A lady was complaining to a friend of mine of the credulity of people in attending to quack2 advertisements, and wondering who could be taken in by them —“for that she had never bought but one half-guinea bottle of Dr. ———‘s Elixir3 of Life, and it had done her no sort of good!” This anecdote4 seemed to explain pretty well what made it worth the doctor’s while to advertise his wares5 in every newspaper in the kingdom. He would no doubt be satisfied if every delicate, sceptical invalid6 in his majesty7’s dominions8 gave his Elixir one trial, merely to show the absurdity10 of the thing. We affect to laugh at the folly11 of those who put faith in nostrums12, but are willing to see ourselves whether there is any truth in them.
There is a strong tendency in the human mind to flatter itself with secret hopes, with some lucky reservation in our own favour, though reason may point out the grossness of the trick in general; and, besides, there is a wonderful power in words, formed into regular propositions, and printed in capital letters, to draw the assent13 after them, till we have proof of their fallacy. The ignorant and idle believe what they read, as Scotch14 philosophers demonstrate the existence of a material world, and other learned propositions, from the evidence of their senses. The ocular proof is all that is wanting in either case. As hypocrisy15 is said to be the highest compliment to virtue16, the art of lying is the strongest acknowledgment of the force of truth. We can hardly believe a thing to be a lie, though we know it to be so. The ‘puff direct,’ even as it stands in the columns of the Times newspaper, branded with the title of Advertisement before it, claims some sort of attention and respect for the merits that it discloses, though we think the candidate for public favour and support has hit upon (perhaps) an injudicious way of laying them before the world. Still there may be something in them; and even the outrageous17 improbability and extravagance of the statement on the very face of it stagger us, and leave a hankering to inquire farther into it, because we think the advertiser would hardly have the impudence18 to hazard such barefaced19 absurdities20 without some foundation. Such is the strength of the association between words and things in the mind — so much oftener must our credulity have been justified21 by the event than imposed upon. If every second story we heard was an invention, we should lose our mechanical disposition22 to trust to the meaning of sounds, just as when we have met with a number of counterfeit23 pieces of coin, we suspect good ones; but our implicit24 assent to what we hear is a proof how much more sincerity25 and good faith there is in the sum total of our dealings with one another than artifice26 and imposture27.
‘To elevate and surprise’ is the great art of quackery28 and puffing29; to raise a lively and exaggerated image in the mind, and take it by surprise before it can recover breath, as it were; so that by having been caught in the trap, it is unwilling30 to retract31 entirely32 — has a secret desire to find itself in the right, and a determination to see whether it is or not. Describe a picture as lofty, imposing33, and grand, these words excite certain ideas in the mind like the sound of a trumpet34, which are not to be quelled35, except by seeing the picture itself, nor even then, if it is viewed by the help of a catalogue, written expressly for the occasion by the artist himself. It is not to be supposed that he would say such things of his picture unless they were allowed by all the world; and he repeats them, on this gentle understanding, till all the world allows them.84 So Reputation runs in a vicious circle, and Merit limps behind it, mortified37 and abashed38 at its own insignificance39. It has been said that the test of fame or popularity is to consider the number of times your name is repeated by others, or is brought to their recollection in the course of a year. At this rate, a man has his reputation in his own hands, and, by the help of puffing and the press, may forestall41 the voice of posterity42, and stun43 the ‘groundling’ ear of his contemporaries. A name let off in your hearing continually, with some bouncing epithet44 affixed45 to it, startles you like the report of a pistol close at your car: you cannot help the effect upon the imagination, though you know it is perfectly46 harmless —vox et praeterea nihil. So, if you see the same name staring you in the face in great letters at the corner of every street, you involuntarily think the owner of it must be a great man to occupy so large a space in the eye of the town. The appeal is made, in the first instance, to the senses, but it sinks below the surface into the mind. There are some, indeed, who publish their own disgrace, and make their names a common by-word and nuisance, notoriety being all that they wa though you may laugh in his face, it pays expenses. Parolles and his drum typify many a modern adventurer and court-candidate for unearned laurels47 and unblushing honours. Of all puffs48, lottery49 puffs are the most ingenious and most innocent. A collection of them would make an amusing Vade mecum. They are still various and the same, with that infinite ruse50 with which they lull51 the reader at the outset out of all suspicion. the insinuating52 turn in the middle, the home-thrust at the ruling passion at last, by which your spare cash is conjured53 clean out of the pocket in spite of resolution, by the same stale, well-known, thousandth-time repeated artifice of All prizes and No blanks— a self-evident imposition! Nothing, however, can be a stronger proof of the power of fascinating the public judgment54 through the eye alone. I know a gentleman who amassed55 a considerable fortune (so as to be able to keep his carriage) by printing nothing but lottery placards and handbills of a colossal56 size. Another friend of mine (of no mean talents) was applied57 to (as a snug58 thing in the way of business) to write regular lottery puffs for a large house in the city, and on having a parcel of samples returned on his hands as done in too severe and terse59 a style, complained quaintly60 enough, ’That modest merit never could succeed!‘ Even Lord Byron, as he tells us, has been accused of writing lottery-puffs. There are various ways of playing one’sself off before the public, and keeping one’s name alive. The newspapers, the lamp-posts, the walls of empty houses, the shutters61 of windows, the blank covers of magazines and reviews, are open to every one. I have heard of a man of literary celebrity62 sitting in his study writing letters of remonstrance63 to himself, on the gross defects of a plan of education he had just published, and which remained unsold on the bookseller’s counter. Another feigned64 himself dead in order to see what would be said of him in the newspapers, and to excite a sensation in this way. A flashy pamphlet has been run to a five-and-thirtieth edition, and thus ensured the writer a ‘deathless date’ among political charlatans65, by regularly striking off a new title-page to every fifty or a hundred copies that were sold. This is a vile66 practice. It is an erroneous idea got abroad (and which I will contradict here) that paragraphs are paid for in the leading journals. It is quite out of the question. A favourable67 notice of an author, an actress, etc., may be inserted through interest, or to oblige a friend, but it must invariably be done for love, not money!
