One essential qualification of a great editor, a masterful personality, was so distinctively1 possessed2 by Mr. Godkin that it may be doubted whether any other American daily since the Civil War has been so much the expression of a single mind and character as the Evening Post from 1883 to 1899. The frequent statement that he was an incomparable leader-writer, but not an all-round journalist, has an element of truth, but is highly misleading. The editorial page was wholly his own, for he determined3 its policies, molded the ideas of his fellow-editors, and by force of example gave several of them—as a great editor always will—some characteristics of his style. The news pages he accorded only distant oversight4, and one of his city editors doubts whether he regularly read more than the first page and the page opposite the editorials. Yet every cub5 reporter grasped Godkin’s clear-cut ideas of what a newspaper should be, and strove to contribute his mite6 to the realization7 of the editor’s ideals. There was no other journal resembling it, and its dignity, integrity, thoughtfulness, scholarly accuracy, and pride of intellect were the reflection of Godkin’s own traits. We may say that while Godkin did not pay close daily attention to any part of his journal save the editorials, the news writers, the financial writers, the critics, and the business department all paid close attention to Mr. Godkin’s views regarding their work; they would no more have thought of standing8 counter to them than of stepping in front of an Alpine9 avalanche10.
The soul of the paper, its editorial page, was the product of a morning editorial conference which in its highly developed character Mr. Godkin was the first to give New York journalism11. Upon the Post of Bryant’s520 day, and upon the Tribune under Greeley and his successive managing editors, consultation12 had been brief, and the assignment of editorial topics hasty. The elder Bennett had been wont13 to give Herald14 writers their subjects for the day as so many orders. But the necessity of treating ten or twelve different editorial topics in each issue of the Post after 1881, and Mr. Godkin’s solicitude15 that each topic be treated just right, made an elaborate conference imperative17. At about nine the editorial staff gathered in a circle of chairs in Mr. Godkin’s room, having mastered the morning papers, and a businesslike discussion filled forty minutes.
Every writer was encouraged to propose his own theme for a paragraph or column editorial, and to speak freely upon themes raised by others. But Mr. Godkin had a merciless way with unsound or commonplace ideas. When some one started a subject, he would pounce19 upon him with “What would you say about it?” and an intensely searching glance. It was a trying moment. If the junior editor had nothing worth while to say, Godkin would cut across his flounderings with “O, there’s nothing in that,” or “We said that the other day,” or “O, everybody sees that”—emphasizing the statement with a sharp gesture or a swing in his chair. “Sometimes, after an interested attention for a few seconds,” writes Mr. Bishop20, “a quick, searching question would be put that went through the subject like a knife through a toy balloon, leaving complete and utter collapse21.”
However, proportionately great was the reward of the fortunate man who had an original idea, or a new way of presenting an old one. Mr. Godkin’s eye would kindle22 with interest, he would lean forward alertly, and catching23 up the theme, he would perhaps begin to enlarge it by ideas of his own, search its depths with penetrating24 inquiries25, and reveal such possibilities in it that the original speaker had the feeling of having stumbled over a concealed26 diamond. If the chief, as was usually the fact, was provided with his own topic for the day, the proposer bore his discovery off in triumph. If not, he521 sometimes had to surrender it. “The chances were ten to the dozen,” says Mr. Bishop, “that Mr. Godkin would become so delighted with the development of the subject, so intoxicated27 with the intellectual pleasures of the treatment, that he would say, with a serene28 smile of perfect enjoyment29, ‘I’ll write on that.’”
The editorial page represented work done not leisurely30, but under the highest pressure. Articles of twelve hundred words, dealing31 informatively32, thoughtfully, and in compressed style with some subject perhaps quite unexpected until that morning, had to be completed in about an hour and three-quarters. Taken, often without change, into the Nation, they withstood the test of submission34 to the most scholarly and exacting35 audience in America. The pace was not for the muddleheaded. But no one on the staff could hope to write quite like Mr. Godkin—with his wealth of ideas, ability to see a dozen relationships in a subject where the ordinary man saw one, and concise36, pithy37, and graphic38 style. Lowell told him, “You always say what I would have said—if I had only thought of it.” In the correction of proofs the whole staff was expected to join. Godkin was far from being the most approachable of editors, but to any suggestion that there was a defect in his idea or expression he turned a ready ear. Indeed, if a fellow-editor believed that a phrase or sentence was obscure, he would usually alter it whether he agreed or not, arguing that what one man in the office found faulty might seem so to a large body outside. The editorial page which thus appeared in its final form at two o’clock was an embodiment of the wisdom of the whole editorial group, Mr. Godkin dominating.
Brusque and cold though he often seemed to those who did not know him well, Godkin to the other editors was essentially39 a lovable man. He exacted a high standard of performance, his temper was highly mercurial40, he was often abrupt41 in manner; but the recollection of his associates is that he gave the office an atmosphere of geniality42. He delighted in jest. He would repeat with great gusto the story that staff meetings opened with a distribution522 of Cobden Club gold, or—it was said after the Venezuela episode—with a singing of “God Save the Queen.” His fun was of an intellectual kind, but he never failed to find subjects for it. Frequently the editorial conference would break up in a gale44 of merriment. Norton once wrote him, when the Nation’s troubles were giving him sleepless45 nights, that he would rather see the weekly perish than have its editor lose his jocularity, and Godkin wrote back: “I shall keep my laugh. Don’t be afraid.” Indeed, his letters contain any number of references to laughter, and with intimates it was often uproarious. He told Howells that his youth was “harrowed with laughter.” When Howells worked beside him for three months in the Nation office the novelist-to-be found that “we were of a like temperament46 in the willingness to laugh and make laugh.” If anything in the day’s news particularly apt for Howells’s special department turned up, they would talk it over, “and he did not mind turning away from his own manuscript and listening to what I had written, if the subject had offered any chance for fun. Then his laugh, his Irish laugh, hailed my luck with it, or his honest English misgiving47 expressed itself in a criticism which I had to own just.”
