺激(食欲、欲望、兴趣等) | |
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208 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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209 grooves | |
n.沟( groove的名词复数 );槽;老一套;(某种)音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 );槽;老一套;(某种)音乐节奏 | |
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210 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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211 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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212 abreast | |
adv.并排地;跟上(时代)的步伐,与…并进地 | |
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213 unlimited | |
adj.无限的,不受控制的,无条件的 | |
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214 potent | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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215 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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216 psychic | |
n.对超自然力敏感的人;adj.有超自然力的 | |
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217 psychical | |
adj.有关特异功能现象的;有关特异功能官能的;灵魂的;心灵的 | |
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218 bristling | |
a.竖立的 | |
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219 apparatus | |
n.装置,器械;器具,设备 | |
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220 merge | |
v.(使)结合,(使)合并,(使)合为一体 | |
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221 tickled | |
(使)发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)愉快,逗乐 | |
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222 wry | |
adj.讽刺的;扭曲的 | |
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223 preyer | |
猛兽,猛禽 | |
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224 random | |
adj.随机的;任意的;n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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225 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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226 vomiting | |
吐 | |
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227 hiccuping | |
v.嗝( hiccup的现在分词 );连续地打嗝;暂时性的小问题;短暂的停顿 | |
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228 hew | |
v.砍;伐;削 | |
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229 grimaces | |
n.(表蔑视、厌恶等)面部扭曲,鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相,做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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230 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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231 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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232 scowling | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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233 protrusion | |
n.伸出,突出 | |
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234 rejection | |
n.拒绝,被拒,抛弃,被弃 | |
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235 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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236 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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237 locomotion | |
n.运动,移动 | |
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238 ripening | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的现在分词 );熟化;熟成 | |
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239 contractions | |
n.收缩( contraction的名词复数 );缩减;缩略词;(分娩时)子宫收缩 | |
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240 downwards | |
adj./adv.向下的(地),下行的(地) | |
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241 stiffens | |
(使)变硬,(使)强硬( stiffen的第三人称单数 ) | |
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242 contentedly | |
adv.心满意足地 | |
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243 perseverance | |
n.坚持不懈,不屈不挠 | |
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244 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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245 grogginess | |
酒醉;东歪西倒 | |
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246 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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247 illusive | |
adj.迷惑人的,错觉的 | |
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248 ripened | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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249 conclusive | |
adj.最后的,结论的;确凿的,消除怀疑的 | |
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250 confinement | |
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
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251 appreciable | |
adj.明显的,可见的,可估量的,可觉察的 | |
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252 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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253 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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254 beeches | |
n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 );山毛榉木材 | |
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255 wrens | |
n.鹪鹩( wren的名词复数 ) | |
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256 blister | |
n.水疱;(油漆等的)气泡;v.(使)起泡 | |
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257 blistered | |
adj.水疮状的,泡状的v.(使)起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 );(使表皮等)涨破,爆裂 | |
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258 widower | |
n.鳏夫 | |
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259 ripens | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的第三人称单数 ) | |
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260 vowel | |
n.元音;元音字母 | |
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261 expiration | |
n.终结,期满,呼气,呼出物 | |
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262 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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263 reiterates | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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264 prattler | |
n.空谈者 | |
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265 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
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266 articulation | |
n.(清楚的)发音;清晰度,咬合 | |
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267 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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268 accomplishments | |
n.造诣;完成( accomplishment的名词复数 );技能;成绩;成就 | |
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269 revels | |
n.作乐( revel的名词复数 );狂欢;着迷;陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 );狂欢;着迷;陶醉 | |
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270 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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271 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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272 rivalry | |
n.竞争,竞赛,对抗 | |
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273 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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274 nil | |
n.无,全无,零 | |
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275 frenzies | |
狂乱( frenzy的名词复数 ); 极度的激动 | |
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276 actively | |
adv.积极地,勤奋地 | |
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277 gaping | |
adj.口的;张口的;敞口的;多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 );张开,张大 | |
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278 mesmerized | |
v.使入迷( mesmerize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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279 mimicry | |
n.(生物)拟态,模仿 | |
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280 mimic | |
v.模仿,戏弄;n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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281 aesthetic | |
adj.美学的,审美的,有美感 | |
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282 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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283 hyena | |
n.土狼,鬣狗 | |
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284 feign | |
vt.假装,佯作 | |
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285 feigned | |
a.假装的,不真诚的 | |
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286 emulation | |