When I formerly68 had to do with these sort of critical verdicts, I was generally sent out of the way when any debutant had a friend at court, and was to be tenderly handled. For the rest, or those of robust69 constitutions, I had carte blanche given me. Sometimes I ran out of the course, to be sure. Poor Perry! what bitter complaints he used to make, that by running-a-muck at lords and Scotchmen I should not leave him a place to dine out at! The expression of his face at these moments, as if he should shortly be without a friend in the world, was truly pitiable. What squabbles we used to have about Kean and Miss Stephens, the only theatrical70 favourites I ever had! Mrs. Billington had got some notion that Miss Stephens would never make a singer, and it was the torment71 of Perry’s life (as he told me in confidence) that he could not get any two people to be of the same opinion on any one point. I shall appearance in the Beggar’s Opera. I have reason to remember that article: it was almost the last I ever wrote with any pleasure to myself. I had been down on a visit to my friends near Chertsey, and on my return had stopped at an inn near Kingston-upon-Thames, where I had got the Beggar’s Opera, and had read it over-night. The next day I walked cheerfully to town. It was a fine sunny morning, in the end of autumn, and as I repeated the beautiful song, ‘Life knows no return of Spring,’ I meditated72 my next day’s criticism, trying to do all the justice I could to so inviting73 a subject. I was not a little proud of it by anticipation74. I had just then begun to stammer75 out my sentiments on paper, and was in a kind of honeymoon76 of authorship. But soon after, my final hopes of happiness and of human liberty were blighted78 nearly at the same time; and since then I have had no pleasure in anything —
And Love himself can flatter me no more.
It was not so ten years since (ten short years since. — Ah! how fast those years run that hurry us away from our last fond dream of bliss79!) when I loitered along thy green retreats, O Twickenham! and conned80 over (with enthusiastic delight) the chequered view which one of thy favourites drew of human life! I deposited my account of the play at the Morning Chronicle office in the afternoon, and went to see Miss Stephens as Polly. Those were happy times, in which she first came out in this character, in Mandane, where she sang the delicious air, ‘If o’er the cruel tyrant81, Love’ (so as it can never be sung again), in Love in a Village, where the scene opened with her and Miss Matthews in a painted garden of roses and honeysuckles, and ‘Hope, thou nurse of young Desire’ thrilled from two sweet voices in turn. Oh! may my ears sometimes still drink the same sweet sounds, embalmed82 with the spirit of youth, of health, and joy, but in the thoughts of an instant, but in a dream of fancy, and I shall hardly need to complain! When I got back, after the play, Perry called out, with his cordial, grating voice, ‘Well, how did she do?’ and on my speaking in high terms, answered, that ‘he had been to dine with his friend the Duke, that some conversation had passed on the subject, he was afraid it was not the thing, it was not the true sostenuto style; but as I had written the article’ (holding my peroration83 on the Beggar’s Opera carelessly in his hand), ‘it might pass!’ I could perceive that the rogue84 licked his lips at it, and had already in imagination ‘bought golden opinions of all sorts of people’ by this very criticism, and I had the satisfaction the next day to meet Miss Stephens coming out of the editor’s room, who had been to thank him for his very flattering account of her.
I was sent to see Kean the first night of his performance in Shylock, when there were about a hundred people in the pit; but from his masterly and spirited delivery of the first striking speech, ‘On such a day you called me a dog,’ etc., I perceived it was a hollow thing. So it was given out in the Chronicle; but Perry was continually at me as other people were at him, and was afraid it would not last. It was to no purpose I said it would last: yet I am in the right hitherto. It has been said, ridiculously, that Mr. Kean was written up in the Chronicle. I beg leave to state my opinion that no actor can be written up or down by a paper. An author may be puffed85 into notice, or damned by criticism, because his book may not have been read. An artist may be overrated, or undeservedly decried86, because the public is not much accustomed to see or judge of pictures. But an actor is judged by his peers, the play-going public, and must stand or fall by his own merits or defects. The critic may give the tone or have a casting voice where popular opinion is divided; but he can no more force that opinion either way, or wrest87 it from its base in common sense and feeling, than he can move Stonehenge. Mr. Kean had, however, physical disadvantages and strong prejudices to encounter, and so far the liberal and independent part of the press might have been of service in helping88 him to his seat in the public favour. May he long keep it with dignity and firmness!85
It was pretended by the Covent Garden people, and some others at the time, that Mr. Kean’s popularity was a mere9 effect of love of novelty, a nine days’ wonder, like the rage after Master Betty’s acting89, and would be as soon over. The comparison did not hold. Master Betty’s acting was so far wonderful, and drew crowds to see it as a mere singularity, because he was a boy. Mr. Kean was a grown man, and there was no rule or precedent90 established in the ordinary course of nature why some other man should not appear in tragedy as great as John Kemble. Farther, Master Betty’s acting was a singular phenomenon, but it was also as beautiful as it was singular. I saw him in the part of Douglas, and he seemed almost like ‘some gay creature of the element,’ moving about gracefully91, with all the flexibility92 of youth, and murmuring AEolian sounds with plaintive93 tenderness. I shall never forget the way in which he repeated the line in which young Norval says, speaking of the fate of two brothers:
And in my mind happy was he that died!