Men who read Godkin’s caustic48 denunciation of some wrong-doer, who admired the keen thrust with which he punctured49 a bit of hypocrisy50, sometimes assumed that he was sour and censorious. Such readers failed to realize that he had a dual51 nature; that what excited his wrath52 and scorn often excited his risibilities also. “First would come the savage53 characterization, then the peal54 of laughter,” writes Mr. Ogden. He had a tongue for humorous phrases, an eye for humorous images, and a marked love for comic exaggeration. After his retirement55 in 1899, when some people were chattering56 about his pessimism57, the weekly articles he contributed for a time over his initials to the Evening Post abounded58 in amusing sentences and vivacious59 anecdotes60. Reviewing his labors61 for civil service reform, he recalled how when he, Congressman62 Jenckes, and Henry Villard held the first meeting on the523 subject in New York, he was appointed to draft resolutions; that the proposer was unable to read his hasty handwriting; and that “more unhappily still, when I was asked to take his place, I could not read it either!” Writing of McKinley’s amateur statesmanship, he told of the youth who, asked whether he could play the piano, replied that “he did not know, for he had never tried.” Discussing Capt. Mahan’s treatment of war as possessing benefits as well as evils, he was reminded of the French Deputy who did not want to lose the anarchist64 votes scattered65 through his district: “My friends,” he said, “there is a great deal of good in anarchy66; only we must not abuse it.” Incessant67 bits like these reveal the fun-loving nature, the overflowing68 spirits, of the man.
Mr. Godkin’s marked social proclivities69 enlarged his influence and enriched his writing. The readiness with which, on coming to America, he made friends among the most distinguished70 men of Cambridge, Boston, and New York was only less remarkable71 than the long intimacy72 he enjoyed with some of the finest minds of England and this country—with Lowell and Norton, Bryce and Henry James, Gladstone and Parkman, McKim and Olmsted. He was a genial43 host, a witty73, diverting, and brilliant guest. Mr. Ogden gives an instance of the way in which his personal charm and full mind surprised some who thought of him as a narrow, savage moralist of the editorial page. At the Century Club one night he was seated at the long dinner table with a man he knew and another who was a stranger. The latter had never seen Mr. Godkin but had taken a violent dislike to his writings. Without an introduction, the talk was free and genial, and Godkin was in his happiest vein74. When the editor had left the room, the stranger inquired as to his identity. “Is that Mr. Godkin?” he exclaimed in surprise. “Then I’ll never say another word against him as long as I live.” Godkin worked with great intensity75—as he himself once said, “almost dangerously hard.” His gusto and enthusiasm, especially in times of crisis like a Presidential or Tammany campaign, gave him an extraordinary absorption524 in his work. Yet he found time to see and talk with a surprising number of people worth seeing—authors, reformers, politicians, college professors, the best lawyers of the city, and many more.
A journal of twenty-two days of his life (November, 1870) shows what a multiplicity of public meetings, dinners, calls, and club evenings interspersed77 his toil78. A half dozen times he dined or breakfasted out or entertained to dinner, thus seeing among others Bryant, Ripley, Charles Loring Brace79, and H. M. Field. He was also at the public dinner of the Mercantile Library Association, where he spoke80 for the press, and of the Free Traders at Delmonico’s where he saw A. T. Stewart, Peter Cooper, H. C. Potter, Stewart L. Woodford, Gen. McDowell, and David A. Wells. He went to a civil service meeting at Yale, where there was a tea-party in his honor, and not only made a speech but “met all the big-bugs.” Once he lunched with Henry and Charles Francis Adams. He records going in torrents82 of rain to a night meeting of revenue reformers, while he attended a lecture by A. J. Mundella, and chatted there with G. W. Curtis. Repeatedly he speaks of being at the Century Club and seeing a long list of acquaintances—Lord Walter Campbell, Judge Daly, Gen. Howard, William E. Dodge83, H. C. Potter, and Cyrus Field. He called upon Horace White, then in the city from Chicago, and at the Nation office received calls from Carl Schurz and Schuyler Colfax, the latter coming while he was out. This was nearly a dozen years before he became one of the editors of the Evening Post, but he always maintained a similar activity. What it meant to his editorial work is self-evident. As one of his junior editors, Mr. Bishop, says, all was grist to his mill. “A casual quip in conversation, the latest good story, a sentence from a new book, a fresh bit of political slang—all these found lodgment in his mind, and just at the proper place they would appear in his writing.”
Godkin had little patience for mere84 office routine, and as he grew older took advantage of the liberty which an525 evening paper often gives its editor for leaving early. His dislike for bores played a large part in this. As he humorously said, he saw nobody before one, and at one he went home. Of his refusal to tolerate callers who abused his time and temper, there are some amusing stories. A dull or offensive man would be ushered85 in, the editor would endure him for a while, and then upon the heels of a muffled86 explosion, the caller would emerge, red with confusion and anger, and hurriedly make for the elevator. Mr. H. J. Wright, as city editor, once introduced a gentleman, of prominence87, with an extensive knowledge of municipal affairs. After a long and interesting chat, Godkin asked, “How is it I never met such a well-informed man before?” A few days later the gentleman called again, seated himself with assurance in Mr. Godkin’s room, and began to repeat himself, a thing the editor abominated88. Hearing a confusion of voices, Mr. Wright hurried into the hall to find Godkin angrily shooing the interrupter out of the building.
Mr. Godkin and Horace White gathered around them an editorial staff of high ability. From the outset they had the services of Arthur G. Sedgwick, who was assistant editor from 1881 to 1885, and later not only contributed irregularly at all times, but during one summer worked in the office in Godkin’s absence. He was a writer of strong mental grasp and individuality of style, who furnished editorials and book-reviews on an amazing variety of topics, and had the knack89 of illuminating90 and making interesting everything he touched. His education as a lawyer—he had been co-editor with Oliver Wendell Holmes, later Justice of the Supreme91 Court, of the American Law Review—stood him in good stead in discussions of government and politics, he wrote much on belles92 lettres, and he was only less able than Godkin himself in treating modes and manners. When Godkin was a beginning editor he found it difficult, as he wrote Olmsted, to get an associate “to do the work of gossiping agreeably on manners, lager beer, etc., and who will bind93 himself to do it, whether he feels like it or not.” Sedgwick was526 just the man for the light, keen treatment of social topics. He had a discerning eye and a quick sense of humor. Many of his editorials were as good as the short essays of the same type which Curtis and Howells contributed to the Easy Chair of Harper’s, and had more than local and temporary fame. For example, in March, 1883, he wrote one on the dude which, reprinted all over the country, did much to familiarize this London music-hall term. It traced the lineage of the dude from the dandy, fop, and swell94; it carefully distinguished him from these earlier types by his intense correctness, contrasting with their display; it described his appearance in great detail; it explained why he had arisen at just that moment; and it closed with a grave warning to all dudes to be on guard against the chief menace to their sober conservatism—they must not wear white spats95.
Joseph Bucklin Bishop, later well known as secretary of the Isthmian Commission and authorized96 editor of Roosevelt’s letters, joined the Post the summer of 1883, and remained with it until 1900, when he became chief of the Globe’s editorial staff. He also commanded a wide range of subjects, though he dealt much more with politics than Sedgwick, and he wrote with a great deal of Godkin’s own point. To Bishop belongs the credit for originating the Voters’ Directory in 1884, still a valued campaign feature of the Post, while he had a principal hand in the campaign biographies which were so effective against Tammany. E. P. Clark was brought from the Springfield Republican into the office when Sedgwick left in the mid-eighties, and until after the end of the century his industrious97 hand was in constant evidence. He had the most nearly colorless style of the staff, but his full knowledge and accuracy in handling governmental and economic topics were invaluable98.
