"He took great content and exceeding delight in his voyage, as who doth not as shall attempt the like."—BURTON.
AT SEA, 700 MILES N.W. OF SAN FRANCISCO.
Wednesday, July 12, 1865.
Ten days ago, on the eve of our departure for the Asiatic coast, full of high hopes and joyful1 anticipations2 of pleasure, I wrote in a fair round hand on this opening page of my journal, the above sentence from Burton; never once doubting, in my enthusiasm, the complete realisation of those "future joys," which to "fancy's eye" lay in such "bright uncertainty3," or suspecting that "a life on the ocean wave" was not a state of the highest felicity attainable4 on earth. The quotation5 seemed to me an extremely happy one, and I mentally blessed the quaint6 old Anatomist of Melancholy7 for providing me with a motto at once so simple and so appropriate. Of course "he took great content and exceeding delight in his voyage"; and the wholly unwarranted assumption that because "he" did, every one else necessarily must, did not strike me as being in the least absurd.
On the contrary, it carried all the weight of the severest logical demonstration8, and I would have treated with contempt any suggestion of possible disappointment. My ideas of sea life had been derived9 principally from glowing poetical10 descriptions of marine11 sunsets, of "summer isles12 of Eden, lying in dark purple spheres of sea," and of those "moonlight nights on lonely waters" with which poets have for ages beguiled14 ignorant landsmen into ocean voyages. Fogs, storms, and seasickness15 did not enter at all into my conceptions of marine phenomena17; or if I did admit the possibility of a storm, it was only as a picturesque18, highly poetical manifestation19 of wind and water in action, without any of the disagreeable features which attend those elements under more prosaic20 circumstances. I had, it is true, experienced a little rough weather on my voyage to California, but my memory had long since idealised it into something grand and poetical; and I looked forward even to a storm on the Pacific as an experience not only pleasant, but highly desirable. The illusion was very pleasant while it lasted; but—it is over. Ten days of real sea life have converted the "bright uncertainty of future joys" into a dark and decided21 certainty of future misery22, and left me to mourn the incompatibility23 of poetry and truth. Burton is a humbug24, Tennyson a fraud, I'm a victim, and Byron and Procter are accessories before the fact. Never again will I pin my faith to poets. They may tell the truth nearly enough for poetical consistency25, but their judgment26 is hopelessly perverted27, and their imagination is too luxuriantly vivid for a truthful28 realistic delineation29 of sea life. Byron's London Packet is a brilliant exception, but I remember no other in the whole range of poetical literature.
Our life since we left port has certainly been anything but poetical.
For nearly a week, we suffered all the indescribable miseries30 of seasickness, without any alleviating31 circumstances whatever. Day after day we lay in our narrow berths33, too sick to read, too unhappy to talk, watching the cabin lamp as it swung uneasily in its well-oiled gimbals, and listening to the gurgle and swash of the water around the after dead-lights, and the regular clank, clank of the blocks of the try-sail sheet as the rolling of the vessel34 swung the heavy boom from side to side.
We all professed35 to be enthusiastic supporters of the Tapleyan philosophy—jollity under all circumstances; but we failed most lamentably36 in reconciling our practice with our principles. There was not the faintest suggestion of jollity in the appearance of the four motionless, prostrate37 figures against the wall. Seasickness had triumphed over philosophy! Prospective39 and retrospective reverie of a decidedly gloomy character was our only occupation. I remember speculating curiously40 upon the probability of Noah's having ever been seasick16; wondering how the sea-going qualities of the Ark would compare with those of our brig, and whether she had our brig's uncomfortable way of pitching about in a heavy swell41.
If she had—and I almost smiled at the idea—what an unhappy experience it must have been for the poor animals!
I wondered also if Jason and Ulysses were born with sea-legs, or whether they had to go through the same unpleasant process that we did to get them on.
Concluded finally that sea-legs, like some diseases must be a diabolical42 invention of modern times, and that the ancients got along in some way without them. Then, looking intently at the fly-specks upon the painted boards ten inches from my eyes, I would recall all the bright anticipations with which I had sailed from San Francisco, and turn over, with a groan43 of disgust, to the wall.
I wonder if any one has ever written down on paper his seasick reveries. There are "Evening Reveries," "Reveries of a Bachelor," and "Seaside Reveries" in abundance; but no one, so far as I know, has ever even attempted to do his seasick reveries literary justice. It is a strange oversight44, and I would respectfully suggest to any aspiring46 writer who has the reverie faculty47, that there is here an unworked field of boundless48 extent. One trip across the North Pacific in a small brig will furnish an inexhaustible supply of material.
