When about 16 years of age I happened to meet with a book, written by one Tryon, recommending a vegetable diet. I determined1 to go into it. My brother, being yet unmarried, did not keep house, but boarded himself and his apprentices2 in another family. My refusing to eat flesh occasioned an inconveniency, and I was frequently chid4 for my singularity. I made myself acquainted with Tryon's manner of preparing some of his dishes, such as boiling potatoes or rice, making hasty pudding, and a few others, and then proposed to my brother, that if he would give me, weekly, half the money he paid for my board, I would board myself. He instantly agreed to it, and I presently found that I could save half what he paid me. This was an additional fund for buying books. But I had another advantage in it. My brother and the rest going from the printing-house to their meals, I remained there alone, and, despatching presently my light repast, which often was no more than a bisket or a slice of bread, a handful of raisins5 or a tart6 from the pastry-cook's, and a glass of water, had the rest of the time till their return for study, in which I made the greater progress, from that greater clearness of head and quicker apprehension7 which usually attend temperance in eating and drinking.
And now it was that, being on some occasion made asham'd of my ignorance in figures, which I had twice failed in learning when at school, I took Cocker's book of Arithmetick, and went through the whole by myself with great ease. I also read Seller's and Shermy's books of Navigation, and became acquainted with the little geometry they contain; but never proceeded far in that science. And I read about this time Locke On Human Understanding, and the Art of Thinking, by Messrs. du Port Royal.
While I was intent on improving my language, I met with an English grammar (I think it was Greenwood's), at the end of which there were two little sketches9 of the arts of rhetoric10 and logic11, the latter finishing with a specimen12 of a dispute in the Socratic method; and soon after I procur'd Xenophon's Memorable13 Things of Socrates, wherein there are many instances of the same method. I was charm'd with it, adopted it, dropt my abrupt14 contradiction and positive argumentation, and put on the humble15 inquirer and doubter. And being then, from reading Shaftesbury and Collins, become a real doubter in many points of our religious doctrine16, I found this method safest for myself and very embarrassing to those against whom I used it; therefore I took a delight in it, practis'd it continually, and grew very artful and expert in drawing people, even of superior knowledge, into concessions17, the consequences of which they did not foresee, entangling18 them in difficulties out of which they could not extricate19 themselves, and so obtaining victories that neither myself nor my cause always deserved. I continu'd this method some few years, but gradually left it, retaining only the habit of expressing myself in terms of modest diffidence; never using, when I advanced any thing that may possibly be disputed, the words certainly, undoubtedly20, or any others that give the air of positiveness to an opinion; but rather say, I conceive or apprehend21 a thing to be so and so; it appears to me, or I should think it so or so, for such and such reasons; or I imagine it to be so; or it is so, if I am not mistaken. This habit, I believe, has been of great advantage to me when I have had occasion to inculcate my opinions, and persuade men into measures that I have been from time to time engag'd in promoting; and, as the chief ends of conversation are to inform or to be informed, to please or to persuade, I wish well-meaning, sensible men would not lessen22 their power of doing good by a positive, assuming manner, that seldom fails to disgust, tends to create opposition23, and to defeat every one of those purposes for which speech was given to us, to wit, giving or receiving information or pleasure. For, if you would inform, a positive and dogmatical manner in advancing your sentiments may provoke contradiction and prevent a candid24 attention. If you wish information and improvement from the knowledge of others, and yet at the same time express yourself as firmly fix'd in your present opinions, modest, sensible men, who do not love disputation, will probably leave you undisturbed in the possession of your error. And by such a manner, you can seldom hope to recommend yourself in pleasing your hearers, or to persuade those whose concurrence25 you desire. Pope says, judiciously26:
"Men should be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown propos'd as things forgot;" farther recommending to us "To speak, tho' sure, with seeming diffidence." And he might have coupled with this line that which he has coupled with another, I think, less properly, "For want of modesty27 is want of sense."
If you ask, Why less properly? I must repeat the lines, "Immodest words admit of no defense28, For want of modesty is want of sense."