The first contributions to the Post by Mr. Rollo Ogden were printed in 1881, and during the next three years he wrote frequently from Mexico City. His assistance increased after he came to New York in 1887, and in 1891 he became assistant editor and one of the pillars of the527 newspaper. Besides his attention to national and international politics, he gave the columns a much more literary flavor than they had had even when Sedgwick was present. There were, in addition, several writers of a briefer connection. Early in the eighties some articles exposing the defects of the Tenth Census99 were furnished by John C. Rose, a Baltimore attorney, and during a number of summers he joined the office staff; a Federal attorneyship, followed by elevation100 to the Federal bench, ended his connection. David M. Means, another attorney and a one-time professor at Middlebury College, helped during many years for short periods. The editorial columns were always open to experts in various fields who wished to contribute. Among those who occasionally furnished leaders in the eighties and nineties were future college presidents like A. T. Hadley and E. J. James, scientists like Simon Newcomb and A. F. Bandelier, and scholars like H. H. Boyesen and Worthington C. Ford81.
The rank and file of the city room regarded Mr. Godkin as a remote deity101, though he was on a familiar footing with the managing editors, Learned and Linn, and of frank intimacy with the city editor, H. J. Wright. “I used to see him come into the office occasionally,” writes Norman Hapgood, “with very much the same emotion that I might have now if I saw Lloyd George walk past me.” Godkin frequently rode up in the elevator with reporters, but never spoke to them, and did not know most of them by sight. Mr. Wright gives two examples of his utter indifference102 to a performance of special merit in the news columns. In the early days of the litigation over the interstate commerce commission, there was a hearing in New York involving intricate law points and the rather obscure rights of the carrier, attended by some of New York’s most eminent103 lawyers, including Godkin’s friends Choate and James C. Carter. Norman Hapgood, a new recruit, was assigned the difficult task of covering it, and wrote a column and a half a day for the whole week. When the hearing closed, Choate sent Godkin a note congratulating him upon the Post’s reports, and saying528 that few lawyers could have comprehended the arguments so fully33, and still fewer have summarized them so well. “Upon this deserved encomium,” says Mr. Wright, “Godkin offered no comment, nor did he inquire as to the reporter’s identity.” Again, a prominent New Yorker wrote the editor praising a brief account of the descent of an awe-inspiring thunderstorm, and recording104 his pleasure that the news columns showed the same literary qualities as the editorial page. Godkin had not read the news story, did not read it, and did not ask for the writer’s name.
One element in this was Godkin’s assumption that, as a matter of course, the news pages would meet a high standard; but a larger element was sheer indifference to the reporters. The editorial page was pre?minently the most important part of the newspaper to him. Absorbed in the ideas he spread upon it, and naturally of an aloof105 temperament, he was not interested in subordinates elsewhere. That he was very far from being an unappreciative man his editorial associates alone knew. They received cordial notes of congratulation from him, all the more prized because rare, for any specially76 meritorious107 work; and whenever a literary review particularly struck him, he made a point of asking for the writer’s name.
Mr. Towse, the dramatic critic, recalls receiving formal commendation from Godkin twice or thrice. One occasion was early in the eighties, when Henry Irving opened in a Shakespearean r?le in Philadelphia. All the dramatic critics were taken over by courtesy of the theater, entertained in Philadelphia, and given seats at the performance; and most of them remained at a Philadelphia hotel overnight. Mr. Towse returned to New York on a midnight train, took a cold bath, wrote a criticism of nearly two columns, and visiting the office at dawn, had it put into type. Proofs were ready when the editors arrived, and Godkin was so pleased that he for once unbent and sent an appreciative106 note.
Once in the nineties, Godkin even praised the reporters, though not for anything they had written. It happened529 that a grand jury refused an indictment108 in a political case, under circumstances that pointed63 to collusion between several jurors and the accused politician. Godkin gave utterance109 to these suspicions, showed that several jurymen were of evil character, and declared that one had been the proprietor110 of a low dive in which a shooting brawl111 had occurred. The juror promptly112 had him indicted113 for criminal libel, and when counsel undertook the case, they found that no legal proof existed of the alleged114 brawl. In desperation, Godkin appealed to the head of the Byrnes Detective Bureau, a personal friend, for help, and Byrnes made a thorough investigation115 of the juror’s past, without avail. He urged the editor to compromise the case, and offered his help for that purpose. Meanwhile, the Evening Post reporters had been ransacking116 the loft117 of the old Mott Street police headquarters, where station house blotters were stored. At the end of a seven days’ search, they found an entry telling of the shooting affray. The entry was photographed, Godkin appeared before another grand jury, waved the photograph in the face of the district attorney, and was vindicated118. “His appreciation119 of the work done by the city staff was expressed that day with Irish enthusiasm,” says Mr. Wright.
On the other hand, Godkin was quick—even savagely120 so—to descend121 upon any man whose writing did not accord with his positive ideas regarding good journalism. His severity in dealing with an error of fact, proportion, or taste grew out of his rapt intensity in his own work. He pushed blunderers out of his way less because he was tactless—though he was often that—than because he was engrossed123 in hewing124 to the line. Lincoln Steffens, one of the best newspaper men New York ever had, happened to write a simple account of a music teacher’s death under distressing125 circumstances, which appeared on the first page. Godkin read it, leaped to the conclusion that it smacked126 of the sensationalism he was always denouncing, and declared that Steffens ought to be instantly dismissed. Mr. Wright protested, and the controversy127 brought in530 Mr. Garrison128, who roundly asserted that the story was not only permissible129, but admirable—whereupon Godkin yielded. Some remarkable work by Hapgood in reporting the meetings of the illiterate130 Board of Education attracted Godkin’s eye and editorial notice; but the one message he sent Hapgood was that he wanted him to confine himself to narration132 and description, avoiding comment. New York has never had a more expert music critic than Mr. Finck, but Godkin sometimes censured134 him severely135 for what he thought intemperate136 writing.
