There are two from Franklin, the earliest dated, "London, August 8, 1767," and addressed to "Mrs. Franklin, at Philadelphia." He was then in England, as agent for the colonies in their resistance to the oppressive policy of Mr. Grenville's administration. The letter, however, makes no reference to political or other business. It contains only ten or twelve lines, beginning, "My dear child," and conveying an impression of long and venerable matrimony which has lost all its romance, but retained a familiar and quiet tenderness. He speaks of making a little excursion into the country for his health; mentions a larger letter, despatched by another vessel14; alludes15 with homely16 affability to "Mrs. Stevenson," "Sally," and "our dear Polly"; desires to be remembered to "all inquiring friends"; and signs himself, "Your ever loving husband." In this conjugal17 epistle, brief and unimportant as it is, there are the elements that summon up the past, and enable us to create anew the man, his connections and circumstances. We can see the sage1 in his London lodgings,—with his wig18 cast aside, and replaced by a velvet19 cap,—penning this very letter; and then can step across the Atlantic, and behold20 its reception by the elderly, but still comely21 Madam Franklin, who breaks the seal and begins to read, first remembering to put on her spectacles. The seal, by the way, is a pompous22 one of armorial bearings, rather symbolical23 of the dignity of the Colonial Agent, and Postmaster General of America, than of the humble24 origin of the Newburyport printer. The writing is in the free, quick style of a man with great practice of the pen, and is particularly agreeable to the reader.
Another letter from the same famous hand is addressed to General Palmer, and dated, "Passy, October 27, 1779." By an indorsement on the outside it appears to have been transmitted to the United States through the medium of Lafayette. Franklin was now the ambassador of his country at the Court of Versailles, enjoying an immense celebrity25, caressed26 by the French ladies, and idolized alike by the fashionable and the learned, who saw something sublime28 and philosophic29 even in his blue yarn30 stockings. Still, as before, he writes with the homeliness31 and simplicity32 that cause a human face to look forth from the old, yellow sheet of paper, and in words that make our ears re-echo, as with the sound of his long-extinct utterance33. Yet this brief epistle, like the former, has so little of tangible34 matter that we are ashamed to copy it.
Next, we come to the fragment of a letter by Samuel Adams; an autograph more utterly35 devoid36 of ornament37 or flourish than any other in the collection. It would not have been characteristic, had his pen traced so much as a hair-line in tribute to grace, beauty, or the elaborateness of manner; for this earnest-hearted man had been produced out of the past elements of his native land, a real Puritan, with the religion of his forefathers38, and likewise with their principles of government, taking the aspect of Revolutionary politics. At heart, Samuel Adams was never so much a citizen of the United States, as he was a New-Englander, and a son of the old Bay Province. The following passage has much of the man in it: "I heartily39 congratulate you," he writes from Philadelphia, after the British have left Boston, "upon the sudden and important change in our affairs, in the removal of the barbarians40 from the capital. We owe our grateful acknowledgments to Him who is, as he is frequently styled in Sacred Writ4, 'The Lord of Hosts.' We have not yet been informed with certainty what course the enemy have steered41. I hope we shall be on our guard against future attempts. Will not care be taken to fortify43 the harbor, and thereby44 prevent the entrance of ships-of-war hereafter?"
From Hancock, we have only the envelope of a document "on public service," directed to "The Hon. the Assembly, or Council of Safety of New Hampshire," and with the autograph affixed45, that, stands out so prominently in the Declaration of Independence. As seen in the engraving46 of that instrument, the signature looks precisely what we should expect and desire in the handwriting of a princely merchant, whose penmanship had been practised in the ledger47 which he is represented as holding, in Copley's brilliant picture, but to whom his native ability, and the circumstances and customs of his country, had given a place among its rulers. But, on the coarse and dingy48 paper before us, the effect is very much inferior; the direction, all except the signature, is a scrawl49, large and heavy, but not forcible; and even the name itself, while almost identical in its strokes with that of the Declaration, has a strangely different and more vulgar aspect. Perhaps it is all right, and typical of the truth. If we may trust tradition, and unpublished letters, and a few witnesses in print, there was quite as much difference between the actual man, and his historical aspect, as between the manuscript signature and the engraved50 one. One of his associates, both in political life and permanent renown51, is said to have characterized him as a "man without a head or heart." We, of an after generation, should hardly be entitled, on whatever evidence, to assume such ungracious liberty with a name that has occupied a lofty position until it, has grown almost sacred, and which is associated with memories more sacred than itself, and has thus become a valuable reality to our countrymen, by the aged52 reverence53 that clusters round about it. Nevertheless, it may be no impiety54 to regard Hancock not precisely as a real personage, but as a majestic figure, useful and necessary in its way, but producing its effect far more by an ornamental55 outside than by any intrinsic force or virtue56. The page of all history would be half unpeopled if all such characters were banished57 from it.