n.竞争;仿效 | |
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287 rife | |
adj.(指坏事情)充斥的,流行的,普遍的 | |
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288 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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289 ferocious | |
adj.凶猛的,残暴的,极度的,十分强烈的 | |
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290 constrained | |
adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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291 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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292 obnoxious | |
adj.极恼人的,讨人厌的,可憎的 | |
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293 gory | |
adj.流血的;残酷的 | |
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294 fickleness | |
n.易变;无常;浮躁;变化无常 | |
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295 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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296 slaughter | |
n.屠杀,屠宰;vt.屠杀,宰杀 | |
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297 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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298 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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299 massacres | |
大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 ); 惨败 | |
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300 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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301 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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302 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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303 stimulates | |
v.刺激( stimulate的第三人称单数 );激励;使兴奋;起兴奋作用,起刺激作用,起促进作用 | |
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304 dictates | |
n.命令,规定,要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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305 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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306 gregariousness | |
集群性;簇聚性 | |
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307 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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308 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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309 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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310 pugnacious | |
adj.好斗的 | |
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311 fascination | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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312 atrocity | |
n.残暴,暴行 | |
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313 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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314 aboriginal | |
adj.(指动植物)土生的,原产地的,土著的 | |
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315 paradox | |
n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法;自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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316 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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317 intervention | |
n.介入,干涉,干预 | |
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318 eradicate | |
v.根除,消灭,杜绝 | |
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319 displease | |
vt.使不高兴,惹怒;n.不悦,不满,生气 | |
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320 brutality | |
n.野蛮的行为,残忍,野蛮 | |
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321 ignoble | |
adj.不光彩的,卑鄙的;可耻的 | |
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322 parasites | |
寄生物( parasite的名词复数 ); 靠他人为生的人; 诸虫 | |
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323 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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324 mangled | |
vt.乱砍(mangle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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325 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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326 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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327 contagion | |
n.(通过接触的疾病)传染;蔓延 | |
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328 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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329 grasshoppers | |
n.蚱蜢( grasshopper的名词复数 );蝗虫;蚂蚱;(孩子)矮小的 | |
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330 peremptorily | |
adv.紧急地,不容分说地,专横地 | |
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331 civilized | |
a.有教养的,文雅的 | |
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332 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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333 combativeness | |
n.好战 | |
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334 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
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335 dynamics | |
n.力学,动力学,动力,原动力;动态 | |
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336 collateral | |
adj.平行的;旁系的;n.担保品 | |
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337 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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338 atrocities | |
n.邪恶,暴行( atrocity的名词复数 );滔天大罪 | |
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339 jaws | |
n.口部;嘴 | |
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340 tapestry | |
n.挂毯,丰富多采的画面 | |
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341 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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342 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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343 conflagration | |
n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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344 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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345 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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346 onset | |
n.进攻,袭击,开始,突然开始 | |
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347 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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348 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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349 dispositions | |
安排( disposition的名词复数 ); 倾向; (财产、金钱的)处置; 气质 | |
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350 attenuating | |
v.(使)变细( attenuate的现在分词 );(使)变薄;(使)变小;减弱 | |
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351 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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352 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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353 upwards | |
adv.向上,在更高处...以上 | |
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354 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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355 mitigating | |
v.减轻,缓和( mitigate的现在分词 ) | |
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356 teleology | |
n.目的论 | |
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357 caverns | |
大山洞,大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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358 cavern | |
n.洞穴,大山洞 | |
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359 lurk | |
n.潜伏,潜行;v.潜藏,潜伏,埋伏 | |
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360 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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361 unreasonable | |
adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
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362 peculiarity | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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363 teleological | |
adj.目的论的 | |
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364 detrimental | |
adj.损害的,造成伤害的 | |
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365 complement | |
n.补足物,船上的定员;补语;vt.补充,补足 | |