Godkin would have been a greater journalist had he taken a broad and human interest in other departments of the newspaper than his own; and the Evening Post might have had a different history. It would have been less open to the reproach leveled against it, of being rather a magazine than a newspaper. Its circulation, instead of hovering137 uncertainly between 14,000 and 20,000, might have become extensive. The stone wall that was kept standing between editorial rooms and news rooms was good for neither. Mr. Godkin’s lack of broad cordiality and interest was not felt by those in daily contact with him, but it was often felt by those at the outer desks. Any newspaper must suffer if departmental members work as some did on the Post, to avoid censure133 and not to gain praise, for in such work there can be no initiative. There were employees who, in making decisions, would take no chance of doing anything the editor would not like, and were hence hostile to any innovation. “What I did not like and still resent somewhat,” says Lincoln Steffens, “is that he objected to individuality in reporting.” The newspaper was made too much for Godkin, too little for outside readers.
II
Yet Godkin’s defects as a general journalist only throw into clearer relief his distinction as a molder of opinion. The Evening Post was quite enough of a newspaper to be a vehicle for his editorial page, and for him that sufficed. He had no wish to appeal directly to several hundred531 thousand subscribers, to reach the ear of the masses, as Greeley had done. Nothing could have persuaded him to write down to the level of education and intelligence which a huge audience would have possessed. Editorial utterances138 could be quoted to show that he thought a daily was better when it appealed to comparatively small and select groups. In 1889 he deplored139 the nation-wide movement for reducing newspaper prices, and said that the Times and Tribune had been better at four cents than they were at two. Godkin spoke to the cultivated few—to university scholars, authors, clergymen, lawyers, physicians, and college graduates generally. Though at the farthest remove from pedantry140 or stiffness, his writing, polished, allusive141, with a keen wit or irony142 playing across it, required a cultured understanding for its full appreciation. Addressing himself to this narrow constituency, he had an influence easily the greatest of its kind in the history of our journalism.
Foremost among the qualities which gave him this power, his friend of many years, Prof. A. V. Dicey, placed his gift of appositeness, or instinctive143 discernment of the question of the moment. He had this gift as clearly as Greeley, or Cobbett. His editorial page was kept constantly focussed upon the changing issues of the time. Godkin had no desire to be a voice crying in the wilderness144, and knew that his influence would be lost if he wrote about international arbitration145 when men were thinking of the tariff146. Prof. Dicey failed to add that he often helped powerfully toward putting an issue in the foreground. In 1890 he made Tammany a burning public question months before the city campaign; the Post was the first paper to show, in the early nineties, that a contest between jingoes and lovers of peace was taking shape; and he insisted that the free silver battle must be fought out when many Republican politicians were sneaking147 off the field. He knew how the public mind was moving before the public did. Supplementary148 to his gift for appositeness was his great skill in reiteration149. No small part of the power of the Evening Post and Nation532 was simply a power of attrition. Once convinced of the justice of a position, he was always, though with unfailing originality150 and freshness, harping151 upon it. This, of course, was one of the Post’s irritating qualities for those who disagreed.
To the treatment of all subjects he brought a comprehensive and cosmopolitan152 knowledge of the world. He knew more than any other American editor about Europe because his personal knowledge of Europe ranged from Belfast, where he had been educated, to the Bosporus. He had lived in Paris, and written a youthful history of Hungary; when Bryce edited the Liberal Party’s “Handbook of Home Rule,” he was the only writer allotted153 two articles in it; he had many correspondents abroad, and in his later years spent long periods there. In this country he had seen much of ante-bellum and post-bellum society. Though a constant student, he learned only less from his intercourse154 with men of distinction, from Boston to Washington, than from books. His acquisitions regarding government, international affairs, politics, economics, and law gave him a clear advantage over even journalists like John Hay and Whitelaw Reid. On the other hand, he was handicapped by knowing comparatively little of the great common people, the unintellectual workers, from whose ranks Greeley, Bennett, and Raymond sprang. His Irish humor and sociability155 gave him some friends among them, but only a few.
Of his style it is easy to form a misapprehension. It was incisive156, graphic, and pithy. But at all times it was simple, without the least straining for effect; he indulged in no rhetoric157, he did not excel in epigram, as did Dana, and he had no desire to be brilliant in the sense of merely clever. It is true that one can easily find epigrams and witty flashes. On one occasion of much waving of the bloody159 shirt, he spoke of the rumors160 that there would be another war between North and South, the former led by Grant, Sherman, and Sheridan, the latter by Tom, Dick, and Harry161. “There are reports from Washington,” he wrote the fall of 1898, “that Hanna has told Duty to tell533 Destiny to tell the President to keep the Philippines. We doubt it. We believe Destiny will lie low and say nothing till after election.” He could condense an editorial into a single sentence. When Henry George, an ardent162 advocate of the confiscation163 of landed property, traveled in Ireland in the eighties, Godkin wrote: “A spark is in itself a harmless, pretty, and even useful thing, but a spark in a powder magazine is mischief164 in its most malignant165 form.” But the prevailing166 tone of his writings has been well said to be that “of an accomplished167 gentleman conversing168 with a set of intimates at his club.” The thoughtful, neatly-put flow of argument or exposition was constantly lighted up by humor, and often varied169 by irony or invective170.
The humor was always spontaneous, and could be either genial or scorching171. He had a remarkable faculty172 for humorous imagery. It was the most natural thing in the world for him to compare the Tammany panic over the Evening Post biographies with the introduction of a ferret into a rat cellar. Sometimes the image was elaborate. Thus, to show the folly173 of saddling the President with the appointment of thousands of postmasters, he wrote of “The President as Sheik,” comparing him with the Arab chief who sat under the big tree outside the city gate, ordering the bazaar174 thief to jail, hearing what the widow said of the knavish175 baker176, and giving the good public official a robe of honor. When Cleveland’s friends explained his Venezuela message by the theory that he was forestalling177 a warlike message by Congress, Godkin remarked: “Foreseeing that Congress would shortly get drunk, he determined by way of cure to anticipate their bout18 by one of his own, feeling that his own recovery would be speedier and less costly178 than theirs. But the result was that they joined in his carouse179, and they both went to work to smash the national furniture and crockery.”
Of his unequalled gift for compressing a homily into a humorous or ironical181 paragraph two examples will suffice, both written with typical gusto:
534
The scenes attending the burial of the late Jesse James on Thursday, at Kearney, Mo., were very affecting. Crowds of people flocked together from all parts of the State to get a last sight of the dead bandit, who had done so much to enable them to lead what they call in Boston “full” lives. Mrs. Samuels, Jesse’s mother, was on the ground early, and talked without reserve to everyone. Her conversation naturally, under the circumstances, was colored with deep religious feeling, and she said to a reporter, who in his shy way ventured to express his sympathy with her bereavement182, “I knew it had to come; but my dear boy Jesse is better off in heaven today than he would be here with us”—a sentiment from which no one will be likely to dissent183. The officiating clergyman with much tact122 avoided dwelling184 on the life and character of the deceased, and improved the occasion by enlarging upon Jesse’s chance of future improvement in Paradise, in a manner that would probably have struck Mr. James himself as rather mawkish185. The widespread belief in the West that he has gone straight to heaven is a touching186 indication of the general softening187 of religious doctrines188. (April, 1882.)