From General Warren we have a letter dated January 14, 1775, only a few months before he attested58 the sincerity59 of his patriotism61, in his own blood, on Bunker Hill. His handwriting has many ungraceful flourishes. All the small d's spout63 upward in parabolic curves, and descend64 at a considerable distance. His pen seems to have had nothing but hair-lines in it; and the whole letter, though perfectly65 legible, has a look of thin and unpleasant irregularity. The subject is a plan for securing to the colonial party the services of Colonel Gridley the engineer, by an appeal to his private interests. Though writing to General Palmer, an intimate friend, Warren signs himself, most ceremoniously, "Your obedient servant." Indeed, these stately formulas in winding66 up a letter were scarcely laid aside, whatever might be the familiarity of intercourse67: husband and wife were occasionally, on paper at least, the "obedient servants" of one another; and not improbably, among well-bred people, there was a corresponding ceremonial of bows and courtesies, even in the deepest interior of domestic life. With all the reality that filled men's hearts, and which has stamped its impress on so many of these letters, it was a far more formal age than the present.
It may be remarked, that Warren was almost the only man eminently68 distinguished69 in the intellectual phase of the Revolution, previous to the breaking out of the war, who actually uplifted his arm to do battle. The legislative70 patriots71 were a distinct class from the patriots of the camp, and never laid aside the gown for the sword. It was very different in the great civil war of England, where the leading minds of the age, when argument had done its office, or left it undone72, put on their steel breastplates and appeared as leaders in the field. Educated young men, members of the old colonial families,—gentlemen, as John Adams terms them,—seem not to have sought employment in the Revolutionary army, in such numbers as night have been expected. Respectable as the officers generally were, and great as were the abilities sometimes elicited73, the intellect and cultivation75 of the country was inadequately76 represented in them, as a body.
Turning another page, we find the frank of a letter from Henry Laurens, President of Congress,—him whose destiny it was, like so many noblemen of old, to pass beneath the Traitor77's Gate of the Tower of London,—him whose chivalrous78 son sacrificed as brilliant a future as any young American could have looked forward to, in an obscure skirmish. Likewise, we have the address of a letter to Messrs. Leroy and Bayard, in the handwriting of Jefferson; too slender a material to serve as a talisman79 for summoning up the writer; a most unsatisfactory fragment, affecting us like a glimpse of the retreating form of the sage of Monticello, turning the distant corner of a street. There is a scrap80 from Robert Morris, the financier; a letter or two from Judge Jay; and one from General Lincoln, written, apparently81, on the gallop82, but without any of those characteristic sparks that sometimes fly out in a hurry, when all the leisure in the world would fail to elicit74 them. Lincoln was the type of a New England soldier; a man of fair abilities, not especially of a warlike cast, without much chivalry83, but faithful and bold, and carrying a kind of decency84 and restraint into the wild and ruthless business of arms.
From good old Baron85 Steuben, we find, not a manuscript essay on the method of arranging a battle, but a commercial draft, in a small, neat hand, as plain as print, elegant without flourish, except a very complicated one on the signature. On the whole, the specimen86 is sufficiently characteristic, as well of the Baron's soldier-like and German simplicity, as of the polish of the Great Frederick's aide-de-camp, a man of courts and of the world. How singular and picturesque87 an effect is produced, in the array of our Revolutionary army, by the intermingling of these titled personages from the Continent of Europe, with feudal88 associations clinging about them,—Steuben, De Kalb, Pulaski, Lafayette!—the German veteran, who had written from one famous battle-field to another for thirty years; and the young French noble, who had come hither, though yet unconscious of his high office, to light the torch that should set fire to the antiquated89 trumpery90 of his native institutions. Among these autographs, there is one from Lafayette, written long after our Revolution, but while that of his own country was in full progress. The note is merely as follows: "Enclosed you will find, my dear Sir, two tickets for the sittings of this day. One part of the debate will be on the Honors of the Pantheon, agreeably to what has been decreed by the Constitutional Assembly."
It is a pleasant and comfortable thought, that we have no such classic folly92 as is here indicated, to lay to the charge of our Revolutionary fathers. Both in their acts, and in the drapery of those acts, they were true to their several and simple selves, and thus left nothing behind them for a fastidious taste to sneer93 at. But it must be considered that our Revolution did not, like that of France, go so deep as to disturb the common-sense of the country.