The tones fell and seemed to linger prophetic on my ear. Perhaps the wonder was made greater than it was. Boys at that age can often read remarkably94 well, and certainly are not without natural grace and sweetness of voice. The Westminster schoolboys are a better company of comedians95 than we find at most of our theatres. As to the understanding a part like Douglas, at least, I see no difficulty on that score. I myself used to recite the speech in Enfield’s Speaker with good emphasis and discretion96 when at school, and entered, about the same age, into the wild sweetness of the sentiments in Mrs. Radcliffe’s Romance of the Forest, I am sure, quite as much as I should do now; yet the same experiment has been often tried since and has uniformly failed.86
It was soon after this that Coleridge returned from Italy, and he got one day into a long tirade97 to explain what a ridiculous farce98 the whole was, and how all the people abroad wore shocked at the gullibility99 of the English nation, who on this and every other occasion were open to the artifices100 of all sorts of quacks101, wondering how any persons with the smallest pretensions103 to common sense could for a moment suppose that a boy could act the characters of men without any of their knowledge, their experience, or their passions. We made some faint resistance, but in vain. The discourse104 then took a turn, and Coleridge began a laboured eulogy105 on some promising106 youth, the son of an English artist, whom he had met in Italy, and who had wandered all over the Campagna with him, whose talents, he assured us, were the admiration107 of all Rome, and whose early designs had almost all the grace and purity of Raphael’s. At last, some one interrupted the endless theme by saying a little impatiently, ‘Why just now you would not let us believe our own eyes and ears about young Betty, because you have a theory against premature108 talents, and now you start a boy phenomenon that nobody knows anything about but yourself — a young artist that, you tell us, is to rival Raphael!’ The truth is, we like to have something to admire ourselves, as well as to make other people gape109 and stare at; but then it must be a discovery of our own, an idol110 of our own making and setting up:— if others stumble on the discovery before us, or join in crying it up to the skies, we then set to work to prove that this is a vulgar delusion111, and show our sagacity and freedom from prejudice by pulling it in pieces with all the coolness imaginable. Whether we blow the bubble or crush it in our hands, vanity and the desire of empty distinction are equally at the bottom of our sanguine112 credulity or fastidious scepticism. There are some who always fall in with the fashionable prejudice as others affect singularity of opinion on all such points, according as they think they have more or less wit to judge for themselves.
If a little varnishing113 and daubing, a little puffing and quacking114, and giving yourself a good name, and getting a friend to speak a word for you, is excusable in any profession, it is, I think, in that of painting. Painting is an occult science, and requires a little ostentation115 and mock-gravity in the professor. A man may here rival Katterfelto, ‘with his hair on end at his own wonders, wondering for his bread’; for, if he does not, he may in the end go without it. He may ride on a high-trotting horse, in green spectacles, and attract notice to his person anyhow he can, if he only works hard at his profession. If ‘it only is when he is out he is acting,’ let him make the fools stare, but give others something worth looking at. Good Mr. Carver and Gilder116, good Mr. Printer’s Devil, good Mr. Billsticker, ‘do me your offices’ unmolested! Painting is a plain ground, and requires a great many heraldic quarterings and facings to set it off. Lay on, and do not spare. No man’s merit can be fairly judged of if he is not known; and how can he be known if he keeps entirely in the background?87 A great name in art goes but a little way, is chilled as it creeps along the surface of the world without something to revive and make it blaze up with fresh splendour. Fame is here almost obscurity. It is long before your name affixed to a sterling117 design will be spelt out by an undiscerning regardless public. Have it proclaimed, therefore, as a necessary precaution, by sound of trumpet at the corners of the street, let it be stuck as a label in your mouth, carry it on a placard at your back. Otherwise, the world will never trouble themselves about you, or will very soon forget you. A celebrated118 artist of the present day, whose name is engraved119 at the bottom of some of the most touching120 specimens121 of English art, once had a frame-maker call on him, who, on entering his room, exclaimed with some surprise, ‘What, are you a painter, sir?’ The other made answer, a little startled in his turn, ‘Why, didn’t you know that? Did you never see my name at the bottom of prints?’ He could not recollect40 that he had. ‘And yet you sell picture-frames and prints?’—‘Yes.’—‘What painter’s names, then, did he recollect: did he know West’s?’ ‘Oh! yes.’—‘And Opie’s?’ ‘Yes.’—‘And Fuseli’s?’ ‘Oh! yes.’—‘But you never heard of me?’ ‘I cannot say that I ever did!’ It was plain from this conversation that Mr. Northcote had not kept company enough with picture-dealers and newspaper critics. On another occasion, a country gentleman, who was sitting to him for his portrait, asked him if he had any pictures in the Exhibition at Somerset House, and on his replying in the affirmative, desired to know what they were. He mentioned, among others, The Marriage of Two Children; on which the gentleman expressed great surprise, and said that was the very picture his wife was always teasing him to go and have another look at, though he had never noticed the painter’s name. When the public are so eager to be amused, and care so little who it is that amuses them, it is not amiss to remind them of it now and then; or even to have a starling taught to repeat the name, to which they owe such misprised obligations, in their drowsy122 ears. On any other principle I cannot conceive how painters (not without genius or industry) can fling themselves at the head of the public in the manner they do, having lives written of themselves, busts123 made of themselves, prints stuck in the shop-windows of themselves, and their names placed in ‘the first row of the rubric,’ with those of Rubens, Raphael, and Michael Angelo, swearing by themselves or their proxies124 that these glorified125 spirits would do well to leave the abodes126 of the blest in order to stand in mute wonder and with uplifted hands before some production of theirs which is yet hardly dry! Oh! whatever you do, leave that string untouched. It will jar the rash and unhallowed hand that meddles127 with it. Profane128 not the mighty129 dead by mixing them up with the uncanonised living. Leave yourself a reversion in immortality130, beyond the noisy clamour of the day. Do not quite lose your respect for public opinion by making it in all cases a palpable cheat, the echo of your own lungs that are hoarse131 with calling on the world to admire. Do not think to bully132 posterity, or to cozen133 your contemporaries. Be not always anticipating the effect of your picture on the town — think more about deserving success than commanding it. In issuing so many promissory notes upon the bank of fame, do not forget you have to pay in sterling gold. Believe that there is something in the pursuit of high art, beyond the manufacture of a paragraph or the collection of receipts at the door of an exhibition. Venerate134 art as art. Study the works of others, and inquire into those of nature. Gaze at beauty. Become great by great efforts, and not by pompous135 pretensions. Do not think the world was blind to merit before your time, nor make the reputation of great geniuses the stalking-horse to your vanity. You have done enough to insure yourself attention: you have now only to do something to deserve it, and to make good all that you have aspired136 to do.
There is a silent and systematic137 assumption of superiority which is as barefaced and unprincipled an imposture as the most impudent138 puffing. You may, by a tacit or avowed139 censure140 on all other arts, on all works of art, on all other pretensions, tastes, talents, but your own, produce a complete ostracism141 in the world of intellect, and leave yourself and your own performances alone standing36, a mighty monument in an universal waste and wreck142 of genius. By cutting away the rude block and removing the rubbish from around it, the idol may be effectually exposed to view, placed on its pedestal of pride, without any other assistance. This method is more inexcusable than the other. For there is no egotism or vanity so hateful as that which strikes at our satisfaction in everything else, and derives143 its nourishment144 from preying145, like the vampire146, on the carcase of others’ reputation. I would rather, in a word, that a man should talk for ever of himself with vapid147, senseless assurance, than preserve a malignant148, heartless silence when the merit of a rival is mentioned. I have seen instances of both, and can judge pretty well between them.
There is no great harm in putting forward one’s own pretensions (of whatever kind) if this does not bear a sour, malignant aspect towards others. Every one sets himself off to the best advantage he can, and tries to steal a march upon public opinion. In this sense, too, ‘all the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’ Life itself is a piece of harmless quackery. A great house over your head is of no use but to announce the great man within. Dress, equipage, title, livery-servants are only so many quack advertisements and assumptions of the question of merit. The star that glitters at the breast would be worth nothing but as a badge of personal distinction; and the crown itself is but a symbol of the virtues149 which the possessor inherits from a long line of illustrious ancestors! How much honour and honesty have been forfeited151 to be graced with a title or a ribbon; how much genius and worth have sunk to the grave without an escutcheon and without an epitaph!
As men of rank and fortune keep lackeys152 to reinforce their claims to self-respect, so men of genius sometimes surround themselves with a coterie154 of admirers to increase their reputation with the public. These proneurs, or satellites, repeat all their good things, laugh loud at all their jokes, and remember all their oracular decrees. They are their shadows and echoes. They talk of them in all companies, and bring back word of all that has been said about them. They hawk155 the good qualities of their patrons as shopmen and barkers tease you to buy goods. I have no notion of this vanity at second-hand156; nor can I see how this servile testimony157 from inferiors (‘some followers158 of mine own’) can be a proof of merit. It may soothe159 the ear, but that it should impose on the understanding, I own, surprises me; yet there are persons who cannot exist without a cortege of this kind about them, in which they smiling read the opinion of the world, in the midst of all sorts of rancorous abuse and hostility160, as Otho called for his mirror in the Illyrian field. One good thing is, that this evil, in some degree, cures itself; and when a man has been nearly ruined by a herd161 of these sycophants162, he finds them leaving him, like thriftless dependants163, for some more eligible164 situation, carrying away with them all the tattle they can pick up, and some left-off suit of finery. The same proneness165 to adulation which made them lick the dust before one idol makes them bow as low to the rising Sun; they are as lavish166 of detraction167 as they were prurient168 with praise; and the protege and admirer of the editor of the ——— figures in Blackwood’s train. The man is a lackey153, and it is of little consequence whose livery he wears!