Our life thus far has been too monotonous49 to afford a single noticeable incident. The weather has been cold, damp, and foggy, with light head winds and a heavy swell; we have been confined closely to our seven-by-nine after-cabin; and its close, stifling50 atmosphere, redolent of bilge-water, lamp oil, and tobacco smoke, has had a most depressing influence upon our spirits. I am glad to see, however, that all our party are up today, and that there is a faint interest manifested in the prospect38 of dinner; but even the inspiriting strains of the Faust march, which the captain is playing upon a wheezy old accordion51, fail to put any expression of animation52 into the woebegone faces around the cabin table. Mahood pretends that he is all right, and plays checkers with the captain with an air of assumed tranquillity53 which approaches heroism54, but he is observed at irregular intervals55 to go suddenly and unexpectedly on deck, and to return every time with a more ghastly and rueful countenance56. When asked the object of these periodical visits to the quarter-deck, he replies, with a transparent57 affectation of cheerfulness, that he only goes up "to look at the compass and see how she's heading." I am surprised to find that looking at the compass is attended with such painful and melancholy emotions as those expressed in Mahood's face when he comes back; but he performs the self-imposed duty with unshrinking faithfulness, and relieves us of a great deal of anxiety about the safety of the ship. The captain seems a little negligent58, and sometimes does not observe the compass once a day; but Mahood watches it with unsleeping vigilance.
BRIG "OLGA," 800 MILES N.W. OF SAN FRANCISCO. Sunday, July 16, 1865.
The monotony of our lives was relieved night before last, and our seasickness aggravated59, by a severe gale60 of wind from the north-west, which compelled us to lie to for twenty hours under one close-reefed maintopsail. The storm began late in the afternoon, and by nine o'clock the wind was at its height and the sea rapidly rising. The waves pounded like Titanic61 sledgehammers against the vessel's quivering timbers; the gale roared a deep diapason through the cordage; and the regular thud, thud, thud of the pumps, and the long melancholy whistling of the wind through the blocks, filled our minds with dismal62 forebodings, and banished63 all inclination64 for sleep.
Morning dawned gloomily and reluctantly, and its first grey light, struggling through the film of water on the small rectangular deck lights, revealed a comical scene of confusion and disorder65. The ship was rolling and labouring heavily, and Mahood's trunk, having in some way broken from its moorings, was sliding back and forth66 across the cabin floor. Bush's big meerschaum, in company with a corpulent sponge, had taken up temporary quarters in the crown of my best hat, and the Major's box of cigars revolved67 periodically from corner to corner in the close embrace of a dirty shirt. Sliding and rolling over the carpet in every direction were books, papers, cigars, brushes, dirty collars, stockings, empty wine-bottles, slippers68, coats, and old boots; and a large box of telegraph material threatened momentarily to break from its fastenings and demolish69 everything. The Major, who was the first to show any signs of animation, rose on one elbow in bed, gazed fixedly70 at the sliding and revolving71 articles, and shaking his head reflectively, said: "It is a c-u-r-ious thing! It is a _c-u-r-_ious thing!" as if the migratory72 boots and cigar-boxes exhibited some new and perplexing phenomena not to be accounted for by any of the known laws of physics. A sudden roll in which the vessel indulged at that particular moment gave additional force to the sentiment of the soliloquy; and with renewed convictions, I have no doubt, of the original and innate73 depravity of matter generally, and of the Pacific Ocean especially, he laid his head back upon the pillow.
