At first, it is generally satisfied to give an opinion whether a work is good or bad, and to quote a passage or two in support of this opinion: afterwards, it is bound to assign the reasons of its decision and to analyse supposed beauties or defects with microscopic1 minuteness. A critic does nothing nowadays who does not try to torture the most obvious expression into a thousand meanings, and enter into a circuitous2 explanation of all that can be urged for or against its being in the best or worst style possible. His object indeed is not to do justice to his author, whom he treats with very little ceremony, but to do himself homage3, and to show his acquaintance with all the topics and resources of criticism. If he recurs4 to the stipulated5 subject in the end, it is not till after he has exhausted6 his budget of general knowledge; and he establishes his own claims first in an elaborate inaugural7 dissertation8 de omni scibile et quibusdam aliis, before he deigns9 to bring forward the pretensions10 of the original candidate for praise, who is only the second figure in the piece. We may sometimes see articles of this sort, in which no allusion12 whatever is made to the work under sentence of death, after the first announcement of the title-page; and I apprehend13 it would be a clear improvement on this species of nominal14 criticism to give stated periodical accounts of works that had never appeared at all, which would save the hapless author the mortification15 of writing, and his reviewer the trouble of reading them. If the real author is made of so little account by the modern critic, he is scarcely more an object of regard to the modern reader; and it must be confessed that after a dozen close-packed pages of subtle metaphysical distinction or solemn didactic declamation17, in which the disembodied principles of all arts and sciences float before the imagination in undefined profusion18, the eye turns with impatience19 and indifference20 to the imperfect embryo21 specimens22 of them, and the hopeless attempts to realise this splendid jargon23 in one poor work by one poor author, which is given up to summary execution with as little justice as pity. ‘As when a well-graced actor leaves the stage, men’s eyes are idly bent24 on him that enters next’— so it is here. Whether this state of the press is not a serious abuse and a violent encroachment25 in the republic of letters, is more than I shall pretend to determine. The truth is, that in the quantity of works that issue from the press, it is utterly26 impossible they should all be read by all sorts of people. There must be tasters for the public, who must have a discretionary power vested in them, for which it is difficult to make them properly accountable. Authors in proportion to their numbers become not formidable, but despicable. They would not be heard of or severed27 from the crowd without the critic’s aid, and all complaints of ill-treatment are vain. He considers them as pensioners28 on his bounty29 for any pittance30 or praise, and in general sets them up as butts31 for his wit and spleen, or uses them as a stalking-horse to convey his own favourite notions and opinions, which he can do by this means without the possibility of censure32 or appeal. He looks upon his literary protege (much as Peter Pounce33 looked upon Parson Adams) as a kind of humble34 companion or unnecessary interloper in the vehicle of fame, whom he has taken up purely35 to oblige him, and whom he may treat with neglect or insult, or set down in the common footpath36, whenever it suits his humour or convenience. He naturally grows arbitrary with the exercise of power. He by degrees wants to have a clear stage to himself, and would be thought to have purchased a monopoly of wit, learning, and wisdom —
Assumes the rod, affects the God,
And seems to shake the spheres.
Besides, something of this overbearing manner goes a great way with the public. They cannot exactly tell whether you are right or wrong; and if you state your difficulties or pay much deference37 to the sentiments of others, they will think you a very silly fellow or a mere38 pretender. A sweeping39, unqualified assertion ends all controversy41, and sets opinion at rest. A sharp, sententious, cavalier, dogmatical tone is therefore necessary, even in self-defence, to the office of a reviewer. If you do not deliver your oracles42 without hesitation43, how are the world to receive them on trust and without inquiry44? People read to have something to talk about, and ‘to seem to know that which they do not.’ Consequently, there cannot be too much dialectics and debatable matter, too much pomp and paradox45, in a review. To elevate and surprise is the great rule for producing a dramatic or critical effect. The more you startle the reader, the more he will be able to startle others with a succession of smart intellectual shocks. The most admired of our Reviews is saturated46 with this sort of electrical matter, which is regularly played off so as to produce a good deal of astonishment47 and a strong sensation in the public mind. The intrinsic merits of an author are a question of very subordinate consideration to the keeping up the character of the work and supplying the town with a sufficient number of grave or brilliant topics for the consumption of the next three months!