* * * * *
The anarchists189 had a picnic on Sunday at Weehawken Heights.... An entrance fee of 25 cents was required to gain admission to the picnic. A practical anarchist came along and attempted to enter without paying the fee. Some accounts say that he was a policeman in citizens’ clothes, but this is immaterial from the anarchists’ point of view, however important it may be in a Jersey190 court of justice. True anarchy required that the man should enter without paying, especially if there was any regulation requiring pay. Taking toll191 at the gate is only one of the forms of law and order which anarchy rails at and seeks to abolish.... The gatekeeper called for help and some of his minions192 came forward with pickets193 hastily torn from the fence, and began beating the practical man over the head. Then the crowd outside began to throw stones at the crowd inside, and the latter retorted in kind. A few pistols were fired, and one boy was shot through the hand. The meeting was a great success in the way of promoting practical anarchy, the rioting being protracted194 to a late hour in the afternoon. Anarchy, like charity, should always begin at home. (June, 1887.)
As these paragraphs suggest, Godkin was a master of that two-edged editorial weapon, irony, which in clumsy hands may mortally wound the user. But his most superb535 writing was that in which he delivered a straightforward195 attack upon some evil institution or person. His Irish sense for epithet196 enabled him to pierce the hide of the toughest pachyderms in Tammany; his caustic characterization could make an ordinary opponent wither197 up like a leaf touched with vitriol. One of his younger associates once found a man of prominence sick in bed from the pain and mortification198 an attack by Godkin had given him.
When Don Piatt asked the elder Bowles to define the essential qualities of an editor, the latter replied, “Brains and ugliness,” meaning by the last word love of combat. Godkin had a truly Celtic zest199 for battle. Mr. Bishop declares that nothing interested him more than what he called “journalistic rows.” Great was his delight, for example, when the Times and Sun clashed over an exploring expedition the former sent to Alaska, the Sun remarking that it was appropriate to name a certain river after Editor Jones of the Times because it was preternaturally shallow and muddy, and discolored the sea for miles from its mouth, and the Times attacking Dana for “the calculated malice200 of splenetic age.” Godkin had an irresistible201 desire to mingle202 in such shindies. Once in, he would read all the harsh criticism offered of him, and fairly radiating his pleasure, would say: “What a delightful203 lot they are! We must stir them up again!” His gusto in attacking Tammany was evident to every reader. In each Presidential election he carried the war into the enemy’s country with a rush, and printed three editorials attacking the other candidate to every one advocating his own. On one of his return trips from Europe he and the other passengers of the Normanna were held in quarantine because of a cholera204 scare and finally carried down to Fire Island for a prolonged stay under conditions of great discomfort205. His letters to the Evening Post were delightfully206 scorching, he kept up the attack till the quarantine officers were panic-stricken, and he demolished207 their last defense208 in an article in the North American Review that is a masterpiece of destructiveness.
Godkin was at pains to state his belief that attacks536 upon any evil should be as concrete and personal as possible. As he said, there was no point in writing flowery descriptions of the Upright Judge, or indignant denunciations of Judicial209 Corruption211. The proper course was to show by book and chapter the misdeeds or incompetence212 of Tammany judges like Maynard, Barnard, and Cardozo, and chase them from the bench. For one person interested in an assault on poor quarantine regulations, ten would be interested in an assault on Dr. Jenkins, the quarantine head. Godkin had his own Ananias Club. His attacks on the Knights213 of Labor16 always included some hearty214 thrusts at their chief, Powderly. His hatred215 of the pensions grabbing led him to make a close investigation of the record of the most notorious grabber of all, Corporal Tanner, the man who said, “God help the Surplus!” when he became Pensions Commissioner216. The editor took prodigious217 pleasure in exposing Tanner as a noisy fellow who had lost his leg from a stray shot while, a straggler from his regiment218, he was lying under an apple tree reading in what he thought a safe place.
Godkin was well aware that both his humor and his belligerency sometimes carried him beyond the mark. More than once be assigned a topic to a subordinate, saying, “I’d do it, but I don’t trust my discretion219.” In the heat of the Blaine campaign he wrote a paragraph stating a charge that was quite unfounded, and went home; luckily his associates saw it early, recognized that it would damage their cause, and substituted another before the forms closed. Next day Godkin was effusive220 in his gratitude221. It is recalled that once the editorial staff objected stubbornly to part of one of his editorials, and after protracted argument, he consented to delete it. When the next edition appeared with the offending passage still there, he was excited and furious, and called the foreman of the composing room down to explain why his orders for killing222 it had not been obeyed. The foreman protested that he had received no such orders. Knowing associates at once went to Mr. Godkin’s desk, and found that he had written them out and absently tossed537 them into the waste basket. But Godkin’s occasional excesses of temper were the defect of a rare virtue223. A capacity for righteous anger like his is all too uncommon224 in journalism, the pulpit, or public life generally. Roosevelt never forgave Godkin for the unvarying contempt and bitterness, the unwearied bluntness of accusation225, with which he wrote of Quay226; but who that knows what Quay was would say that the editor showed a jot227 too much harshness?
Godkin was reared in the faith of Manchester Liberalism, and his main principles were of that school to the end. At his college (Queens’, Belfast), he tells us, “John Stuart Mill was our prophet, and Grote and Bentham were our daily food. In fact, the late Neilson Hancock, who was our professor of political economy and jurisprudence, made Bentham his textbook.... I and my friends were filled with the teachings of the laissez-faire school and had no doubt that its recent triumph in the abolition228 of the Corn Laws was sure to lead to wider ones in other countries.”
When he came to America, he brought with him all the rooted opposition229 of the Manchester school to protection and state subsidy230. He shared not only Mill’s and Cobden’s belief in free trade, but their detestation of war, re?nforced by his own Crimean experiences. Like Mill, he was a warm advocate of colonial autonomy and the general spread of political freedom. In his last years, he declared that he had always believed “that the Irish people should learn self-government in the way in which the English have learned it, and the Americans have learned it; in which, only, any race can learn it—by practicing it.” He was long a believer in minority or proportional representation, naming it in 1870 as one of the three great objects of the Nation. Another of these objects, civil service reform, he took up just after the Civil War, struck by the contrast between our corrupt210 and incompetent231 administrative232 system and the efficient, experienced British civil service. The introduction of the Australian ballot233, the enactment234 of better election laws,538 the reform of municipal government, were prominently pushed forward by Godkin. He thoroughly235 agreed with the Manchester jealousy236 of government interference in economic and industrial affairs, holding that unless required by some great and general good, it was a certain evil.