Now, is not want of sense (where a man is so unfortunate as to want it) some apology for his want of modesty? and would not the lines stand more justly thus?
"Immodest words admit but this defense, That want of modesty is want of sense."
This, however, I should submit to better judgments30.
My brother had, in 1720 or 1721, begun to print a newspaper. It was the second that appeared in America, and was called the New England Courant. The only one before it was the Boston News-Letter. I remember his being dissuaded31 by some of his friends from the undertaking32, as not likely to succeed, one newspaper being, in their udgment, enough for America. At this time (1771) there are not less than five-and-twenty. He went on, however, with the undertaking, and after having worked in composing the types and printing off the sheets, I was employed to carry the papers thro' the streets to the customers.
He had some ingenious men among his friends, who amus'd themselves by writing little pieces for this paper, which gain'd it credit and made it more in demand, and these gentlemen often visited us. Hearing their conversations, and their accounts of the approbation33 their papers were received with, I was excited to try my hand among them; but, being still a boy, and suspecting that my brother would object to printing anything of mine in his paper if he knew it to be mine, I contrived34 to disguise my hand, and, writing an anonymous35 paper, I put it in at night under the door of the printing-house. It was found in the morning, and communicated to his writing friends when they call'd in as usual. They read it, commented on it in my hearing, and I had the exquisite36 pleasure of finding it met with their approbation, and that, in their different guesses at the author, none were named but men of some character among us for learning and ingenuity37. I suppose now that I was rather lucky in my judges, and that perhaps they were not really so very good ones as I then esteem'd them.
Encourag'd, however, by this, I wrote and convey'd in the same way to the press several more papers which were equally approv'd; and I kept my secret till my small fund of sense for such performances was pretty well exhausted38 and then I discovered it, when I began to be considered a little more by my brother's acquaintance, and in a manner that did not quite please him, as he thought, probably with reason, that it tended to make me too vain. And, perhaps, this might be one occasion of the differences that we began to have about this time. Though a brother, he considered himself as my master, and me as his apprentice3, and accordingly, expected the same services from me as he would from another, while I thought he demean'd me too much in some he requir'd of me, who from a brother expected more indulgence. Our disputes were often brought before our father, and I fancy I was either generally in the right, or else a better pleader, because the judgment29 was generally in my favor. But my brother was passionate39, and had often beaten me, which I took extreamly amiss; and, thinking my apprenticeship40 very tedious, I was continually wishing for some opportunity of shortening it, which at length offered in a manner unexpected.
I fancy his harsh and tyrannical treatment of me might be a means of impressing me with that aversion to arbitrary power that has stuck to me through my whole life.
One of the pieces in our newspaper on some political point, which I have now forgotten, gave offense41 to the Assembly. He was taken up, censur'd, and imprison'd for a month, by the speaker's warrant, I suppose, because he would not discover his author. I too was taken up and examin'd before the council; but, tho' I did not give them any satisfaction, they content'd themselves with admonishing42 me, and dismissed me, considering me, perhaps, as an apprentice, who was bound to keep his master's secrets.
During my brother's confinement43, which I resented a good deal, notwithstanding our private differences, I had the management of the paper; and I made bold to give our rulers some rubs in it, which my brother took very kindly44, while others began to consider me in an unfavorable light, as a young genius that had a turn for libelling and satyr. My brother's discharge was accompany'd with an order of the House (a very odd one), that "James Franklin should no longer print the paper called the New England Courant."
There was a consultation45 held in our printing-house among his friends, what he should do in this case. Some proposed to evade46 the order by changing the name of the paper; but my brother, seeing inconveniences in that, it was finally concluded on as a better way, to let it be printed for the future under the name of BENJAMIN FRANKLIN; and to avoid the censure47 of the Assembly, that might fall on him as still printing it by his apprentice, the contrivance was that my old indenture48 should be return'd to me, with a full discharge on the back of it, to be shown on occasion, but to secure to him the benefit of my service, I was to sign new indentures49 for the remainder of the term, which were to be kept private. A very flimsy scheme it was; however, it was immediately executed, and the paper went on accordingly, under my name for several months.