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366 dubious | |
adj.怀疑的,无把握的;有问题的,靠不住的 | |
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367 monograph | |
n.专题文章,专题著作 | |
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368 inexplicable | |
adj.无法解释的,难理解的 | |
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369 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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370 vertiginous | |
adj.回旋的;引起头晕的 | |
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371 curdle | |
v.使凝结,变稠 | |
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372 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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373 brooks | |
n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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374 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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375 ooze | |
n.软泥,渗出物;vi.渗出,泄漏;vt.慢慢渗出,流露 | |
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376 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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377 corpses | |
n.死尸,尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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378 dispels | |
v.驱散,赶跑( dispel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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379 cadaveric | |
尸体的 | |
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380 reptilian | |
adj.(像)爬行动物的;(像)爬虫的;卑躬屈节的;卑鄙的n.两栖动物;卑劣的人 | |
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381 delirium | |
n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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382 peculiarities | |
n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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383 feigning | |
假装,伪装( feign的现在分词 ); 捏造(借口、理由等) | |
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384 crustacean | |
n.甲壳动物;adj.甲壳纲的 | |
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385 frantically | |
ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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386 crouching | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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387 chronic | |
adj.(疾病)长期未愈的,慢性的;极坏的 | |
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388 tenacious | |
adj.顽强的,固执的,记忆力强的,粘的 | |
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389 rodents | |
n.啮齿目动物( rodent的名词复数 ) | |
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390 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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391 appropriation | |
n.拨款,批准支出 | |
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392 impartial | |
adj.(in,to)公正的,无偏见的 | |
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393 proprietary | |
n.所有权,所有的;独占的;业主 | |
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394 covet | |
vt.垂涎;贪图(尤指属于他人的东西) | |
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395 gall | |
v.使烦恼,使焦躁,难堪;n.磨难 | |
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396 legitimated | |
v.合情合理的( legitimate的过去式和过去分词 );合法的;法律认可的;法定的 | |
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397 inflames | |
v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的第三人称单数 ) | |
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398 mania | |
n.疯狂;躁狂症,狂热,癖好 | |
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399 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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400 miser | |
n.守财奴,吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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401 belittle | |
v.轻视,小看,贬低 | |
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402 dispelled | |
v.驱散,赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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403 misers | |
守财奴,吝啬鬼( miser的名词复数 ) | |
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404 niggardly | |
adj.吝啬的,很少的 | |
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405 smitten | |
猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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406 hoard | |
n./v.窖藏,贮存,囤积 | |
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407 hoarding | |
n.贮藏;积蓄;临时围墙;囤积v.积蓄并储藏(某物)( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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408 hoards | |
n.(钱财、食物或其他珍贵物品的)储藏,积存( hoard的名词复数 )v.积蓄并储藏(某物)( hoard的第三人称单数 ) | |
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409 spikes | |
n.穗( spike的名词复数 );跑鞋;(防滑)鞋钉;尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 );偷偷地给某人的饮料加入(更多)酒精( 或药物);把尖状物钉入;打乱某人的计划 | |
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410 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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411 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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412 melodrama | |
n.音乐剧;情节剧 | |
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413 hoarded | |
v.积蓄并储藏(某物)( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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414 canes | |
n.(某些植物,如竹或甘蔗的)茎( cane的名词复数 );(用于制作家具等的)竹竿;竹杖 | |
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415 battered | |
adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
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416 hermit | |
n.隐士,修道者;隐居 | |
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417 bucks | |
n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 );钱;(英国十九世纪初的)花花公子;(用于某些表达方式)责任v.(马等)猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 );抵制;猛然震荡;马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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418 kleptomania | |
n.盗窃癖 | |
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419 counteracting | |
对抗,抵消( counteract的现在分词 ) | |
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420 kleptomaniacs | |
n.患偷窃狂者,有偷窃癖者( kleptomaniac的名词复数 ) | |
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421 complicates | |
使复杂化( complicate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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422 trumpery | |
n.无价值的杂物;adj.(物品)中看不中用的 | |
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423 utensils | |
器具,用具,器皿( utensil的名词复数 ); 器物 | |
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424 constructiveness | |
组织,构造 | |
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425 constructive | |
adj.建设的,建设性的 | |
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426 beaver | |
n.海狸,河狸 | |
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427 remodel | |
v.改造,改型,改变 | |
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428 forerunners | |
n.先驱( forerunner的名词复数 );开路人;先兆;前兆 | |
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429 necessitated | |
使…成为必要,需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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430 utilitarian | |
adj.实用的,功利的 | |
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431 cinder | |
n.余烬,矿渣 | |
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432 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
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433 darts | |
n.掷飞镖游戏;飞镖( dart的名词复数 );急驰,飞奔v.投掷,投射( dart的第三人称单数 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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434 wagon | |
n.四轮马车,手推车,面包车;无盖运货列车 | |
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435 ordeals | |
n.严峻的考验,苦难的经历( ordeal的名词复数 ) | |
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436 savages | |
未开化的人,野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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437 civic | |
adj.城市的,都市的,市民的,公民的 | |
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438 symbolize | |
vt.作为...的象征,用符号代表 | |
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439 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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440 divers | |
adj.不同的;种种的 | |
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441 stimulation | |
n.刺激,激励,鼓舞 | |
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442 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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443 stereotyped | |