These were Godkin’s principles, and by principles he always steered237 his course. Greeley often did not know his own mind, Bennett and Dana had little regard for principle, but Godkin always held fixed238 objects before him. A contemporary historian, Harry Thurston Peck, in “Twenty Years of the Republic,” writes: “It is not too much to say that nearly all the most important questions of American political history from 1881 to 1896 got their first public hearing largely through the influence of Mr. Godkin.” That is an exaggeration, but an exaggeration made possible by his tenacious239 championship of a dozen causes at a time when general opinion was interested but skeptical240. To be sure, the ingrained nature of some of his principal doctrines was a limitation. It prevented him from being a powerfully original thinker in the field of government and politics. He taught our intellectual public lessons which he had learned from the more advanced practice and thought of Great Britain, and far beyond that he did not go. But this limitation can easily be exaggerated. He was an omnivorous241 reader, his curiosity in new ideas and movements was intense, and he had a really open mind.
In most ways he kept quite abreast242 of the times, and in some well ahead of it. He looked much farther than the ordinary liberal into the relationship between powerful nations and the weaker or inferior peoples, for he perceived the affinities243 between economic conquest and political conquest. His editorials upon intervention244 in Egypt in 1882 show that he had no patience with the view that one government might bully245 another to protect the investments of its nationals. He did believe that British intervention was justified246 upon other grounds, and always maintained that Cromer’s rule there, like English rule539 in India, was a boon247 to the native and the world. But in Africa, Asia, and in Cuba, he was always angered by any evidence that selfish interests—traders, coal concessionaires, investors—were using a strong government as a catspaw to menace or subvert248 a weak one.
His writings upon capitalism249 show a steady development of ideas. He objected to demagoguish attacks upon Capital, a word which he disliked, saying that if people called it Savings250 they would have fewer misconceptions. But he was no more inclined to defend abuses by capital than abuses by labor. He argued for the creation of the Interstate Commerce Commission in his first year with the Post. He was more and more alarmed by the trusts, both as instruments of economic oppression, and as dangerous influences upon the government. He wanted evil combinations sharply attacked and broken up—not “regulated”—to prevent monopoly, and in later years much of his zeal251 in attacking the high tariff sprang from his conviction that it and the trusts were mutual252 supports. No one inveighed253 more constantly than he against ill-gotten wealth, or against the abuse of money power. His editorial on the death of Peter Cooper, who used to boast that he never made a dollar he could not take up to the Great White Throne, was one of a long series of arguments for a public sentiment that would distinguish between honest success and dishonest “success,” between Peter Cooper and Jay Gould. The chief peril254 to the republic, he wrote in 1886, was worship of wealth:
It is here that our greatest danger lies. The popular hero to-day, whom our young men in cities most admire and would soonest imitate, is neither the saint, the sage131, the scholar, the soldier, nor the statesman, but the successful stock-gambler. Stocks and bonds are the commonest of our dinner-table topics. The man we show with most pride to foreigners is the man who has made most millions. Our wisest men are those who can draw the biggest checks; and—what is worst of all—there is a growing tendency to believe that everybody is entitled to whatever he can buy, from the Presidency255 down to a street-railroad franchise256.
540 Godkin was a keen-eyed social observer, discussing thoughtfully a multitude of topics affecting the daily life and culture of the people. He did not believe in prohibition257, arguing throughout his editorship against the Maine law. But he did recognize in the saloon an enormous evil, politically and socially, he wanted it lessened258 by high licenses259, and utterances could be quoted which suggest that he might ultimately have accepted even prohibition as better than the saloon’s continuance. He disbelieved in woman suffrage260 for two principal reasons, because he feared it would further debase the government of our large cities, and because the great majority of women in his day were indifferent to it. On social abuses of all kinds he used the lash158 unsparingly. His campaign against public spitting, upon grounds of sanitation261 as well as cleanliness, was potent262 in abolishing the spittoon. For years he kept up a vigorous effort to shame the South out of its tolerant attitude toward homicide. He had been shocked by this attitude when he traveled in the South in 1856–57, and the war and Reconstruction263 had made it worse. His method was characteristic. Every time one Southerner shot another because of a quarrel over a dog, or a rail fence, or a hasty word—which was every few days—he wrote an editorial paragraph recounting the circumstances, with ironic180 comment. He dwelt upon the bloody details, the “gloom” that pervaded264 the community, and the certainty that nothing would be done to bring the murderer to trial. For several years early in the eighties this campaign gave the editorial page of the Post a decided265 mortuary flavor. Part of the Southern press was enraged266, declaring that the Post was maliciously267 attempting to prevent emigration southward; but it got below the skin of the section with salutary effect.
Certain of Godkin’s utterances upon labor problems show the unfortunate effect of part of his early training. They had not only the fallacies of the laissez faire position, but were harshly put. He had a way of speaking of workmen, when they displeased268 him, as “ignorant,”541 “idle,” “reckless,” indicting269 them en masse. In 1887, writing contemptuously of a strike “of coalheavers, longshoremen, and the like,” he spoke of the men who respond to labor agitators270 as “a large, passionate271, ignorant, and through their ignorance, very discontented and uncomfortable constituency.” For years in the eighties, when labor was struggling toward effective organization, he declared that its agitators were producing a cowardice272 among politicians, ministers, and philanthropists like that the slavery leaders produced before the Civil War. He was one of those who thought the early career of Prof. Richard T. Ely dangerously incendiary. He repeatedly denied that strikers had the right to post pickets around an employer’s premises273. He denied them the right to accuse an employer of paying an unjust wage, or taking an undue274 share of profits, saying that a strike should be regarded as “a simple failure of business men to agree to a bargain” (May, 1886). Labor was guilty of many crimes and abuses, from dynamiting275 to boycotts276, in those days. But it would be hard to find a more unfair statement of the labor movement, 1876–1896, than Godkin wrote in the latter year (Sept. 2):
Labor as a “question” was twenty years ago new in America.... It gradually grew in political and social importance. Politicians began to preach that employers were great rascals277 if they did not allow laborers279 to stay in their service on their own terms. They were backed up by a swarm280 of “ethical281” economists282 and clergymen all over the country, who found something hideously283 wrong in the existing state of society, and proclaimed the obligation, not simply of the employer, but of the state and society, to do all sorts of nice things for the laborer278; to carry him about for nothing, to pay him for his labor what he should judge to be sufficient, to provide all sorts of comforts and luxuries for him at the public expense, on what was called “broad public grounds.” This insanity284 raged for several years. It was preached from thousands of pulpits. “Papers” were read on it at all sorts of clubs, societies, and reunions, showing the wrongs done to the manual laborer by everybody else. Under its influence Powderly and his Knights of Labor grew into a great power....