General Schuyler writes a letter, under date of February 22, 1780, relating not to military affairs, from which the prejudices of his countrymen had almost disconnected him, but to the Salt Springs of Onondaga. The expression is peculiarly direct, and the hand that of a man of business, free and flowing. The uncertainty94, the vague, hearsay95 evidence respecting these springs, then gushing96 into dim daylight beneath the shadow of a remote wilderness97, is such as might now be quoted in reference to the quality of the water that supplies the fountains of the Nile. The following sentence shows us an Indian woman and her son, practising their simple process in the manufacture of salt, at a fire of wind-strewn boughs98, the flame of which gleams duskily through the arches of the forest: "From a variety of information, I find the smallest quantity made by a squaw, with the assistance of one boy, with a kettle of about ten gallons' capacity, is half a bushel per day; the greatest with the same kettle, about two bushels." It is particularly interesting to find out anything as to the embryo99, yet stationary100 arts of life among the red people, their manufactures, their agriculture, their domestic labors101. It is partly the lack of this knowledge—the possession of which would establish a ground of sympathy on the part of civilized102 men—that makes the Indian race so shadow-like and unreal to our conception.
We could not select a greater contrast to the upright and unselfish patriot60 whom we have just spoken of, than the traitor Arnold, from whom there is a brief note, dated, "Crown Point, January 19, 1775," addressed to an officer under his command. The three lines of which it consists can prove bad spelling, erroneous grammar, and misplaced and superfluous103 punctuation104; but, with all this complication of iniquity105, the ruffian General contrives106 to express his meaning as briefly107 and clearly as if the rules of correct composition had been ever so scrupulously108 observed. This autograph, impressed with the foulest109 name in our history, has somewhat of the interest that would attach to a document on which a fiend-devoted wretch110 had signed away his salvation111. But there was not substance enough in the man—a mere91 cross between the bull-dog and the fox—to justify112 much feeling of any sort about him personally. The interest, such as it is, attaches but little to the man, and far more to the circumstances amid which he acted, rendering113 the villainy almost sublime, which, exercised in petty affairs, would only have been vulgar.
We turn another leaf, and find a memorial of Hamilton. It is but a letter of introduction, addressed to Governor Jay in favor of Mr. Davies, of Kentucky; but it gives an impression of high breeding and courtesy, as little to be mistaken as if we could see the writer's manner and hear his cultivated accents, while personally making one gentleman known to another. There is likewise a rare vigor114 of expression and pregnancy115 of meaning, such as only a man of habitual116 energy of thought could have conveyed into so commonplace a thing as an introductory letter. This autograph is a graceful62 one, with an easy and picturesque flourish beneath the signature, symbolical of a courteous117 bow at the conclusion of the social ceremony so admirably performed. Hamilton might well be the leader and idol27 of the Federalists; for he was pre-eminent in all the high qualities that characterized the great men of that party, and which should make even a Democrat118 feel proud that his country had produced such a noble old band of aristocrats119; and he shared all the distrust of the people, which so inevitably120 and so righteously brought about their ruin. With his autograph we associate that of another Federalist, his friend in life; a man far narrower than Hamilton, but endowed with a native vigor, that caused many partisans121 to grapple to him for support; upright, sternly inflexible122, and of a simplicity of manner that might have befitted the sturdiest republican among us. In our boyhood we used to see a thin, severe figure of an ancient mail, timeworn, but apparently indestructible, moving with a step of vigorous decay along the street, and knew him as "Old Tim Pickering."
Side by side, too, with the autograph of Hamilton, we would place one from the hand that shed his blood. It is a few lines of Aaron Burr, written in 1823; when all his ambitious schemes, whatever they once were, had been so long shattered that even the fragments had crumbled123 away, leaving him to exert his withered124 energies on petty law cases, to one of which the present note refers. The hand is a little tremulous with age, yet small and fastidiously elegant, as became a man who was in the habit of writing billet-doux on scented125 note-paper, as well as documents of war and state. This is to us a deeply interesting autograph. Remembering what has been said of the power of Burr's personal influence, his art to tempt42 men, his might to subdue126 them, and the fascination127 that enabled him, though cold at heart, to win the love of woman, we gaze at this production of his pen as into his own inscrutable eyes, seeking for the mystery of his nature. How singular that a character imperfect, ruined, blasted, as this man's was, excites a stronger interest than if it had reached the highest earthly perfection of which its original elements would admit! It is by the diabolical128 part of Burr's character that he produces his effect on the imagination. Had he been a better man, we doubt, after all, whether the present age would not already have suffered him to wax dusty, and fade out of sight, among the mere respectable mediocrities of his own epoch129. But, certainly, he was a strange, wild offshoot to have sprung from the united stock of those two singular Christians130, President Burr of Princeton College, and Jonathan Edwards!