This decided48 and paramount49 tone in criticism is the growth of the present century, and was not at all the fashion in that calm, peaceable period when the Monthly Review bore ‘sole sovereign sway and masterdom’ over all literary productions. Though nothing can be said against the respectability or usefulness of that publication during its long and almost exclusive enjoyment50 of the public favour, yet the style of criticism adopted in it is such as to appear slight and unsatisfactory to a modern reader. The writers, instead of ‘outdoing termagant or out-Heroding Herod,’ were somewhat precise and prudish51, gentle almost to a fault, full of candour and modesty52,
And of their port as meek53 as is a maid!66
There was none of that Drawcansir work going on then that there is now; no scalping of authors, no hacking54 and hewing55 of their Lives and Opinions, except that they used those of Tristram Shandy, gent., rather scurvily56; which was to be expected. All, however, had a show of courtesy and good manners. The satire57 was covert58 and artfully insinuated59; the praise was short and sweet. We meet with no oracular theories; no profound analysis of principles; no unsparing exposure of the least discernible deviation60 from them. It was deemed sufficient to recommend the work in general terms, ‘This is an agreeable volume,’ or ‘This is a work of great learning and research,’ to set forth61 the title and table of contents, and proceed without farther preface to some appropriate extracts, for the most part concurring62 in opinion with the author’s text, but now and then interposing an objection to maintain appearances and assert the jurisdiction63 of the court. This cursory64 manner of hinting approbation65 or dissent66 would make but a lame67 figure at present. We must have not only an announcement that ‘This is an agreeable or able work’; but we must have it explained at full length, and so as to silence all cavillers, in what the agreeableness or ability of the work consists: the author must be reduced to a class, all the living or defunct68 examples of which must be characteristically and pointedly69 differenced from one another; the value of this class of writing must be developed and ascertained70 in comparison with others; the principles of taste, the elements of our sensations, the structure of the human faculties71, all must undergo a strict scrutiny72 and revision. The modern or metaphysical system of criticism, in short, supposes the question, Why? to be repeated at the end of every decision; and the answer gives birth to interminable arguments and discussion. The former laconic73 mode was well adapted to guide those who merely wanted to be informed of the character and subject of a work in order to read it: the present is more useful to those whose object is less to read the work than to dispute upon its merits, and go into company clad in the whole defensive74 and offensive armour75 of criticism.
Neither are we less removed at present from the dry and meagre mode of dissecting76 the skeletons of works, instead of transfusing77 their living principles, which prevailed in Dryden’s Prefaces,67 and in the criticisms written on the model of the French school about a century ago. A genuine criticism should, as I take it, reflect the colours, the light and shade, the soul and body of a work: here we have nothing but its superficial plan and elevation78, as if a poem were a piece of formal architecture. We are told something of the plot or fable79, of the moral, and of the observance or violation80 of the three unities81 of time, place, and action; and perhaps a word or two is added on the dignity of the persons or the baldness of the style; but we no more know, after reading one of these complacent82 tirades83, what the essence of the work is, what passion has been touched, or how skilfully84, what tone and movement the author’s mind imparts to his subject or receives from it, than if we had been reading a homily or a gazette. That is, we are left quite in the dark as to the feelings of pleasure or pain to be derived85 from the genius of the performance or the manner in which it appeals to the imagination: we know to a nicety how it squares with the threadbare rules of composition, not in the least how it affects the principles of taste. We know everything about the work, and nothing of it. The critic takes good care not to baulk the reader’s fancy by anticipating the effect which the author has aimed at producing. To be sure, the works so handled were often worthy86 of their commentators87; they had the form of imagination without the life or power; and when any one had gone regularly through the number of acts into which they were divided, the measure in which they were written, or the story on which they were founded, there was little else to be said about them. It is curious to observe the effect which the Paradise Lost had on this class of critics, like throwing a tub to a whale: they could make nothing of it. ‘It was out of all plumb88 — not one of the angles at the four corners was a right angle!’ They did not seek for, nor would they much relish89, the marrow90 of poetry it contained. Like polemics91 in religion, they had discarded the essentials of fine writing for the outward form and points of controversy. They were at issue with Genius and Nature by what route and in what garb92 they should enter the Temple of the Muses93. Accordingly we find that Dryden had no other way of satisfying himself of the pretensions of Milton in the epic94 style but by translating his anomalous95 work into rhyme and dramatic dialogue.68 So there are connoisseurs97 who give you the subject, the grouping, the perspective, and all the mechanical circumstances of a picture; but they never say a word about the expression. The reason is, they see the former, but not the latte taking an inventory98 of works of art (they want a faculty100 for higher studies), as there are works of art, so called, which seemed to have been composed expressly with an eye to such a class of connoisseurs. In them are to be found no recondite101 nameless beauties thrown away upon the stupid vulgar gaze; no ‘graces snatched beyond the reach of art’; nothing but what the merest pretender may note down in good set terms in his common-place book, just as it is before him. Place one of these half-informed, imperfectly organised spectators before a tall canvas with groups on groups of figures, of the size of life, and engaged in a complicated action, of which they know the name and all the particulars, and there are no bounds to their burst of involuntary enthusiasm. They mount on the stilts102 of the subject and ascend103 the highest Heaven of Invention, from whence they see sights and hear revelations which they communicate with all the fervour of plenary explanation to those who may be disposed to attend to their raptures105. They float with wings expanded in lofty