This particular “craze” lasted till the Chicago riots of 1893,542 and the appearance on the scene of Altgeld as the Governor of a great State. People then saw the fruits of their teaching. Large bodies of ignorant and thoughtless men had believed it and acted on it. In order to settle a small dispute between a sleeping car company and its men, they determined to suspend locomotion285 throughout the business regions of a great nation. They believed they were in the right. If the account given of labor by the clergymen and ethical economists were true, they had the right to do what they were doing. For some days the government of the United States seemed to be suspended. But when one courageous286 man stepped to the front, and said this nonsense should cease, it suddenly stopped. The sermons and “papers” and ethical economy stopped too.
Godkin rejoiced when the Knights of Labor disintegrated287, and said nothing in praise of the work it did in clearing the ground for the A. F. of L., or in hastening the eight-hour day, the abolition of contract labor, and the establishment of labor bureaus. A similar want of sympathy was evident in much he wrote of the farmers. In fact, he imbibed288 with his British training a strong consciousness of class, which made him speak of manual workers and small tradesmen as inferiors. An editorial deprecating a liberal education for children of the poor, easily accessible in files of the Nation (Dec. 23, 1886) is a curious example of his inability to understand the American denial of any permanent class lines. As a good liberal, he believed that labor must be strongly organized, but if he had any real feeling for it, it seldom appeared. He was a philosophic289 democrat290, but not a practical democrat. His editorials, joined with certain well-known personal traits—his great care in dress, his fastidiousness in food, his intellectual aloofness—led many to think him a snob291; a term that was misleading, for no one was less a respecter of persons. They inspired the well-known verses of McCready Sykes, beginning:
Godkin the righteous, known of old,
Priest of the nation’s moral health,
Within whose Post we daily read
The Gospel of the Rights of Wealth.
543 In denying that Godkin was a pessimist292, we must not deny that he was sometimes atrabilious. Scattered through his letters are remarks that indicate moods of deep discouragement. “I am tired of having to be continually hopeful,” he wrote after the election of 1897, and again in 1899: “Our present political condition is repulsive293 to me.” It was his business to be censorious—to make the Nation, as Charles Dudley Warner said, “the weekly judgment294 day.” But as Howells writes, practically he was one of the most hopeful of men, for he was always striving to make a bad world better. He deeply resented the charge that the Evening Post was merely a destructive critic, and used to challenge any one to cite an instance in which it had exposed an evil without suggesting a remedy. The commotion295 following the death of Garfield brought from him a notable expression of faith in our national stability. He recalled that the same calamity296 had occurred before, when the country was in the midst of the greatest convulsion of the century, with a million troops under arms, a colossal297 debt, and terrible problems awaiting solution; that a stubborn, uneducated man had become President, and for three years had quarreled violently with Congress; and yet that all had ended prosperously. Mr. Bishop was surprised on election day, in 1884, to see the calm serenity298 with which Godkin awaited the result of the Blaine-Cleveland contest, but Godkin remarked, with intense conviction: “I have been sitting here for twenty years and more, placing faith in the American people, and they have never gone back on me yet, and I do not believe they will now.” He himself used to laugh at the talk of his pessimism, remarking that when he lived in Cambridge, people said that he and Norton were accustomed to sit at night and talk until at about 2 a. m. the gloom would get so thick that all the dogs in town would start howling.
In the reminiscences that death prevented him from expanding, he made a brief survey of contemporary American civilization in a tone anything but discouraged. He believed that in government the United States had lost544 ground. The people cared less about politics, were less instructed regarding administration, and had allowed themselves to become the tools of the bosses; while the old race of great statesmen had died out. He also thought that the press had ceased to have much influence on opinion, and that the pulpit had become singularly demagogic. On the other hand, he declared that the advance of higher education, qualitatively299 and quantitatively300, was without a parallel in all previous world history. “And,” he added, “the progress of the nation generally in all the arts, except that of government, in literature, in commerce, in invention, is something unprecedented301, and becomes daily more astonishing.”
As to the character and extent of Godkin’s influence there is no uncertainty302. Exerted directly upon the leaders of opinion, it was felt indirectly303 by the whole population. All over the country he convinced isolated304 and outstanding men, who in turn diffused305 his views throughout their own communities. No man who once fell under the sway of his powerful pen, even those whom he intensely irritated, could quite shake it off. One eminent New Yorker was heard to call the Post “that pessimistic, malignant, and malevolent306 sheet—which no good citizen ever goes to bed without reading!” The thinking young men of the colleges, and many outside them, accepted his utterances as an almost infallible guide. No public man was indifferent to them. The Evening Post and Nation long exercised a peculiar307 sway in newspaper offices from Maine to California. Gov. David B. Hill remarked to a secretary during the fight Godkin was waging against his machine: “I don’t care anything about the handful of Mugwumps who read it in New York City. The trouble with the damned sheet is that every editor in New York State reads it!” It was a Western editor who said that only a bold newspaper made up its mind on any new issue till it saw what the Post had to say. “For years,” a Baltimore friend wrote Godkin in 1899, “I have noticed your editorials reappearing unacknowledged, a little changed and somewhat diluted308, but still with their original integrity545 not entirely309 removed from them, in the columns of other papers—a course of Post-and-water not equal to the strong meat from which the decoction was made, but still wholesome310....” Henry Holt wrote the editor on his retirement that he had taught the country more than any other man in it. The same tribute was paid him by William James: “To my generation, his was certainly the towering influence in all thought concerning public affairs, and indirectly his influence has certainly been more pervasive311 than that of any other writer of the generation, for he influenced other writers who never quoted him, and determined the whole current of discussion.”
Such verdicts, from such men, might be multiplied to a wearisome length. The finest spirits of the time recognized in Godkin, though they often disagreed with him, though the disagreement might sometimes be violent, the most inspiring force in American journalism.