I would advise those who volunteer the office of puffing to go the whole length of it. No half-measures will do. Lay it on thick and threefold, or not at all. If you are once harnessed into that vehicle, it will be in vain for you to think of stopping. You must drive to the devil at once. The mighty Tamburlane, to whose car you are yoked169, cries out:
Holloa, you pamper170’d jades171 of Asia,
Can you not drive but twenty miles a day?
He has you on the hip77, for you have pledged your taste and judgment to his genius. Never fear but he will drive this wedge. If you are once screwed into such a machine, you must extricate172 yourself by main force. No hyperboles are too much: any drawback, any admiration on this side idolatry, is high treason. It is an unpardonable offence to say that the last production of your patron is not so good as the one before it, or that a performer shines more in one character than another. I remember once hearing a player declare that he never looked into any newspapers or magazines on account of the abuse that was always levelled at himself in them, though there were not less than three persons in company who made it their business through these conduit pipes of fame to ‘cry him up to the top of the compass.’ This sort of expectation is a little exigeante!
One fashionable mode of acquiring reputation is by patronising it. This may be from various motives173 — real good nature, good taste, vanity, or pride. I shall only speak of the spurious ones in this place. The quack and the would-be patron are well met. The house of the latter is a sort of curiosity shop or menagerie, where all sorts of intellectual pretenders and grotesques174, musical children, arithmetical prodigies175, occult philosophers, lecturers, accoucheurs, apes, chemists, fiddlers, and buffoons176 are to be seen for the asking, and are shown to the company for nothing. The folding doors are thrown open, and display a collection that the world cannot parallel again. There may be a few persons of common sense and established reputation, rari nantes in gurgite vasto, otherwise it is a mere scramble177 or lottery. The professed178 encourager of virtu and letters, being disappointed of the great names, sends out into the highways for the halt, the lame179, and the blind, for all who pretend to distinction, defects, and obliquities, for all the disposable vanity or affectation floating on the town, in hopes that, among so many oddities, chance may bring some jewel or treasure to his door, which he may have the good fortune to appropriate in some way to his own use, or the credit of displaying to others. The art is to encourage rising genius — to bring forward doubtful and unnoticed merit. You thus get a set of novices180 and raw pretenders about you, whose actual productions do not interfere181 with your self-love, and whose future efforts may reflect credit on your singular sagacity and faculty182 for finding out talent in the germ; and in the next place, by having them completely in your power, you are at liberty to dismiss them whenever you will, and to supply the deficiency by a new set of wondering, unwashed faces in a rapid succession; an ‘aiery of children,’ embryo183 actors, artists, poets, or philosophers. Like unfledged birds, they are hatched, nursed, and fed by hand: this gives room for a vast deal of management, meddling184, care, and condescending185 solicitude186; but the instant the callow brood are fledged, they are driven from the nest, and forced to shift for themselves in the wide world. One sterling production decides the question between them and their patrons, and from that time they become the property of the public. Thus a succession of importunate187, hungry, idle, overweening candidates for fame are encouraged by these fickle188 keepers, only to be betrayed, and left to starve or beg, or pine in obscurity, while the man of merit and respectability is neglected, discountenanced, and stigmatised, because he will not lend himself as a tool to this system of splendid imposition, or pamper the luxury and weaknesses of the Vulgar Great. When a young artist is too independent to subscribe190 to the dogmas of his superiors, or fulfils their predictions and prognostics of wonderful contingent191 talent too soon, so as to get out of leading-strings, and lean on public opinion for partial support, exceptions are taken to his dress, dialect, or manners, and he is expelled the circle with a character for ingratitude192 and treachery. None can procure194 toleration long but those who do not contradict the opinions or excite the jealousy195 of their betters. One independent step is an appeal from them to the public, their natural and hated rivals, and annuls196 the contract between them, which implies ostentatious countenance189 on the one part and servile submission197 on the other. But enough of this.