circles, they stalk over the canvas at large strides, never condescending106 to pause at anything of less magnitude than a group or a colossal107 figure. The face forms no part of their collective inquiries108; or so that it occupies only a sixth or an eighth proportion to the whole body, all is according to the received rules of composition. Point to a divine portrait of Titian, to an angelic head of Guido, close by — they see and heed109 it not. What are the ‘looks commercing with the skies,’ the soul speaking in the face, to them? It asks another and an inner sense to comprehend them; but for the trigonometry of painting, nature has constituted them indifferently well. They take a stand on the distinction between portrait and history, and there they are spell-bound. Tell them that there can be no fine history without portraiture110, that the painter must proceed from that ground to the one above it, and that a hundred bad heads cannot make one good historical picture, and they will not believe you, though the thing is obvious to any gross capacity. Their ideas always fly to the circumference111, and never fix at the centre. Art must be on a grand scale; according to them, the whole is greater than a part, and the greater necessarily implies the less. The outline is, in this view of the matter, the same thing as the filling-up, and ‘the limbs and flourishes of a discourse’ the substance. Again, the same persons make an absolute distinction, without knowing why, between high and low subjects. Say that you would as soon have Murillo’s Two Beggar Boys at the Dulwich Gallery as almost any picture in the world, that is, that it would be one you would choose out of ten (had you the choice), and they reiterate112 upon you that surely a low subject cannot be of equal value with a high one. It is in vain that you turn to the picture: they keep to the class. They have eyes, but see not; and, upon their principles of refined taste, would be just as good judges of the merit of the picture without seeing it as with that supposed advantage. They know what the subject is from the catalogue!— Yet it is not true, as Lord Byron asserts, that execution is everything, and the class or subject nothing. The highest subjects, equally well executed (which, however, rarely happens), are the best. But the power of execution, the manner of seeing nature, is one thing, and may be so superlative (if you are only able to judge of it) as to countervail every disadvantage of subject. Raphael’s storks113 in the Miraculous114 Draught115 of Fishes, exulting116 in the event, are finer than the head of Christ would have been in almost any other hands. The cant117 of criticism is on the other side of the question; because execution depends on various degrees of power in the artist, and a knowledge of it on various degrees of feeling and discrimination in you; but to commence artist or connoisseur96 in the grand style at once, without any distinction of qualifications whatever, it is only necessary for the first to choose his subject and for the last to pin his faith on the sublimity118 of the performance, for both to look down with ineffable119 contempt on the painters and admirers of subjects of low life. I remember a young Scotchman once trying to prove to me that Mrs. Dickons was a superior singer to Miss Stephens, because the former excelled in sacred music and the latter did not. At that rate, that is, if it is the singing sacred music that gives the preference, Miss Stephens would only have to sing sacred music to surpass herself and vie with her pretended rival; for this theory implies that all sacred music is equally good, and, therefore, better than any other. I grant that Madame Catalani’s singing of sacred music is superior to Miss Stephens’s ballad120-strains, because her singing is better altogether, and an ocean of sound more wonderful than a simple stream of dulcet121 harmonies. In singing the last verse of ‘God Save the King’ not long ago her voice towered above the whole confused noise of the orchestra like an eagle piercing the clouds, and poured ‘such sweet thunder’ through the ear as excited equal astonishment and rapture104!
Some kinds of criticism are as much too insipid122 as others are too pragmatical. It is not easy to combine point with solidity, spirit with moderation and candour. Many persons see nothing but beauties in a work, others nothing but defects. Those cloy123 you with sweets, and are ‘the very milk of human kindness,’ flowing on in a stream of luscious124 panegyrics125; these take delight in poisoning the sources of your satisfaction, and putting you out of conceit126 with nearly every author that comes in their way. The first are frequently actuated by personal friendship, the last by all the virulence127 of party spirit. Under the latter head would fall what may be termed political criticism. The basis of this style of writing is a caput mortuum of impotent spite and dulness, till it is varnished128 over with the slime of servility, and thrown into a state of unnatural129 activity by the venom130 of the most rancorous bigotry131. The eminent132 professors in this grovelling134 department are at first merely out of sorts with themselves, and vent99 their spleen in little interjections and contortions135 of phrase — cry Pish at a lucky hit, and Hem16 at a fault, are smart on personal defects, and sneer136 at ‘Beauty out of favour and on crutches’— are thrown into an ague-fit by hearing the name of a rival, start back with horror at any approach to their morbid137 pretensions, like Justice Woodcock with his gouty limbs — rifle the flowers of the Della Cruscan school, and give you in their stead, as models of a pleasing pastoral style, Verses upon Anna — which you may see in the notes to the Baviad and Maeviad. All this is like the fable of ‘The Kitten and the Leaves.’ But when they get their brass138 collar on and shake their bells of office, they set up their backs like the Great Cat Rodilardus, and pounce upon men and things. Woe139 to any little heedess reptile140 of an author that ventures across their path without a safe-conduct from the Board of Control. They snap him up at a mouthful, and sit licking their lips, stroking their whiskers, and rattling141 their bells over the imaginary fragments of their devoted142 prey143, to the alarm and astonishment of the whole breed of literary, philosophical144, and revolutionary vermin that were naturalised in this country by a Prince of Orange and an Elector of Hanover a hundred years ago.69 When one of these pampered145, sleek146, ‘demure-looking, spring-nailed, velvet-pawed, green-eyed’ critics makes his King and Country parties to this sort of sport literary, you have not much chance of escaping out of his clutches in a whole skin. Treachery becomes a principle with them, and mischief147 a conscience, that is, a livelihood148. They not only damn the work in the lump, but vilify149 and