We invite the attention of our countrymen to a new design. Probably not quite unexpected or unannounced will our Journal appear, though small pains have been taken to secure its welcome. Those, who have immediately acted in editing the present Number, cannot accuse themselves of any unbecoming forwardness in their undertaking1, but rather of a backwardness, when they remember how often in many private circles the work was projected, how eagerly desired, and only postponed2 because no individual volunteered to combine and concentrate the free-will offerings of many cooperators. With some reluctance3 the present conductors of this work have yielded themselves to the wishes of their friends, finding something sacred and not to be withstood in the importunity5 which urged the production of a Journal in a new spirit.
As they have not proposed themselves to the work, neither can they lay any the least claim to an option or determination of the spirit in which it is conceived, or to what is peculiar6 in the design. In that respect, they have obeyed, though with great joy, the strong current of thought and feeling, which, for a few years past, has led many sincere persons in New England to make new demands on literature, and to reprobate7 that rigor8 of our conventions of religion and education which is turning us to stone, which renounces9 hope, which looks only backward, which asks only such a future as the past, which suspects improvement, and holds nothing so much in horror as new views and the dreams of youth.
With these terrors the conductors of the present Journal have nothing to do, — not even so much as a word of reproach to waste. They know that there is a portion of the youth and of the adult population of this country, who have not shared them; who have in secret or in public paid their vows10 to truth and freedom; who love reality too well to care for names, and who live by a Faith too earnest and profound to suffer them to doubt the eternity11 of its object, or to shake themselves free from its authority. Under the fictions and customs which occupied others, these have explored the Necessary, the Plain, the True, the Human, — and so gained a vantage ground, which commands the history of the past and the present.
No one can converse12 much with different classes of society in New England, without remarking the progress of a revolution. Those who share in it have no external organization, no badge, no creed13, no name. They do not vote, or print, or even meet together. They do not know each other’s faces or names. They are united only in a common love of truth, and love of its work. They are of all conditions and constitutions. Of these acolytes14, if some are happily born and well bred, many are no doubt ill dressed, ill placed, ill made — with as many scars of hereditary15 vice16 as other men. Without pomp, without trumpet17, in lonely and obscure places, in solitude19, in servitude, in compunctions and privations, trudging20 beside the team in the dusty road, or drudging a hireling in other men’s cornfields, schoolmasters, who teach a few children rudiments21 for a pittance22, ministers of small parishes of the obscurer sects23, lone18 women in dependent condition, matrons and young maidens24, rich and poor, beautiful and hard-favored, without concert or proclamation of any kind, they have silently given in their several adherence25 to a new hope, and in all companies do signify a greater trust in the nature and resources of man, than the laws or the popular opinions will well allow.
This spirit of the time is felt by every individual with some difference, — to each one casting its light upon the objects nearest to his temper and habits of thought; — to one, coming in the shape of special reforms in the state; to another, in modifications26 of the various callings of men, and the customs of business; to a third, opening a new scope for literature and art; to a fourth, in philosophical27 insight; to a fifth, in the vast solitudes28 of prayer. It is in every form a protest against usage, and a search for principles. In all its movements, it is peaceable, and in the very lowest marked with a triumphant29 success. Of course, it rouses the opposition30 of all which it judges and condemns31, but it is too confident in its tone to comprehend an objection, and so builds no outworks for possible defence against contingent32 enemies. It has the step of Fate, and goes on existing like an oak or a river, because it must.
In literature, this influence appears not yet in new books so much as in the higher tone of criticism. The antidote33 to all narrowness is the comparison of the record with nature, which at once shames the record and stimulates34 to new attempts. Whilst we look at this, we wonder how any book has been thought worthy35 to be preserved. There is somewhat in all life untranslatable into language. He who keeps his eye on that will write better than others, and think less of his writing, and of all writing. Every thought has a certain imprisoning36 as well as uplifting quality, and, in proportion to its energy on the will, refuses to become an object of intellectual contemplation. Thus what is great usually slips through our fingers, and it seems wonderful how a lifelike word ever comes to be written. If our Journal share the impulses of the time, it cannot now prescribe its own course. It cannot foretell37 in orderly propositions what it shall attempt. All criticism should be poetic38; unpredictable; superseding39, as every new thought does, all foregone thoughts, and making a new light on the whole world. Its brow is not wrinkled with circumspection40, but serene41, cheerful, adoring. It has all things to say, and no less than all the world for its final audience.
Our plan embraces much more than criticism; were it not so, our criticism would be naught42. Everything noble is directed on life, and this is. We do not wish to say pretty or curious things, or to reiterate43 a few propositions in varied44 forms, but, if we can, to give expression to that spirit which lifts men to a higher platform, restores to them the religious sentiment, brings them worthy aims and pure pleasures, purges45 the inward eye, makes life less desultory46, and, through raising man to the level of nature, takes away its melancholy47 from the landscape, and reconciles the practical with the speculative48 powers.