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distinctively
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| adv.特殊地，区别地 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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oversight
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cub
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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realization
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standing
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alpine
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avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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journalism
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consultation
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wont
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herald
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solicitude
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labor
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bout
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pounce
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bishop
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kindle
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catching
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penetrating
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inquiries
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concealed
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enjoyment
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leisurely
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dealing
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informatively
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submission
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exacting
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graphic
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essentially
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mercurial
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abrupt
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geniality
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genial
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sleepless
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temperament
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misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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caustic
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punctured
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| v.在（某物）上穿孔( puncture的过去式和过去分词 )；刺穿（某物）；削弱（某人的傲气、信心等）；泄某人的气 | |
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hypocrisy
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dual
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wrath
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savage
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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55
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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56
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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57
pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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58
abounded
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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60
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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61
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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62
Congressman
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| n.（美）国会议员 | |
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63
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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64
anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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65
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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66
anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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67
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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68
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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69
proclivities
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| n.倾向，癖性( proclivity的名词复数 ) | |
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70
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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71
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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72
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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73
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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74
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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75
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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76
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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77
interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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78
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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79
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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80
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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81
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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82
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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83
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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84
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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85
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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87
prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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88
abominated
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| v.憎恶，厌恶，不喜欢( abominate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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90
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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91
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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92
belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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93
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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94
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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95
spats
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| n.口角( spat的名词复数 )；小争吵；鞋罩；鞋套v.spit的过去式和过去分词( spat的第三人称单数 )；口角；小争吵；鞋罩 | |
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96
authorized
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| a.委任的，许可的 | |
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97
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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98
invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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99
census
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| n.(官方的)人口调查，人口普查 | |
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100
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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101
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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102
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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103
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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104
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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105
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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106
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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107
meritorious
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| adj.值得赞赏的 | |
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108
indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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109
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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110
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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111
brawl
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| n.大声争吵，喧嚷；v.吵架，对骂 | |
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112
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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113
indicted
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| 控告，起诉( indict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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115
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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116
ransacking
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的现在分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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117
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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118
vindicated
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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119
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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120
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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121
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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122
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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123
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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124
hewing
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的现在分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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125
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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126
smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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128
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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129
permissible
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| adj.可允许的，许可的 | |
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130
illiterate
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| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
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131
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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132
narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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133
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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134
censured
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| v.指责，非难，谴责( censure的过去式 ) | |
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135
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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136
intemperate
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| adj.无节制的，放纵的 | |
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137
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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138
utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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139
deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
pedantry
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| n.迂腐，卖弄学问 | |
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141
allusive
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| adj.暗示的；引用典故的 | |
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142
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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143
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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144
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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145
arbitration
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| n.调停，仲裁 | |
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146
tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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147
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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148
supplementary
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| adj.补充的，附加的 | |
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149
reiteration
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| n. 重覆, 反覆, 重说 | |
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150
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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151
harping
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| n.反复述说 | |
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152
cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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153
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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155
sociability
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| n.好交际，社交性，善于交际 | |
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156
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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157
rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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158
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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159
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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160
rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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161
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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162
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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163
confiscation
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| n. 没收, 充公, 征收 | |
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164
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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165
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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166
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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167
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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168
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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169
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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170
invective
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| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
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171
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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172
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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173
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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174
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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175
knavish
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| adj.无赖（似）的，不正的；刁诈 | |
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176
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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177
forestalling
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| v.先发制人，预先阻止( forestall的现在分词 ) | |
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178
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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179
carouse
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| v.狂欢；痛饮；n.狂饮的宴会 | |
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180
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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181
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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182
bereavement
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| n.亲人丧亡，丧失亲人，丧亲之痛 | |
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183
dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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184
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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185
mawkish
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| adj.多愁善感的的；无味的 | |
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186
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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187
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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188
doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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189
anarchists
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| 无政府主义者( anarchist的名词复数 ) | |
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190
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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191
toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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192
minions
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| n.奴颜婢膝的仆从( minion的名词复数 )；走狗；宠儿；受人崇拜者 | |
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193
pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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194
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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195
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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196
epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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197
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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198
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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199
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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200
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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201
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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202
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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203
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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204
cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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205
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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206
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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207
demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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208
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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209
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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210
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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211
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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212
incompetence
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| n.不胜任，不称职 | |
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213
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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214
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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215
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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216
commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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217
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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218
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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219
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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220
effusive
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| adj.热情洋溢的；感情(过多)流露的 | |
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221
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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222
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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223
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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224
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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225
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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226
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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227
jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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228
abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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229
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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230
subsidy
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| n.补助金，津贴 | |
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231
incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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232
administrative
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| adj.行政的，管理的 | |
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233
ballot
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| n.（不记名）投票，投票总数，投票权；vi.投票 | |
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234
enactment
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| n.演出，担任…角色；制订，通过 | |
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235
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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236
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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237
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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238
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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239
tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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240
skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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241
omnivorous
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| adj.杂食的 | |
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242
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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243
affinities
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| n.密切关系( affinity的名词复数 )；亲近；（生性）喜爱；类同 | |
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244
intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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245
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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246
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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247
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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248
subvert
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| v.推翻；暗中破坏；搅乱 | |
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249
capitalism
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| n.资本主义 | |
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250
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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251
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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252
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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253
inveighed
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| v.猛烈抨击，痛骂，谩骂( inveigh的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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254
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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255
presidency
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| n.总统(校长，总经理)的职位(任期) | |
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256
franchise
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| n.特许，特权，专营权，特许权 | |
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257
prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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258
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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259
licenses
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| n.执照( license的名词复数 )v.批准，许可，颁发执照( license的第三人称单数 ) | |
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260
suffrage
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| n.投票，选举权，参政权 | |
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261
sanitation
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| n.公共卫生，环境卫生，卫生设备 | |
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262
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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263
reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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264
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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265
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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266
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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267
maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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268
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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269
indicting
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| 控告，起诉( indict的现在分词 ) | |
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270
agitators
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| n.（尤指政治变革的）鼓动者( agitator的名词复数 )；煽动者；搅拌器；搅拌机 | |
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271
passionate
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| 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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272
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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273
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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274
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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275
dynamiting
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| v.（尤指用于采矿的）甘油炸药( dynamite的现在分词 )；会引起轰动的人[事物]；增重 | |
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276
boycotts
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| （对某事物的）抵制( boycott的名词复数 ) | |
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277
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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278
laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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279
laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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280
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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281
ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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282
economists
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| n.经济学家，经济专家( economist的名词复数 ) | |
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283
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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284
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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285
locomotion
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| n.运动，移动 | |
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286
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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287
disintegrated
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| v.（使）破裂[分裂，粉碎]，（使）崩溃( disintegrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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288
imbibed
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| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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289
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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290
democrat
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士；民主党党员 | |
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291
snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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292
pessimist
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| n.悲观者；悲观主义者；厌世 | |
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293
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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294
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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295
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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296
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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297
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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298
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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299
qualitatively
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| 质量上 | |
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300
quantitatively
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| adv.数量上 | |
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301
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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302
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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303
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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304
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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305
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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306
malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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307
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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308
diluted
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| 无力的，冲淡的 | |
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309
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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310
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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311
pervasive
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| adj.普遍的；遍布的，(到处)弥漫的；渗透性的 | |
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