traduce150 the author, and substitute lying abuse and sheer malignity151 for sense and satire. To have written a popular work is as much as a man’s character is worth, and sometimes his life, if he does not happen to be on the right side of the question. The way in which they set about stultifying152 an adversary153 is not to accuse you of faults, or to exaggerate those which you may really have, but they deny that you have any merits at all, least of all those that the world have given you credit for; bless themselves from understanding a single sentence in a whole volume; and unless you are ready to subscribe154 to all their articles of peace, will not allow you to be qualified40 to write your own name. It is not a question of literary discussion, but of political proscription155. It is a mark of loyalty156 and patriotism157 to extend no quarter to those of the opposite party. Instead of replying to your arguments, they call you names, put words and opinions into your mouth which you have never uttered, and consider it a species of misprision of treason to admit that a Whig author knows anything of common sense or English. The only chance of putting a stop to this unfair mode of dealing158 would perhaps be to make a few reprisals159 by way of example. The Court party boast some writers who have a reputation to lose, and who would not like to have their names dragged through the kennel160 of dirty abuse and vulgar obloquy161. What silenced the masked battery of Blackwood’s Magazine was the implication of the name of Sir Walter Scott in some remarks upon it —(an honour of which it seems that extraordinary person was not ambitious)— to be ‘pilloried on infamy’s high stage’ was a distinction and an amusement to the other gentlemen concerned in that praiseworthy publication. I was complaining not long ago of this prostitution of literary criticism as peculiar162 to our own times, when I was told that it was just as bad in the time of Pope and Dryden, and indeed worse, inasmuch as we have no Popes or Drydens now on the obnoxious163 side to be nicknamed, metamorphosed into scarecrows, and impaled164 alive by bigots and dunces. I shall not pretend to say how far this remark may be true. The English (it must be owned) are rather a foul-mouthed nation.
Besides temporary or accidental biases165 of this kind, there seem to be sects167 and parties in taste and criticism (with a set of appropriate watchwords) coeval168 with the arts of composition, and that will last as long as the difference with which men’s minds are originally constituted. There are some who are all for the elegance169 of an author’s style, and some who are equally delighted with simplicity170. The last refer you to Swift as a model of English prose, thinking all other writers sophisticated and naught171; the former prefer the more ornamented172 and sparkling periods of Junius or Gibbon. It is to no purpose to think of bringing about an understanding between these opposite factions173. It is a natural difference of temperament174 and constitution of mind. The one will never relish the antithetical point and perpetual glitter of the artificial prose style; as the plain, unperverted English idiom will always appear trite175 and insipid to the others. A toleration, not an uniformity of opinion, is as much as can be expected in this case; and both sides may acknowledge, without imputation176 on their taste or consistency177, that these different writers excelled each in their way. I might remark here that the epithet178 elegant is very sparingly used in modern criticism. It has probably gone out of fashion with the appearance of the Lake School, who, I apprehend, have no such phrase in their vocabulary. Mr. Rogers was, I think, almost the last poet to whom it was applied179 as a characteristic compliment. At present it would be considered as a sort of diminutive180 of the title of poet, like the terms pretty or fanciful, and is banished181 from the haut ton of letters. It may perhaps come into request at some future period. Again, the dispute between the admirers of Homer and Virgil has never been settled and never will, for there will always be minds to whom the excellences183 of Virgil will be more congenial, and therefore more objects of admiration184 and delight than those of Homer, and vice185 versa. Both are right in preferring what suits them best, the delicacy186 and selectness of the one, or the fulness and majestic187 flow of the other. There is the same difference in their tastes that there was in the genius of their two favourites. Neither can the disagreement between the French and English school of tragedy ever be reconciled till the French become English or the English French.70 Both are right in what they admire, both are wrong in condemning188 the others for what they admire. We see the defects of Racine, they see the faults of Shakespear probably in an exaggerated point of view. But we may be sure of this, that when we see nothing but grossness and barbarism, or insipidity189 and verbiage190, in a writer that is the god of a nation’s idolatry, it is we and not they who want true taste and feeling. The controversy about Pope and the opposite school in our own poetry comes to much the same thing. Pope’s correctness, smoothness, etc., are very good things and much to be commended in him. But it is not to be expected or even desired that others should have these qualities in the same paramount degree, to the exclusion191 of everything else. If you like correctness and smoothness of all things in the world, there they are for you in Pope. If you like other things better, such as strength and sublimity, you know where to go for them. Why trouble Pope or any other author for what they have not, and do not profess133 to give? Those who seem to imply that Pope possessed192, besides his own peculiar, exquisite193 merits, all that is to be found in Shakespear or Milton, are, I should hardly think, in good earnest. But I do not therefore see that, because this was not the case, Pope was no poet. We cannot by a little verbal sophistry194 confound the qualities of different minds, nor force opposite excellences into a union by all the intolerance in the world. We may pull Pope in pieces as long as we please for not being Shakespear or Milton, as we may carp at them for not being Pope, but this will not make a poet equal to all three. If we have a taste for some one precise style or manner, we may keep it to ourselves and let others have theirs. If we are more catho and beauty, it is spread abroad for us to profusion in the variety of books and in the several growth of men’s minds, fettered195 by no capricious or arbitrary rules. Those who would proscribe196 whatever falls short of a given standard of imaginary perfection do so, not from a higher capacity of taste or range of intellect than others, but to destroy, to ‘crib and cabin in’ all enjoyments197 and opinions but their own.