Omitting many, we have come almost to the end of these memorials of historical men. We observe one other autograph of a distinguished soldier of the Revolution, Henry Knox, but written in 1791, when he was Secretary of War. In its physical aspect, it is well worthy131 to be a soldier's letter. The hand is large, round, and legible at a glance; the lines far apart, and accurately132 equidistant; and the whole affair looks not unlike a company of regular troops in marching order. The signature has a point-like firmness and simplicity. It is a curious observation, sustained by these autographs, though we know not how generally correct, that Southern gentlemen are more addicted133 to a flourish of the pen beneath their names, than those of the North.
And now we come to the men of a later generation, whose active life reaches almost within the verge134 of present affairs; people of dignity, no doubt, but whose characters have not acquired, either from time or circumstances, the interest that can make their autographs valuable to any but the collector. Those whom we have hitherto noticed were the men of an heroic age. They are departed, and now so utterly departed, as not even to touch upon the passing generation through the medium of persons still in life, who can claim to have known them familiarly. Their letters, therefore, come to us like material things out of the hands of mighty135 shadows, long historical, and traditionary, and fit companions for the sages136 and warriors137 of a thousand years ago. In spite of the proverb, it is not in a single day, or in a very few years, that a man can be reckoned "as dead as Julius Caesar." We feel little interest in scraps138 from the pens of old gentlemen, ambassadors, governors, senators, heads of departments, even presidents though they were, who lived lives of praiseworthy respectability, and whose powdered heads and black knee-breeches have but just vanished out of the drawing-room. Still less do we value the blotted139 paper of those whose reputations are dusty, not with oblivious140 time, but with present political turmoil141 and newspaper vogue142. Really great men, however, seem, as to their effect on the imagination, to take their place amongst past worthies143, even while walking in the very sunshine that illuminates144 the autumnal day in which we write. We look, not without curiosity, at the small, neat hand of Henry Clay, who, as he remarks with his habitual deference145 to the wishes of the fair, responds to a young lady's request for his seal; and we dwell longer over the torn-off conclusion of a note from Mr. Calhoun, whose words are strangely dashed off without letters, and whose name, were it less illustrious, would be unrecognizable in his own autograph. But of all hands that can still grasp a pen, we know not the one, belonging to a soldier or a statesman, which could interest us more than the hand that wrote the following:
"Sir, your note of the 6th inst. is received. I hasten to answer that there was no man 'in the station of colonel, by the name of J. T. Smith,' under my command, at the battle of New Orleans; and am, respectfully,
"Yours, ANDREW JACKSON.
"OCT. 19th, 1833."
The old general, we suspect, has been insnared by a pardonable little stratagem146 on the part of the autograph collector. The battle of New Orleans would hardly have been won, without better aid than this problematical Colonel J. T. Smith.
Intermixed with and appended to these historical autographs, there are a few literary ones. Timothy Dwight—the "old Timotheus" who sang the Conquest of Cancan, instead of choosing a more popular subject, in the British Conquest of Canada—is of eldest147 date. Colonel Trumbull, whose hand, at various epochs of his life, was familiar with sword, pen, and pencil, contributes two letters, which lack the picturesqueness148 of execution that should distinguish the chirography of an artist. The value of Trumbull's pictures is of the same nature with that of daguerreotypes, depending not upon the ideal but the actual. The beautiful signature of Washington Irving appears as the indorsement of a draft, dated in 1814, when, if we may take this document as evidence, his individuality seems to have been merged149 into the firm of "P. E. Irving & Co." Never was anything less mercantile than this autograph, though as legible as the writing of a bank-clerk. Without apparently aiming at artistic150 beauty, it has all the Sketch151 Book in it. We find the signature and seal of Pierpont, the latter stamped with the poet's almost living countenance152. What a pleasant device for a seal is one's own face, which he may thus multiply at pleasure, and send letters to his friends,—the Head without, and the Heart within! There are a few lines in the school-girl hand of Margaret Davidson, at nine years old; and a scrap of a letter from Washington Allston, a gentle and delicate autograph, in which we catch a glimpse of thanks to his correspondent for the loan of a volume of poetry. Nothing remains153, save a letter from Noah Webster, whose early toils154 were manifested in a spelling-book, and those of his later age in a ponderous155 dictionary. Under date of February 10, 1843, he writes in a sturdy, awkward hand, very fit for a lexicographer156, an epistle of old man's reminiscences, from which we extract the following anecdote157 of Washington, presenting the patriot in a festive158 light:—
"When I was travelling to the South, in the year 1783, I called on General Washington at Mount Vernon. At dinner, the last course of dishes was a species of pancakes, which were handed round to each guest, accompanied with a bowl of sugar and another of molasses for seasoning159 them, that each guest might suit himself. When the dish came to me, I pushed by me the bowl of molasses, observing to the gentlemen present, that I had enough of that in my own country. The General burst out with a loud laugh, a thing very unusual with him. 'Ah,' said he, 'there is nothing in that story about your eating molasses in New England.' There was a gentleman from Maryland at the table; and the General immediately told a story, stating that, during the Revolution, a hogshead of molasses was stove in, in West Chester, by the oversetting of a wagon160; and a body of Maryland troops being near, the soldiers ran hastily, and saved all they could by filling their hats or caps with molasses."