It required no inconsiderable degree of resolution to "turn out" under such unpromising circumstances; but Bush, after two or three groans74 and a yawn, made the attempt to get up and dress. Climbing hurriedly down when the ship rolled to windward, he caught his boots in one hand and trousers in the other, and began hopping75 about the cabin with surprising agility76, dodging77 or jumping over the sliding trunk and rolling bottles, and making frantic78 efforts, apparently79, to put both legs simultaneously80 into one boot. Surprised in the midst of this arduous81 task by an unexpected lurch82, he made an impetuous charge upon an inoffensive washstand, stepped on an erratic83 bottle, fell on his head, and finally brought up a total wreck84 in the corner of the room. Convulsed with laughter, the Major could only ejaculate disconnectedly, "I tell you—it is a—curious thing how she—rolls!" "Yes," rejoined Bush savagely85, as he rubbed one knee, "I should think it was! Just get up and try it!" But the Major was entirely86 satisfied to see Bush try it, and did nothing but laugh at his misfortunes. The latter finally succeeded in getting dressed, and after some hesitation87 I concluded to follow his example. By dint88 of falling twice over the trunk, kneeling upon my heels, sitting on my elbows, and executing several other equally impracticable feats89, I got my vest on inside out, both feet in the wrong boots respectively, and staggered up the companionway on deck. The wind was still blowing a gale, and we showed no canvas but one close-reefed maintopsail. Great massive mounds90 of blue water piled themselves up in the concealment91 of the low-hanging rain-clouds, rushed out upon us with white foaming92 crests93 ten feet above the quarterdeck, and broke into clouds of blinding, strangling spray over the forecastle and galley94, careening the ship until the bell on the quarter-deck struck and water ran in over the lee gunwale. It did not exactly correspond with my preconceived ideas of a storm, but I was obliged to confess that it had many of the characteristic features of the real phenomenon. The wind had the orthodox howl through the rigging, the sea was fully45 up to the prescribed standard, and the vessel pitched and rolled in a way to satisfy the most critical taste. The impression of sublimity95, however, which I had anticipated, was almost entirely lost in the sense of personal discomfort96. A man who has just been pitched over a skylight by one of the ship's eccentric movements, or drenched97 to the skin by a burst of spray, is not in a state of mind to contemplate98 sublimity; and after going through a varied99 and exhaustive course of such treatment, any romantic notions which he may previously100 have entertained with regard to the ocean's beauty and sublimity are pretty much knocked and drowned out of him. Rough weather makes short work of poetry and sentiment. The "wet sheet" and "flowing sea" of the poet have a significance quite the reverse of poetical when one discovers the "wet sheet" in his bed and the "flowing sea" all over the cabin floor, and our experience illustrates101 not so much the sublimity as the unpleasantness and discomfort of a storm at sea.
BRIG "OLGA," AT SEA, July 27, 1865.
I used often to wonder, while living in San Francisco, where the chilling fogs that toward night used to drift in over Lone13 Mountain and through the Golden Gate came from. I have discovered the laboratory. For the past two weeks we have been sailing continually in a dense102, wet, grey cloud of mist, so thick at times as almost to hide the topgallant yards, and so penetrating103 as to find its way even into our little after-cabin, and condense in minute drops upon our clothes. It rises, I presume, from the warm water of the great Pacific Gulf104 Stream across which we are passing, and whose vapour is condensed into fog by the cold north-west winds from Siberia. It is the most disagreeable feature of our voyage.
Our life has finally settled down into a quiet monotonous routine of eating, smoking, watching the barometer105, and sleeping twelve hours a day. The gale with which we were favoured two weeks ago afforded a pleasant thrill of temporary excitement and a valuable topic of conversation; but we have all come to coincide in the opinion of the Major, that it was a "curious thing," and are anxiously awaiting the turning up of something else. One cold, rainy, foggy day succeeds another, with only an occasional variation in the way of a head wind or a flurry of snow. Time, of course, hangs heavily on our hands. We are waked about half-past seven in the morning by the second mate, a funny, phlegmatic106 Dutchman, who is always shouting to us to "turn out" and see an imaginary whale, which he conjures107 up regularly before breakfast, and which invariably disappears before we can get on deck, as mysteriously as "Moby Dick." The whale, however, fails to draw after a time, and he resorts to an equally mysterious and eccentric sea-serpent, whose wonderful appearance he describes in comical broken English with the vain hope that we will crawl out into the raw foggy atmosphere to look at it. We never do. Bush opens his eyes, yawns, and keeps a sleepy watch of the breakfast table, which is situated108 in the captain's cabin forward. I cannot see it from my berth32, so I watch Bush. Presently we hear the humpbacked steward109's footsteps on the deck above our heads, and, with a quick succession of little bumps, half a dozen boiled potatoes come rolling down the stairs of the companionway into the cabin. They are the forerunners110 of breakfast. Bush watches the table, and I watch Bush more and more intently as the steward brings in the eatables; and by the expression of Bush's face, I judge whether it be worth while to get up or not. If he groans and turns over to the wall, I know that it is only hash, and I echo his groan and follow his example; but if he smiles, and gets up, I do likewise, with the full assurance of fresh mutton-chops or rice curry111 and chicken. After breakfast the Major smokes a cigarette and looks meditatively112 at the barometer, the captain gets his old accordion and squeezes out the Russian National Hymn113, while Bush and I go on deck to inhale114 a few breaths of pure fresh fog, and chaff115 the second mate about his sea-serpent. In reading, playing checkers, fencing, and climbing about the rigging when the weather permits, we pass away the day, as we have already passed away twenty and must pass twenty more before we can hope to see land.