We find people of a decided and original, and others of a more general and versatile198 taste. I have sometimes thought that the most acute and original-minded men made bad critics. They see everything too much through a particular medium. What does not fall in with their own bias166 and mode of composition strikes them as common-place and factitious. What does not come into the direct line of their vision, they regard idly, with vacant, ‘lack-lustre eye.’ The extreme force of their original impressions, compared with the feebleness of those they receive at second-hand199 from others, oversets the balance and just proportion of their minds. Men who have fewer native resources, and are obliged to apply oftener to the general stock, acquire by habit a greater aptitude200 in appreciating what they owe to others. Their taste is not made a sacrifice to their egotism and vanity, and they enrich the soil of their minds with continual accessions of borrowed strength and beauty. I might take this opportunity of observing, that the person of the most refined and least contracted taste I ever knew was the late Joseph Fawcett, the friend of my youth. He was almost the first literary acquaintance I ever made, and I think the most candid11 and unsophisticated. He had a masterly perception of all styles and of every kind and degree of excellence182, sublime201 or beautiful, from Milton’s Paradise Lost to Shenstone’s Pastoral Ballad, from Butler’s Analogy down to Humphrey Clinker. If you had a favourite author, he had read him too, and knew all the best morsels202, the subtle traits, the capital touches. ‘Do you like Sterne?’ ‘Yes, to be sure,’ he would say; ‘I should deserve to be hanged if I didn’t!’ His repeating some parts of Comus with his fine, deep, mellow-toned voice, particularly the lines, ‘I have heard my mother Circe with the Sirens three,’ etc., and the enthusiastic comments he made afterwards, were a feast to the ear and to the soul. He read the poetry of Milton with the same fervour and spirit of devotion that I have since heard others read their own. ‘That is the most delicious feeling of all,’ I have heard him explain, ‘to like what is excellent, no matter whose it is.’ In this respect he practised what he preached. He was incapable203 of harbouring a sinister204 motive205, and judged only from what he felt. There was no flaw or mist in the clear mirror of his mind. He was as open to impressions as he was strenuous206 in maintaining them. He did not care a rush whether a writer was old or new, in prose or in verse —‘What he wanted,’ he said, ‘was something to make him think.’ Most men’s minds are to me like musical instruments out of tune207. Touch a particular key, and it jars and makes harsh discord208 with your own. They like Gil Blas, but can see nothing to laugh at in Don Quixote: they adore Richardson, but are disgusted with Fielding. Fawcett had a taste accommodated to all these. He was not exceptious. He gave a cordial welcome to all sort, provided they were the best in their kind. He was not fond of counterfeits209 or duplicates. His own style was laboured and artificial to a fault, while his character was frank and ingenuous210 in the extreme. He was not the only individual whom I have known to counteract211 their natural disposition212 in coming before the public, and by avoiding what they perhaps thought an inherent infirmity, debar themselves of their real strength and advantages. A heartier213 friend or honester critic I never coped withal. He has made me feel (by contrast) the want of genuine sincerity214 and generous sentiment in some that I have listened to since, and convinced me (if practical proof were wanting) of the truth of that text of Scripture215 —‘That had I all knowledge and could speak with the tongues of angels, yet without charity I were nothing!’ I would rather be a man of disinterested216 taste and liberal feeling, to see and acknowledge truth and beauty wherever I found it, than a man of greater and more original genius, to hate, envy, and deny all excellence but my own — but that poor scanty217 pittance of it (compared with the whole) which I had myself produced!