At length, a fresh difference arising between my brother and me, I took upon me to assert my freedom, presuming that he would not venture to produce the new indentures.
It was not fair in me to take this advantage, and this I therefore reckon one of the first errata of my life; but the unfairness of it weighed little with me, when under the impressions of resentment50 for the blows his passion too often urged him to bestow51 upon me, though he was otherwise not an ill-natur'd man: perhaps I was too saucy52 and provoking.
When he found I would leave him, he took care to prevent my getting employment in any other printing-house of the town, by going round and speaking to every master, who accordingly refus'd to give me work. I then thought of going to New York, as the nearest place where there was a printer; and I was rather inclin'd to leave Boston when I reflected that I had already made myself a little obnoxious53 to the governing party, and, from the arbitrary proceedings54 of the Assembly in my brother's case, it was likely I might, if I stay'd, soon bring myself into scrapes; and farther, that my indiscrete disputations about religion began to make me pointed55 at with horror by good people as an infidel or atheist56. I determin'd on the point, but my father now siding with my brother, I was sensible that, if I attempted to go openly, means would be used to prevent me. My friend Collins, therefore, undertook to manage a little for me. He agreed with the captain of a New York sloop57 for my passage, under the notion of my being a young acquaintance of his, that had got a naughty girl with child, whose friends would compel me to marry her, and therefore I could not appear or come away publicly. So I sold some of my books to raise a little money, was taken on board privately58, and as we had a fair wind, in three days I found myself in New York, near 300 miles from home, a boy of but 17, without the least recommendation to, or knowledge of any person in the place, and with very little money in my pocket.
My inclinations59 for the sea were by this time worne out, or I might now have gratify'd them. But, having a trade, and supposing myself a pretty good workman, I offer'd my service to the printer in the place, old Mr. William Bradford, who had been the first printer in Pennsylvania, but removed from thence upon the quarrel of George Keith. He could give me no employment, having little to do, and help enough already; but says he, "My son at Philadelphia has lately lost his principal hand, Aquila Rose, by death; if you go thither60, I believe he may employ you." Philadelphia was a hundred miles further; I set out, however, in a boat for Amboy, leaving my chest and things to follow me round by sea.
In crossing the bay, we met with a squall that tore our rotten sails to pieces, prevented our getting into the Kill and drove us upon Long Island. In our way, a drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too, fell overboard; when he was sinking, I reached through the water to his shock pate61, and drew him up, so that we got him in again. His ducking sobered him a little, and he went to sleep, taking first out of his pocket a book, which he desir'd I would dry for him. It proved to be my old favorite author, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, in Dutch, finely printed on good paper, with copper62 cuts, a dress better than I had ever seen it wear in its own language. I have since found that it has been translated into most of the languages of Europe, and suppose it has been more generally read than any other book, except perhaps the Bible.
Honest John was the first that I know of who mix'd narration63 and dialogue; a method of writing very engaging to the reader, who in the most interesting parts finds himself, as it were, brought into the company and present at the discourse64. De Foe65 in his Cruso, his Moll Flanders, Religious Courtship, Family Instructor66, and other pieces, has imitated it with success; and Richardson has done the same, in his Pamela, etc.
When we drew near the island, we found it was at a place where there could be no landing, there being a great surff on the stony67 beach. So we dropt anchor, and swung around towards the shore. Some people came down to the water edge and hallow'd to us, as we did to them; but the wind was so high, and the surff so loud, that we could not hear so as to understand each other. There were canoes on the shore, and we made signs, and hallow'd that they should fetch us; but they either did not understand us, or thought it impracticable, so they went away, and night coming on, we had no remedy but to wait till the wind should abate68; and, in the meantime, the boatman and I concluded to sleep, if we could; and so crowded into the scuttle69, with the Dutchman, who was still wet, and the spray beating over the head of our boat, leak'd thro' to us, so that we were soon almost as wet as he. In this manner we lay all night, with very little rest; but, the wind abating70 the next day, we made a shift to reach Amboy before night, having been thirty hours on the water, without victuals71, or any drink but a bottle of filthy72 rum, and the water we sail'd on being salt.