adj.(指形象、思想、人物等)模式化的 | |
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444 crescendo | |
n.(音乐)渐强,高潮 | |
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445 antagonistic | |
adj.敌对的 | |
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446 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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447 alligators | |
n.短吻鳄( alligator的名词复数 ) | |
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448 advantageous | |
adj.有利的;有帮助的 | |
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449 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
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450 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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451 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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452 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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453 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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454 assuaged | |
v.减轻( assuage的过去式和过去分词 );缓和;平息;使安静 | |
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455 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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456 stratagem | |
n.诡计,计谋 | |
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457 plunges | |
n.跳进,投入vt.使投入,使插入,使陷入vi.投入,跳进,陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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458 averted | |
防止,避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 ); 转移 | |
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459 criticise | |
v.批评,评论;非难 | |
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460 blemish | |
v.损害;玷污;瑕疵,缺点 | |
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461 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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462 dreads | |
n.恐惧,畏惧( dread的名词复数 );令人恐惧的事物v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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463 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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464 constraint | |
n.(on)约束,限制;限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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465 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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466 copious | |
adj.丰富的,大量的 | |
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467 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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468 hindrances | |
阻碍者( hindrance的名词复数 ); 障碍物; 受到妨碍的状态 | |
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469 propensities | |
n.倾向,习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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470 controversy | |
n.争论,辩论,争吵 | |
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471 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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472 allied | |
adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
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473 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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474 scuttle | |
v.急赶,疾走,逃避;n.天窗;舷窗 | |
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475 nascent | |
adj.初生的,发生中的 | |
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476 neutralized | |
v.使失效( neutralize的过去式和过去分词 );抵消;中和;使(一个国家)中立化 | |
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477 pecuniary | |
adj.金钱的;金钱上的 | |
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478 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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479 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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480 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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481 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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482 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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483 filth | |
n.肮脏,污物,污秽;淫猥 | |
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484 putrid | |
adj.腐臭的;有毒的;已腐烂的;卑劣的 | |
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485 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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486 obsolete | |
adj.已废弃的,过时的 | |
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487 amenable | |
adj.经得起检验的;顺从的;对负有义务的 | |
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488 odiousness | |
n.可憎;讨厌;可恨 | |
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489 generalization | |
n.普遍性,一般性,概括 | |
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490 tolerance | |
n.宽容;容忍,忍受;耐药力;公差 | |
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491 comport | |
vi.相称,适合 | |
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492 backbone | |
n.脊骨,脊柱,骨干;刚毅,骨气 | |
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493 perverted | |
adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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494 judgments | |
判断( judgment的名词复数 ); 鉴定; 评价; 审判 | |
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495 beget | |
v.引起;产生 | |
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496 pungency | |
n.(气味等的)刺激性;辣;(言语等的)辛辣;尖刻 | |
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497 precepts | |
n.规诫,戒律,箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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498 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
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499 variance | |
n.矛盾,不同 | |
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500 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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501 repulsiveness | |
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502 inhibiting | |
抑制作用的,约束的 | |
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503 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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504 displeasing | |
不愉快的,令人发火的 | |
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505 aberration | |
n.离开正路,脱离常规,色差 | |
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506 parental | |
adj.父母的;父的;母的 | |
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507 well-being | |
n.安康,安乐,幸福 | |
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508 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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509 clouts | |
n.猛打( clout的名词复数 );敲打;(尤指政治上的)影响;(用手或硬物的)击v.(尤指用手)猛击,重打( clout的第三人称单数 ) | |
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510 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
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511 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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512 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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513 tug | |
v.用力拖(或拉);苦干;n.拖;苦干;拖船 | |
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514 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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515 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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516 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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517 contemning | |
v.侮辱,蔑视( contemn的现在分词 ) | |
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518 outlasting | |
v.比…长久,比…活得长( outlast的现在分词 ) | |
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519 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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520 invincibly | |
adv.难战胜地,无敌地 | |
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521 adolescence | |
n.青春期,青少年 | |
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522 perversions | |
n.歪曲( perversion的名词复数 );变坏;变态心理 | |
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