There is another race of critics who might be designated as the Occult School—vere adepti. They discern no beauties but what are concealed218 from superficial eyes, and overlook all that are obvious to the vulgar part of mankind. Their art is the transmutation of styles. By happy alchemy of mind they convert dross219 into gold — and gold into tinsel. They see farther into a millstone than most others. If an author is utterly unreadable, they can read him for ever: his intricacies are their delight, his mysteries are their study. They prefer Sir Thomas Browne to the Rambler by Dr. Johnson, and Burton’s Anatomy220 of Melancholy221 to all the writers of the Georgian Age. They judge of works of genius as misers222 do of hid treasure — it is of no value unless they have it all to themselves. They will no more share a book than a mistress with a friend. If they suspected their favourite volumes of delighting any eyes but their own, they would immediately discard them from the list. Theirs are superannuated223 beauties that every one else has left off intriguing224 with, bedridden hags, a ‘stud of nightmares.’ This is not envy or affectation, but a natural proneness225 to singularity, a love of what is odd and out of the way. They must come at their pleasures with difficulty, and support admiration by an uneasy sense of ridicule226 and opposition227. They despise those qualities in a work which are cheap and obvious. They like a monopoly of taste and are shocked at the prostitution of intellect implied in popular productions. In like manner, they would choose a friend or recommend a mistress for gross defects; and tolerate the sweetness of an actress’s voice only for the ugliness of her face. Pure pleasures are in their judgment228 cloying229 and insipid —
An ounce of sour is worth a pound of sweet!
Nothing goes down with them but what is caviare to the multitude. They are eaters of olives and readers of black-letter. Yet they smack230 of genius, and would be worth any money, were it only for the rarity of the thing!
The last sort I shall mention are verbal critics— mere word-catchers, fellows that pick out a word in a sentence and a sentence in a volume, and tell you it is wrong.71 These erudite persons constantly find out by anticipation231 that you are deficient232 in the smallest things — that you cannot spell certain words or join the nominative case and the verb together, because to do this is the height of their own ambition, and of course they must set you down lower than their opinion of themselves. They degrade by reducing you to their own standard of merit; for the qualifications they deny you, or the faults they object, are so very insignificant233, that to prove yourself possessed of the one or free from the other is to make yourself doubly ridiculous. Littleness is their element, and they give a character of meanness to whatever they touch. They creep, buzz, and fly-blow. It is much easier to crush than to catch these troublesome insects; and when they are in your power your self-respect spares them. The race is almost extinct:— one or two of them are sometimes seen crawling over the pages of the Quarterly Review!
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1 microscopic | |
adj.微小的,细微的,极小的,显微的 | |
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adj.迂回的路的,迂曲的,绕行的 | |
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3 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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4 recurs | |
再发生,复发( recur的第三人称单数 ) | |
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5 stipulated | |
vt.& vi.规定;约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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6 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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7 inaugural | |
adj.就职的;n.就职典礼 | |
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8 dissertation | |
n.(博士学位)论文,学术演讲,专题论文 | |
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9 deigns | |
v.屈尊,俯就( deign的第三人称单数 ) | |
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10 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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11 candid | |
adj.公正的,正直的;坦率的 | |
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12 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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13 apprehend | |
vt.理解,领悟,逮捕,拘捕,忧虑 | |
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14 nominal | |
adj.名义上的;(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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15 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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16 hem | |
n.贴边,镶边;vt.缝贴边;(in)包围,限制 | |
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17 declamation | |
n. 雄辩,高调 | |
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18 profusion | |
n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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19 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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20 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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21 embryo | |
n.胚胎,萌芽的事物 | |
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22 specimens | |
n.样品( specimen的名词复数 );范例;(化验的)抽样;某种类型的人 | |
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23 jargon | |
n.术语,行话 | |
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24 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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25 encroachment | |
n.侵入,蚕食 | |
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26 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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27 severed | |
v.切断,断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 );断,裂 | |
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28 pensioners | |
n.领取退休、养老金或抚恤金的人( pensioner的名词复数 ) | |
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29 bounty | |
n.慷慨的赠予物,奖金;慷慨,大方;施与 | |
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30 pittance | |
n.微薄的薪水,少量 | |
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31 butts | |
笑柄( butt的名词复数 ); (武器或工具的)粗大的一端; 屁股; 烟蒂 | |
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32 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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33 pounce | |
n.猛扑;v.猛扑,突然袭击,欣然同意 | |
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34 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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35 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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36 footpath | |
n.小路,人行道 | |
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37 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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38 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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39 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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40 qualified | |
adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
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41 controversy | |
n.争论,辩论,争吵 | |
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42 oracles | |
神示所( oracle的名词复数 ); 神谕; 圣贤; 哲人 | |
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43 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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44 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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45 paradox | |
n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法;自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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46 saturated | |
a.饱和的,充满的 | |
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47 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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48 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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49 paramount | |
a.最重要的,最高权力的 | |
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50 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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51 prudish | |
adj.装淑女样子的,装规矩的,过分规矩的;adv.过分拘谨地 | |
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52 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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53 meek | |
adj.温顺的,逆来顺受的 | |
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54 hacking | |
n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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55 hewing | |
v.(用斧、刀等)砍、劈( hew的现在分词 );砍成;劈出;开辟 | |
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56 scurvily | |
下流地,粗鄙地,无礼地 | |
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57 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