The patronage198 of men of talent, even when it proceeds from vanity, is often carried on with a spirit of generosity199 and magnificence, as long as these are in difficulties and a state of dependence200; but as the principle of action in this case is a love of power, the complacency in the object of friendly regard ceases with the opportunity or necessity for the same manifest display of power; and when the unfortunate protege is just coming to land, and expects a last helping hand, he is, to his surprise, pushed back, in order that he may be saved from drowning once more. You are not hailed ashore201, as you had supposed, by these kind friends, as a mutual202 triumph after all your struggles and their exertions203 in your behalf. It is a piece of presumption204 in you to be seen walking on terra firma: you are required, at the risk of their friendship, to be always swimming in troubled waters, that they may have the credit of throwing out ropes, and sending out lifeboats to you, without ever bringing you ashore. Your successes, your reputation, which you think would please them, as justifying205 their good opinion, are coldly received, and looked at askance, because they remove your dependence on them: if you are under a cloud, they do all they can to keep you there by their goodwill206: they are so sensible of your gratitude193 that they wish your obligations never to cease, and take care you shall owe no one else a good turn; and provided you are compelled or contented207 to remain always in poverty, obscurity, and disgrace, they will continue your very good friends and humble208 servants to command, to the end of the chapter. The tenure209 of these indentures210 is hard. Such persons will wilfully211 forfeit150 the gratitude created by years of friendship, by refusing to perform the last act of kindness that is likely ever to be demanded of them: will lend you money, if you have no chance of repaying them: will give you their good word, if nobody will believe it; and the only thing they do not forgive is an attempt or probability on your part of being able to repay your obligations. There is something disinterested212 in all this: at least, it does not show a cowardly or mercenary disposition, but it savours too much of arrogance213 and arbitrary pretension102. It throws a damning light on this question, to consider who are mostly the subjects of the patronage of the great, and in the habit of receiving cards of invitation to splendid dinners. I confess, for one, I am not on the list; at which I do not grieve much, nor wonder at all. Authors, in general, are not in much request. Dr. Johnson was asked why he was not more frequently invited out; and he said, ‘Because great lords and ladies do not like to have their mouths stopped.’ Garrick was not in this predicament: he could amuse the company in the drawing-room by imitating the great moralist and lexicographer214, and make the negro-boy in the courtyard die with laughing to see him take off the swelling215 airs and strut216 of the turkey-cock. This was clever and amusing, but it did not involve an opinion, it did not lead to a difference of sentiment, in which the owner of the house might be found in the wrong. Players, singers, dancers, are hand and glove with the great. They embellish217, and have an eclat218 in their names, but do not come into collision. Eminent219 portrait-painters, again, are tolerated, because they come into personal contact with the great; and sculptors220 hold equality with lords when they have a certain quantity of solid marble in their workshops to answer for the solidity of their pretensions. People of fashion and property must have something to show for their patronage, something visible or tangible221. A sentiment is a visionary thing; an argument may lead to dangerous consequences, and those who are likely to broach222 either one or the other ate not, therefore, fit for good company in general. Poets and men of genius who find their way there, soon find their way out. They are not of that ilk, with some exceptions. Painters who come in contact with majesty get on by servility or buffoonery, by letting themselves down in some way. Sir Joshua was never a favourite at court. He kept too much at a distance. Beechey gained a vast deal of favour by familiarity, and lost it by taking too great freedoms.88 West ingratiated himself in the same quarter by means of practices as little creditable to himself as his august employer, namely, by playing the hypocrite, and professing223 sentiments the reverse of those he naturally felt. Kings (I know not how justly) have been said to be lovers of low company and low conversation. They are also said to be fond of dirty practical jokes. If the fact is so, the reason is as follows. From the elevation224 of their rank, aided by pride and flattery, they look down on the rest of mankind, and would not be thought to have all their advantages for nothing. They wish to maintain the same precedence in private life that belongs to them as a matter of outward ceremony. This pretension they cannot keep up by fair means; for in wit or argument they are not superior to the common run of men. They therefore answer a repartee225 by a practical joke, which turns the laugh against others, and cannot be retaliated226 with safety. That is, they avail themselves of the privilege of their situation to take liberties, and degrade those about them, as they can only keep up the idea of their own dignity by proportionably lowering their company.
点击收听单词发音
1 usher | |
n.带位员,招待员;vt.引导,护送;vi.做招待,担任引座员 | |
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2 quack | |
n.庸医;江湖医生;冒充内行的人;骗子 | |
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3 elixir | |
n.长生不老药,万能药 | |
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4 anecdote | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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5 wares | |
n. 货物, 商品 | |
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6 invalid | |
n.病人,伤残人;adj.有病的,伤残的;无效的 | |
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7 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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8 dominions | |
统治权( dominion的名词复数 ); 领土; 疆土; 版图 | |
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9 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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10 absurdity | |
n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
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11 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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12 nostrums | |
n.骗人的疗法,有专利权的药品( nostrum的名词复数 );妙策 | |
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13 assent | |
v.批准,认可;n.批准,认可 | |
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14 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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15 hypocrisy | |
n.伪善,虚伪 | |
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16 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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17 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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18 impudence | |
n.厚颜无耻;冒失;无礼 | |
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19 barefaced | |
adj.厚颜无耻的,公然的 | |
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20 absurdities | |
n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 );荒谬;谬论;荒谬的行为 | |
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21 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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22 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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23 counterfeit | |
vt.伪造,仿造;adj.伪造的,假冒的 | |
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24 implicit | |
a.暗示的,含蓄的,不明晰的,绝对的 | |
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25 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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26 artifice | |
n.妙计,高明的手段;狡诈,诡计 | |
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27 imposture | |
n.冒名顶替,欺骗 | |
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28 quackery | |
n.庸医的医术,骗子的行为 | |
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29 puffing | |
v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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30 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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31 retract | |
vt.缩回,撤回收回,取消 | |
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32 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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33 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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34 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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35 quelled | |
v.(用武力)制止,结束,镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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37 mortified | |
v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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38 abashed | |
adj.窘迫的,尴尬的v.使羞愧,使局促,使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39 insignificance | |
n.不重要;无价值;无意义 | |
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40 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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41 forestall | |
vt.抢在…之前采取行动;预先阻止 | |