There are said to be temperaments161 endowed with sympathies so exquisite162, that, by merely handling an autograph, they can detect the writer's character with unerring accuracy, and read his inmost heart as easily as a less-gifted eye would peruse163 the written page. Our faith in this power, be it a spiritual one, or only a refinement164 of the physical nature, is not unlimited165, in spite of evidence. God has imparted to the human soul a marvellous strength in guarding its secrets, and he keeps at least the deepest and most inward record for his own perusal166. But if there be such sympathies as we have alluded167 to, in how many instances would History be put to the blush by a volume of autograph letters, like this which we now close!
The End
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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falters
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的第三人称单数 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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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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alludes
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| 提及，暗指( allude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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conjugal
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wig
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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symbolical
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| a.象征性的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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celebrity
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caressed
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idol
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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philosophic
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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homeliness
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| n.简朴，朴实；相貌平平 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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utterly
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devoid
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ornament
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forefathers
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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barbarians
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| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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46
engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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47
ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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48
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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49
scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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50
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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51
renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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52
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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53
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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54
impiety
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| n.不敬；不孝 | |
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55
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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56
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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57
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
attested
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| adj.经检验证明无病的，经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
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59
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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60
patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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61
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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62
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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63
spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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64
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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65
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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66
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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67
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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68
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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69
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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70
legislative
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| n.立法机构，立法权；adj.立法的，有立法权的 | |
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71
patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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72
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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73
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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75
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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76
inadequately
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| ad.不够地；不够好地 | |
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77
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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78
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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79
talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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80
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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81
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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82
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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83
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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84
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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85
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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86
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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87
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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88
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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89
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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90
trumpery
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| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
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91
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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92
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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93
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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94
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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95
hearsay
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| n.谣传，风闻 | |
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96
gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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97
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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98
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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99
embryo
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| n.胚胎，萌芽的事物 | |
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100
stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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101
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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102
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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103
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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104
punctuation
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| n.标点符号，标点法 | |
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105
iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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106
contrives
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的第三人称单数 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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107
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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108
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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109
foulest
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| adj.恶劣的( foul的最高级 )；邪恶的；难闻的；下流的 | |
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110
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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111
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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112
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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113
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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114
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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115
pregnancy
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| n.怀孕，怀孕期 | |
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116
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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117
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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118
democrat
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士；民主党党员 | |
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119
aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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120
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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121
partisans
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| 游击队员( partisan的名词复数 )； 党人； 党羽； 帮伙 | |
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122
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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123
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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124
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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125
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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126
subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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127
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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128
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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129
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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130
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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131
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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132
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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133
addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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134
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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135
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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136
sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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137
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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138
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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139
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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140
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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141
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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142
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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143
worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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144
illuminates
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| v.使明亮( illuminate的第三人称单数 )；照亮；装饰；说明 | |
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145
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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146
stratagem
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| n.诡计，计谋 | |
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147
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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148
picturesqueness
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149
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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150
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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151
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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152
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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153
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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154
toils
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| 网 | |
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155
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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156
lexicographer
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| n.辞典编纂人 | |
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157
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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158
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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159
seasoning
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| n.调味；调味料；增添趣味之物 | |
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160
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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161
temperaments
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| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
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162
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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163
peruse
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| v.细读，精读 | |
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164
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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165
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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166
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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167
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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