AT SEA, NEAR THE ALEUTIAN ISLANDS. August 6, 1865.
"Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground, ling, heath, broom, furze, anything," except this wearisome monotonous waste of water! Let Kamchatka be what it will, we shall welcome it with as much joy as that with which Columbus first saw the flowery coast of San Salvador. I am prepared to look with complacency upon a sandbar and two spears of grass, and would not even insist upon the grass if I could only be sure of the sand-bar. We have now been thirty-four days at sea without once meeting a sail or getting a glimpse of land.
Our chief amusement lately has been the discussion of controverted116 points of history and science, and wonderful is the forensic117 and argumentative ability which these debates have developed. They are getting to be positively118 interesting. The only drawback to them is, that in the absence of any decisive authority they never come to any satisfactory conclusion. We have now been discussing for sixteen days the uses of a whale's blow-holes; and I firmly believe that if our voyage were prolonged, like the Flying Dutchman's, to all eternity119, we should never reach any solution of the problem that would satisfy all the disputants. The captain has an old Dutch History of the World, in twenty-six folio volumes, to which he appeals as final authority in all questions under the heavens, whether pertaining120 to love, science, war, art, politics, or religion; and no sooner does he get cornered in a discussion than he entrenches121 himself behind these ponderous122 folios, and keeps up a hot fire of terrific Dutch polysyllables until we are ready to make an unconditional123 surrender. If we venture to suggest a doubt as to the intimacy124 of the connection between a whale's blow-holes and the History of the World, he comes down upon us with the most withering125 denunciations as wrongheaded sceptics who won't even believe what is printed—and in a Dutch history too! As the captain dispenses126 the pie, however, at dinner, I have found it advisable to smother127 my convictions as to the veracity128 of his Teutonic historian, and join him in denouncing that pernicious heretic Bush, who is wise beyond what is written. Result—Bush gets only one small piece of pie, and I get two, which of course is highly gratifying to my feelings, as well as advantageous129 to the dispersion of sound historical learning!
I begin to observe at dinner an increasing reverence130 on Bush's part for Dutch histories.
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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attainable
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| a.可达到的，可获得的 | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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seasickness
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| n.晕船 | |
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seasick
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| adj.晕船的 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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incompatibility
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humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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perverted
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| 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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truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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delineation
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| n.记述；描写 | |
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miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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alleviating
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| 减轻，缓解，缓和( alleviate的现在分词 ) | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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berths
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| n.（船、列车等的）卧铺( berth的名词复数 )；（船舶的）停泊位或锚位；差事；船台vt.v.停泊( berth的第三人称单数 )；占铺位 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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lamentably
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prostrate
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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oversight
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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accordion
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| n.手风琴；adj.可折叠的 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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negligent
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| adj.疏忽的；玩忽的；粗心大意的 | |
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aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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titanic
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| adj.巨人的，庞大的，强大的 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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63
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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67
revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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68
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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69
demolish
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| v.拆毁(建筑物等)，推翻(计划、制度等) | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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72
migratory
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| n.候鸟，迁移 | |
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73
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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74
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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75
hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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76
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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77
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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78
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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80
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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81
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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83
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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84
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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86
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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90
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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100
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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101
illustrates
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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103
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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104
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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barometer
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| n.气压表，睛雨表，反应指标 | |
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106
phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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107
conjures
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的第三人称单数 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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108
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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109
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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110
forerunners
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| n.先驱( forerunner的名词复数 )；开路人；先兆；前兆 | |
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111
curry
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| n.咖哩粉，咖哩饭菜；v.用咖哩粉调味，用马栉梳，制革 | |
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112
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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113
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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114
inhale
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| v.吸入(气体等)，吸(烟) | |
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115
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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116
controverted
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| v.争论，反驳，否定( controvert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
forensic
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| adj.法庭的，雄辩的 | |
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118
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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119
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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120
pertaining
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| 与…有关系的，附属…的，为…固有的(to) | |
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121
entrenches
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| v.用壕沟围绕或保护…( entrench的第三人称单数 )；牢固地确立… | |
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122
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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123
unconditional
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| adj.无条件的，无限制的，绝对的 | |
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124
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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125
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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126
dispenses
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| v.分配，分与；分配( dispense的第三人称单数 )；施与；配（药） | |
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127
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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128
veracity
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| n.诚实 | |
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129
advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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130
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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