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58 covert | |
adj.隐藏的;暗地里的 | |
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59 insinuated | |
v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 );巧妙或迂回地潜入;(使)缓慢进入;慢慢伸入 | |
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60 deviation | |
n.背离,偏离;偏差,偏向;离题 | |
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61 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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62 concurring | |
同时发生的,并发的 | |
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63 jurisdiction | |
n.司法权,审判权,管辖权,控制权 | |
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64 cursory | |
adj.粗略的;草率的;匆促的 | |
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65 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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66 dissent | |
n./v.不同意,持异议 | |
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67 lame | |
adj.跛的,(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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68 defunct | |
adj.死亡的;已倒闭的 | |
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69 pointedly | |
adv.尖地,明显地 | |
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70 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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72 scrutiny | |
n.详细检查,仔细观察 | |
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73 laconic | |
adj.简洁的;精练的 | |
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74 defensive | |
adj.防御的;防卫的;防守的 | |
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75 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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76 dissecting | |
v.解剖(动物等)( dissect的现在分词 );仔细分析或研究 | |
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77 transfusing | |
v.输(血或别的液体)( transfuse的现在分词 );渗透;使…被灌输或传达 | |
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78 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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79 fable | |
n.寓言;童话;神话 | |
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80 violation | |
n.违反(行为),违背(行为),侵犯 | |
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81 unities | |
n.统一体( unity的名词复数 );(艺术等) 完整;(文学、戏剧) (情节、时间和地点的)统一性;团结一致 | |
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82 complacent | |
adj.自满的;自鸣得意的 | |
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83 tirades | |
激烈的长篇指责或演说( tirade的名词复数 ) | |
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84 skilfully | |
adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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85 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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86 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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87 commentators | |
n.评论员( commentator的名词复数 );时事评论员;注释者;实况广播员 | |
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88 plumb | |
adv.精确地,完全地;v.了解意义,测水深 | |
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89 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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90 marrow | |
n.骨髓;精华;活力 | |
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91 polemics | |
n.辩论术,辩论法;争论( polemic的名词复数 );辩论;辩论术;辩论法 | |
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92 garb | |
n.服装,装束 | |
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93 muses | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的第三人称单数 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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94 epic | |
n.史诗,叙事诗;adj.史诗般的,壮丽的 | |
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95 anomalous | |
adj.反常的;不规则的 | |
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96 connoisseur | |
n.鉴赏家,行家,内行 | |
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97 connoisseurs | |
n.鉴赏家,鉴定家,行家( connoisseur的名词复数 ) | |
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98 inventory | |
n.详细目录,存货清单 | |
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99 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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100 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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101 recondite | |
adj.深奥的,难解的 | |
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102 stilts | |
n.(支撑建筑物高出地面或水面的)桩子,支柱( stilt的名词复数 );高跷 | |
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103 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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104 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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105 raptures | |
极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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106 condescending | |
adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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107 colossal | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
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108 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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109 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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110 portraiture | |
n.肖像画法 | |
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111 circumference | |
n.圆周,周长,圆周线 | |
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112 reiterate | |
v.重申,反复地说 | |
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113 storks | |
n.鹳( stork的名词复数 ) | |
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114 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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115 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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116 exulting | |
vi. 欢欣鼓舞,狂喜 | |
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117 cant | |
n.斜穿,黑话,猛扔 | |
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118 sublimity | |
崇高,庄严,气质高尚 | |
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119 ineffable | |
adj.无法表达的,不可言喻的 | |
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120 ballad | |
n.歌谣,民谣,流行爱情歌曲 | |
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121 dulcet | |
adj.悦耳的 | |
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122 insipid | |
adj.无味的,枯燥乏味的,单调的 | |
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123 cloy | |
v.(吃甜食)生腻,吃腻 | |
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124 luscious | |
adj.美味的;芬芳的;肉感的,引与性欲的 | |
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125 panegyrics | |
n.赞美( panegyric的名词复数 );称颂;颂词;颂扬的演讲或文章 | |
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126 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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127 virulence | |
n.毒力,毒性;病毒性;致病力 | |
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128 varnished | |
浸渍过的,涂漆的 | |
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129 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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130 venom | |
n.毒液,恶毒,痛恨 | |
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131 bigotry | |
n.偏见,偏执,持偏见的行为[态度]等 | |
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132 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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133 profess | |
v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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134 grovelling | |
adj.卑下的,奴颜婢膝的v.卑躬屈节,奴颜婢膝( grovel的现在分词 );趴 | |
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135 contortions | |
n.扭歪,弯曲;扭曲,弄歪,歪曲( contortion的名词复数 ) | |
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136 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
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137 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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138 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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139 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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140 reptile | |
n.爬行动物;两栖动物 | |
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141 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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142 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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143 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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144 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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145 pampered | |
adj.饮食过量的,饮食奢侈的v.纵容,宠,娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146 sleek | |
adj.光滑的,井然有序的;v.使光滑,梳拢 | |
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147 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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148 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