But perhaps we are telling our little story too gravely. There are always great arguments at hand for a true action, even for the writing of a few pages. There is nothing but seems near it and prompts it, — the sphere in the ecliptic, the sap in the apple tree, — every fact, every appearance seem to persuade to it.
Our means correspond with the ends we have indicated. As we wish not to multiply books, but to report life, our resources are therefore not so much the pens of practised writers, as the discourse49 of the living, and the portfolios50 which friendship has opened to us. From the beautiful recesses51 of private thought; from the experience and hope of spirits which are withdrawing from all old forms, and seeking in all that is new somewhat to meet their inappeasable longings52; from the secret confession53 of genius afraid to trust itself to aught but sympathy; from the conversation of fervid54 and mystical pietists; from tear-stained diaries of sorrow and passion; from the manuscripts of young poets; and from the records of youthful taste commenting on old works of art; we hope to draw thoughts and feelings, which being alive can impart life.
And so with diligent55 hands and good intent we set down our Dial on the earth. We wish it may resemble that instrument in its celebrated56 happiness, that of measuring no hours but those of sunshine. Let it be one cheerful rational voice amidst the din4 of mourners and polemics57. Or to abide58 by our chosen image, let it be such a Dial, not as the dead face of a clock, hardly even such as the Gnomon in a garden, but rather such a Dial as is the Garden itself, in whose leaves and flowers and fruits the suddenly awakened59 sleeper60 is instantly apprised61 not what part of dead time, but what state of life and growth is now arrived and arriving.
点击收听单词发音
1 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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2 postponed | |
vt.& vi.延期,缓办,(使)延迟vt.把…放在次要地位;[语]把…放在后面(或句尾)vi.(疟疾等)延缓发作(或复发) | |
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3 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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4 din | |
n.喧闹声,嘈杂声 | |
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5 importunity | |
n.硬要,强求 | |
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6 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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7 reprobate | |
n.无赖汉;堕落的人 | |
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8 rigor | |
n.严酷,严格,严厉 | |
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9 renounces | |
v.声明放弃( renounce的第三人称单数 );宣布放弃;宣布与…决裂;宣布摒弃 | |
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10 vows | |
誓言( vow的名词复数 ); 郑重宣布,许愿 | |
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11 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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12 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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13 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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14 acolytes | |
n.助手( acolyte的名词复数 );随从;新手;(天主教)侍祭 | |
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15 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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16 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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17 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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18 lone | |
adj.孤寂的,单独的;唯一的 | |
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19 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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20 trudging | |
vt.& vi.跋涉,吃力地走(trudge的现在分词形式) | |
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21 rudiments | |
n.基础知识,入门 | |
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22 pittance | |
n.微薄的薪水,少量 | |
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23 sects | |
n.宗派,教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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24 maidens | |
处女( maiden的名词复数 ); 少女; 未婚女子; (板球运动)未得分的一轮投球 | |
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25 adherence | |
n.信奉,依附,坚持,固着 | |
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26 modifications | |
n.缓和( modification的名词复数 );限制;更改;改变 | |
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27 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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28 solitudes | |
n.独居( solitude的名词复数 );孤独;荒僻的地方;人迹罕至的地方 | |
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29 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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30 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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31 condemns | |
v.(通常因道义上的原因而)谴责( condemn的第三人称单数 );宣判;宣布…不能使用;迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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32 contingent | |
adj.视条件而定的;n.一组,代表团,分遣队 | |
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33 antidote | |
n.解毒药,解毒剂 | |
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34 stimulates | |
v.刺激( stimulate的第三人称单数 );激励;使兴奋;起兴奋作用,起刺激作用,起促进作用 | |
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35 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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36 imprisoning | |
v.下狱,监禁( imprison的现在分词 ) | |
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37 foretell | |
v.预言,预告,预示 | |
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38 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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39 superseding | |
取代,接替( supersede的现在分词 ) | |
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40 circumspection | |
n.细心,慎重 | |
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41 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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42 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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43 reiterate | |
v.重申,反复地说 | |
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44 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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45 purges | |
清除异己( purge的名词复数 ); 整肃(行动); 清洗; 泻药 | |
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46 desultory | |
adj.散漫的,无方法的 | |
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47 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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48 speculative | |
adj.思索性的,暝想性的,推理的 | |
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49 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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50 portfolios | |
n.投资组合( portfolio的名词复数 );(保险)业务量;(公司或机构提供的)系列产品;纸夹 | |
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51 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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52 longings | |
渴望,盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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53 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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54 fervid | |
adj.热情的;炽热的 | |
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55 diligent | |
adj.勤勉的,勤奋的 | |
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56 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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57 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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58 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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59 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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60 sleeper | |
n.睡眠者,卧车,卧铺 | |
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61 apprised | |
v.告知,通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 );评价 | |
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