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42 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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43 stun | |
vt.打昏,使昏迷,使震惊,使惊叹 | |
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44 epithet | |
n.(用于褒贬人物等的)表述形容词,修饰语 | |
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45 affixed | |
adj.[医]附着的,附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 );粘贴;加以;盖(印章) | |
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46 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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47 laurels | |
n.桂冠,荣誉 | |
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48 puffs | |
n.吸( puff的名词复数 );(烟斗或香烟的)一吸;一缕(烟、蒸汽等);(呼吸或风的)呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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49 lottery | |
n.抽彩;碰运气的事,难于算计的事 | |
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50 ruse | |
n.诡计,计策;诡计 | |
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51 lull | |
v.使安静,使入睡,缓和,哄骗;n.暂停,间歇 | |
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52 insinuating | |
adj.曲意巴结的,暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 );巧妙或迂回地潜入;(使)缓慢进入;慢慢伸入 | |
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53 conjured | |
用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
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54 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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55 amassed | |
v.积累,积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56 colossal | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
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57 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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58 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
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59 terse | |
adj.(说话,文笔)精炼的,简明的 | |
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60 quaintly | |
adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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61 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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62 celebrity | |
n.名人,名流;著名,名声,名望 | |
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63 remonstrance | |
n抗议,抱怨 | |
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64 feigned | |
a.假装的,不真诚的 | |
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65 charlatans | |
n.冒充内行者,骗子( charlatan的名词复数 ) | |
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66 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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67 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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68 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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69 robust | |
adj.强壮的,强健的,粗野的,需要体力的,浓的 | |
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70 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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71 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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72 meditated | |
深思,沉思,冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 ); 内心策划,考虑 | |
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73 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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74 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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75 stammer | |
n.结巴,口吃;v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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76 honeymoon | |
n.蜜月(假期);vi.度蜜月 | |
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77 hip | |
n.臀部,髋;屋脊 | |
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78 blighted | |
adj.枯萎的,摧毁的 | |
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79 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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80 conned | |
adj.被骗了v.指挥操舵( conn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81 tyrant | |
n.暴君,专制的君主,残暴的人 | |
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82 embalmed | |
adj.用防腐药物保存(尸体)的v.保存(尸体)不腐( embalm的过去式和过去分词 );使不被遗忘;使充满香气 | |
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83 peroration | |
n.(演说等之)结论 | |
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84 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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85 puffed | |
adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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86 decried | |
v.公开反对,谴责( decry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87 wrest | |
n.扭,拧,猛夺;v.夺取,猛扭,歪曲 | |
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88 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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89 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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90 precedent | |
n.先例,前例;惯例;adj.在前的,在先的 | |
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91 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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92 flexibility | |
n.柔韧性,弹性,(光的)折射性,灵活性 | |
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93 plaintive | |
adj.可怜的,伤心的 | |
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94 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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95 comedians | |
n.喜剧演员,丑角( comedian的名词复数 ) | |
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96 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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97 tirade | |
n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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98 farce | |
n.闹剧,笑剧,滑稽戏;胡闹 | |
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99 gullibility | |
n.易受骗,易上当,轻信 | |
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100 artifices | |
n.灵巧( artifice的名词复数 );诡计;巧妙办法;虚伪行为 | |
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101 quacks | |
abbr.quacksalvers 庸医,骗子(16世纪习惯用水银或汞治疗梅毒的人)n.江湖医生( quack的名词复数 );江湖郎中;(鸭子的)呱呱声v.(鸭子)发出嘎嘎声( quack的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102 pretension | |
n.要求;自命,自称;自负 | |
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103 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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104 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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105 eulogy | |
n.颂词;颂扬 | |
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106 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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107 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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108 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
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109 gape | |
v.张口,打呵欠,目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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110 idol | |
n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
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111 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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112 sanguine | |
adj.充满希望的,乐观的,血红色的 | |
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113 varnishing | |
在(某物)上涂清漆( varnish的现在分词 ) | |
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114 quacking | |
v.(鸭子)发出嘎嘎声( quack的现在分词 ) | |
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115 ostentation | |
n.夸耀,卖弄 | |
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116 gilder | |
镀金工人 | |
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117 sterling | |
adj.英币的(纯粹的,货真价实的);n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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118 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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119 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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120 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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121 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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122 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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123 busts | |
半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 ); 妇女的胸部; 胸围; 突击搜捕 | |
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124 proxies | |
n.代表权( proxy的名词复数 );(测算用的)代替物;(对代理人的)委托书;(英国国教教区献给主教等的)巡游费 | |
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125 glorified | |
美其名的,变荣耀的 | |
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126 abodes | |
住所( abode的名词复数 ); 公寓; (在某地的)暂住; 逗留 | |
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127 meddles | |
v.干涉,干预(他人事务)( meddle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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128 profane | |
adj.亵神的,亵渎的;vt.亵渎,玷污 | |
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129 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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130 immortality | |
n.不死,不朽 | |
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131 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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132 bully | |
n.恃强欺弱者,小流氓;vt.威胁,欺侮 | |
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133 cozen | |