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149 vilify | |
v.诽谤,中伤 | |
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150 traduce | |
v.中伤;n.诽谤 | |
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151 malignity | |
n.极度的恶意,恶毒;(病的)恶性 | |
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152 stultifying | |
v.使成为徒劳,使变得无用( stultify的现在分词 ) | |
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153 adversary | |
adj.敌手,对手 | |
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154 subscribe | |
vi.(to)订阅,订购;同意;vt.捐助,赞助 | |
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155 proscription | |
n.禁止,剥夺权利 | |
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156 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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157 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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158 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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159 reprisals | |
n.报复(行为)( reprisal的名词复数 ) | |
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160 kennel | |
n.狗舍,狗窝 | |
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161 obloquy | |
n.斥责,大骂 | |
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162 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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163 obnoxious | |
adj.极恼人的,讨人厌的,可憎的 | |
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164 impaled | |
钉在尖桩上( impale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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165 biases | |
偏见( bias的名词复数 ); 偏爱; 特殊能力; 斜纹 | |
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166 bias | |
n.偏见,偏心,偏袒;vt.使有偏见 | |
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167 sects | |
n.宗派,教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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168 coeval | |
adj.同时代的;n.同时代的人或事物 | |
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169 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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170 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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171 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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172 ornamented | |
adj.花式字体的v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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173 factions | |
组织中的小派别,派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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174 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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175 trite | |
adj.陈腐的 | |
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176 imputation | |
n.归罪,责难 | |
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177 consistency | |
n.一贯性,前后一致,稳定性;(液体的)浓度 | |
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178 epithet | |
n.(用于褒贬人物等的)表述形容词,修饰语 | |
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179 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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180 diminutive | |
adj.小巧可爱的,小的 | |
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181 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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182 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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183 excellences | |
n.卓越( excellence的名词复数 );(只用于所修饰的名词后)杰出的;卓越的;出类拔萃的 | |
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184 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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185 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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186 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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187 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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188 condemning | |
v.(通常因道义上的原因而)谴责( condemn的现在分词 );宣判;宣布…不能使用;迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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189 insipidity | |
n.枯燥无味,清淡,无精神;无生气状 | |
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190 verbiage | |
n.冗词;冗长 | |
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191 exclusion | |
n.拒绝,排除,排斥,远足,远途旅行 | |
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192 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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193 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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194 sophistry | |
n.诡辩 | |
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195 fettered | |
v.给…上脚镣,束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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196 proscribe | |
v.禁止;排斥;放逐,充军;剥夺公权 | |
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197 enjoyments | |
愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 ); 令人愉快的事物; 享有; 享受 | |
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198 versatile | |
adj.通用的,万用的;多才多艺的,多方面的 | |
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199 second-hand | |
adj.用过的,旧的,二手的 | |
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200 aptitude | |
n.(学习方面的)才能,资质,天资 | |
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201 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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202 morsels | |
n.一口( morsel的名词复数 );(尤指食物)小块,碎屑 | |
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203 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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204 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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205 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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206 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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207 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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208 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
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209 counterfeits | |
v.仿制,造假( counterfeit的第三人称单数 ) | |
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210 ingenuous | |
adj.纯朴的,单纯的;天真的;坦率的 | |
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211 counteract | |
vt.对…起反作用,对抗,抵消 | |
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212 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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213 heartier | |
亲切的( hearty的比较级 ); 热诚的; 健壮的; 精神饱满的 | |
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214 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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215 scripture | |
n.经文,圣书,手稿;Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》,《圣经》中的一段 | |
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216 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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217 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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218 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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219 dross | |
n.渣滓;无用之物 | |
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220 anatomy | |
n.解剖学,解剖;功能,结构,组织 | |
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221 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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222 misers | |
守财奴,吝啬鬼( miser的名词复数 ) | |
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223 superannuated | |
adj.老朽的,退休的;v.因落后于时代而废除,勒令退学 | |
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224 intriguing | |
adj.有趣的;迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词);激起…的好奇心 | |
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225 proneness | |
n.俯伏,倾向 | |
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226 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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227 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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228 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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229 cloying | |
adj.甜得发腻的 | |
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230 smack | |
vt.拍,打,掴;咂嘴;vi.含有…意味;n.拍 | |
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231 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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232 deficient | |
adj.不足的,不充份的,有缺陷的 | |
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233 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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