v.欺骗,哄骗 | |
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134 venerate | |
v.尊敬,崇敬,崇拜 | |
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135 pompous | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的;夸大的;豪华的 | |
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136 aspired | |
v.渴望,追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137 systematic | |
adj.有系统的,有计划的,有方法的 | |
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138 impudent | |
adj.鲁莽的,卑鄙的,厚颜无耻的 | |
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139 avowed | |
adj.公开声明的,承认的v.公开声明,承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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140 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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141 ostracism | |
n.放逐;排斥 | |
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142 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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143 derives | |
v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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144 nourishment | |
n.食物,营养品;营养情况 | |
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145 preying | |
v.掠食( prey的现在分词 );掠食;折磨;(人)靠欺诈为生 | |
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146 vampire | |
n.吸血鬼 | |
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147 vapid | |
adj.无味的;无生气的 | |
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148 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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149 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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150 forfeit | |
vt.丧失;n.罚金,罚款,没收物 | |
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151 forfeited | |
(因违反协议、犯规、受罚等)丧失,失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152 lackeys | |
n.听差( lackey的名词复数 );男仆(通常穿制服);卑躬屈膝的人;被待为奴仆的人 | |
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153 lackey | |
n.侍从;跟班 | |
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154 coterie | |
n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体,小圈子 | |
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155 hawk | |
n.鹰,骗子;鹰派成员 | |
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156 second-hand | |
adj.用过的,旧的,二手的 | |
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157 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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158 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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159 soothe | |
v.安慰;使平静;使减轻;缓和;奉承 | |
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160 hostility | |
n.敌对,敌意;抵制[pl.]交战,战争 | |
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161 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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162 sycophants | |
n.谄媚者,拍马屁者( sycophant的名词复数 ) | |
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163 dependants | |
受赡养者,受扶养的家属( dependant的名词复数 ) | |
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164 eligible | |
adj.有条件被选中的;(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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165 proneness | |
n.俯伏,倾向 | |
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166 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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167 detraction | |
n.减损;诽谤 | |
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168 prurient | |
adj.好色的,淫乱的 | |
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169 yoked | |
结合(yoke的过去式形式) | |
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170 pamper | |
v.纵容,过分关怀 | |
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171 jades | |
n.玉,翡翠(jade的复数形式)v.(使)疲(jade的第三人称单数形式) | |
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172 extricate | |
v.拯救,救出;解脱 | |
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173 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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174 grotesques | |
n.衣着、打扮、五官等古怪,不协调的样子( grotesque的名词复数 ) | |
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175 prodigies | |
n.奇才,天才(尤指神童)( prodigy的名词复数 ) | |
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176 buffoons | |
n.愚蠢的人( buffoon的名词复数 );傻瓜;逗乐小丑;滑稽的人 | |
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177 scramble | |
v.爬行,攀爬,杂乱蔓延,碎片,片段,废料 | |
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178 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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179 lame | |
adj.跛的,(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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180 novices | |
n.新手( novice的名词复数 );初学修士(或修女);(修会等的)初学生;尚未赢过大赛的赛马 | |
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181 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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182 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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183 embryo | |
n.胚胎,萌芽的事物 | |
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184 meddling | |
v.干涉,干预(他人事务)( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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185 condescending | |
adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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186 solicitude | |
n.焦虑 | |
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187 importunate | |
adj.强求的;纠缠不休的 | |
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188 fickle | |
adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的,不坚定的 | |
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189 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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190 subscribe | |
vi.(to)订阅,订购;同意;vt.捐助,赞助 | |
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191 contingent | |
adj.视条件而定的;n.一组,代表团,分遣队 | |
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192 ingratitude | |
n.忘恩负义 | |
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193 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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194 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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195 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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196 annuls | |
v.宣告无效( annul的第三人称单数 );取消;使消失;抹去 | |
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197 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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198 patronage | |
n.赞助,支援,援助;光顾,捧场 | |
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199 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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200 dependence | |
n.依靠,依赖;信任,信赖;隶属 | |
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201 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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202 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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203 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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204 presumption | |
n.推测,可能性,冒昧,放肆,[法律]推定 | |
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205 justifying | |
证明…有理( justify的现在分词 ); 为…辩护; 对…作出解释; 为…辩解(或辩护) | |
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206 goodwill | |
n.善意,亲善,信誉,声誉 | |
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207 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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208 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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209 tenure | |
n.终身职位;任期;(土地)保有权,保有期 | |
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210 indentures | |
vt.以契约束缚(indenture的第三人称单数形式) | |
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211 wilfully | |
adv.任性固执地;蓄意地 | |
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212 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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213 arrogance | |
n.傲慢,自大 | |
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214 lexicographer | |
n.辞典编纂人 | |
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215 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
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216 strut | |
v.肿胀,鼓起;大摇大摆地走;炫耀;支撑;撑开;n.高视阔步;支柱,撑杆 | |
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217 embellish | |
v.装饰,布置;给…添加细节,润饰 | |
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218 eclat | |
n.显赫之成功,荣誉 | |
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219 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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220 sculptors | |
雕刻家,雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 ); [天]玉夫座 | |
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221 tangible | |
adj.有形的,可触摸的,确凿的,实际的 | |
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222 broach | |
v.开瓶,提出(题目) | |
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223 professing | |
声称( profess的现在分词 ); 宣称; 公开表明; 信奉 | |
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224 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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225 repartee | |
n.机敏的应答 | |
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226 retaliated | |
v.报复,反击( retaliate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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