In the evening I found myself very feverish73, and went in to bed; but, having read somewhere that cold water drank plentifully75 was good for a fever, I follow'd the prescription77, sweat plentiful74 most of the night, my fever left me, and in the morning, crossing the ferry, I proceeded on my journey on foot, having fifty miles to Burlington, where I was told I should find boats that would carry me the rest of the way to Philadelphia.
It rained very hard all the day; I was thoroughly78 soak'd, and by noon a good deal tired; so I stopt at a poor inn, where I staid all night, beginning now to wish that I had never left home. I cut so miserable79 a figure, too, that I found, by the questions ask'd me, I was suspected to be some runaway80 servant, and in danger of being taken up on that suspicion. However, I proceeded the next day, and got in the evening to an inn, within eight or ten miles of Burlington, kept by one Dr. Brown. He entered into conversation with me while I took some refreshment81, and, finding I had read a little, became very sociable82 and friendly. Our acquaintance continu'd as long as he liv'd. He had been, I imagine, an itinerant83 doctor, for there was no town in England, or country in Europe, of which he could not give a very particular account. He had some letters, and was ingenious, but much of an unbeliever, and wickedly undertook, some years after, to travestie the Bible in doggrel verse, as Cotton had done Virgil. By this means he set many of the facts in a very ridiculous light, and might have hurt weak minds if his work had been published; but it never was.
At his house I lay that night, and the next morning reach'd Burlington, but had the mortification84 to find that the regular boats were gone a little before my coming, and no other expected to go before Tuesday, this being Saturday; wherefore I returned to an old woman in the town, of whom I had bought gingerbread to eat on the water, and ask'd her advice. She invited me to lodge85 at her house till a passage by water should offer; and being tired with my foot travelling, I accepted the invitation. She understanding I was a printer, would have had me stay at that town and follow my business, being ignorant of the stock necessary to begin with. She was very hospitable86, gave me a dinner of ox-cheek with great good will, accepting only a pot of ale in return; and I thought myself fixed87 till Tuesday should come. However, walking in the evening by the side of the river, a boat came by, which I found was going towards Philadelphia, with several people in her. They took me in, and, as there was no wind, we row'd all the way; and about midnight, not having yet seen the city, some of the company were confident we must have passed it, and would row no farther; the others knew not where we were; so we put toward the shore, got into a creek88, landed near an old fence, with the rails of which we made a fire, the night being cold, in October, and there we remained till daylight. Then one of the company knew the place to be Cooper's Creek, a little above Philadelphia, which we saw as soon as we got out of the creek, and arriv'd there about eight or nine o'clock on the Sunday morning, and landed at the Market-street wharf89.
I have been the more particular in this description of my journey, and shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may in your mind compare such unlikely beginnings with the figure I have since made there. I was in my working dress, my best cloaths being to come round by sea. I was dirty from my journey; my pockets were stuff'd out with shirts and stockings, and I knew no soul nor where to look for lodging90. I was fatigued91 with travelling, rowing, and want of rest, I was very hungry; and my whole stock of cash consisted of a Dutch dollar, and about a shilling in copper. The latter I gave the people of the boat for my passage, who at first refus'd it, on account of my rowing; but I insisted on their taking it. A man being sometimes more generous when he has but a little money than when he has plenty, perhaps thro' fear of being thought to have but little.
Then I walked up the street, gazing about till near the market-house I met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and, inquiring where he got it, I went immediately to the baker's he directed me to, in Secondstreet, and ask'd for bisket, intending such as we had in Boston; but they, it seems, were not made in Philadelphia. Then I asked for a threepenny loaf, and was told they had none such. So not considering or knowing the difference of money, and the greater cheapness nor the names of his bread, I made him give me three-penny worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great puffy rolls. I was surpriz'd at the quantity, but took it, and, having no room in my pockets, walk'd off with a roll under each arm, and eating the other. Thus I went up Market-street as far as Fourth-street, passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father; when she, standing8 at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly did, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went down Chestnut-street and part of Walnut-street, eating my roll all the way, and, corning round, found myself again at Market-street wharf, near the boat I came in, to which I went for a draught92 of the river water; and, being filled with one of my rolls, gave the other two to a woman and her child that came down the river in the boat with us, and were waiting to go farther.
Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time had many clean-dressed people in it, who were all walking the same way. I joined them, and thereby93 was led into the great meeting-house of the Quakers near the market. I sat down among them, and, after looking round awhile and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy94 thro' labor95 and want of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and continued so till the meeting broke up, when one was kind enough to rouse me. This was, therefore, the first house I was in, or slept in, in Philadelphia.
Walking down again toward the river, and, looking in the faces of people, I met a young Quaker man, whose countenance96 I lik'd, and, accosting97 him, requested he would tell me where a stranger could get lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners98. "Here," says he, "is one place that entertains strangers, but it is not a reputable house; if thee wilt99 walk with me, I'll show thee a better." He brought me to the Crooked100 Billet in Water-street. Here I got a dinner; and, while I was eating it, several sly questions were asked me, as it seemed to be suspected from my youth and appearance, that I might be some runaway.
After dinner, my sleepiness return'd, and being shown to a bed, I lay down without undressing, and slept till six in the evening, was call'd to supper, went to bed again very early, and slept soundly till next morning. Then I made myself as tidy as I could, and went to Andrew Bradford the printer's. I found in the shop the old man his father, whom I had seen at New York, and who, travelling on horseback, had got to Philadelphia before me. He introduc'd me to his son, who receiv'd me civilly, gave me a breakfast, but told me he did not at present want a hand, being lately suppli'd with one; but there was another printer in town, lately set up, one Keimer, who, perhaps, might employ me; if not, I should be welcome to lodge at his house, and he would give me a little work to do now and then till fuller business should offer.
The old gentleman said he would go with me to the new printer; and when we found him, "Neighbor," says Bradford, "I have brought to see you a young man of your business; perhaps you may want such a one." He ask'd me a few questions, put a composing stick in my hand to see how I work'd, and then said he would employ me soon, though he had just then nothing for me to do; and, taking old Bradford, whom he had never seen before, to be one of the town's people that had a good will for him, enter'd into a conversation on his present undertaking and projects; while Bradford, not discovering that he was the other printer's father, on Keimer's saying he expected soon to get the greatest part of the business into his own hands, drew him on by artful questions, and starting little doubts, to explain all his views, what interests he reli'd on, and in what manner he intended to proceed. I, who stood by and heard all, saw immediately that one of them was a crafty101 old sophister, and the other a mere102 novice103. Bradford left me with Keimer, who was greatly surpris'd when I told him who the old man was.
Keimer's printing-house, I found, consisted of an old shatter'd press, and one small, worn-out font of English which he was then using himself, composing an Elegy104 on Aquila Rose, before mentioned, an ingenious young man, of excellent character, much respected in the town, clerk of the Assembly, and a pretty poet. Keimer made verses too, but very indifferently. He could not be said to write them, for his manner was to compose them in the types directly out of his head. So there being no copy, but one pair of cases, and the Elegy likely to require all the letter, no one could help him. I endeavor'd to put his press (which he had not yet us'd, and of which he understood nothing) into order fit to be work'd with; and, promising105 to come and print off his Elegy as soon as he should have got it ready, I return'd to Bradford's, who gave me a little job to do for the present, and there I lodged106 and dieted, A few days after, Keimer sent for me to print off the Elegy. And now he had got another pair of cases, and a pamphlet to reprint, on which he set me to work.
These two printers I found poorly qualified107 for their business. Bradford had not been bred to it, and was very illiterate108; and Keimer, tho' something of a scholar, was a mere compositor, knowing nothing of presswork. He had been one of the French prophets, and could act their enthusiastic agitations109. At this time he did not profess110 any particular religion, but something of all on occasion; was very ignorant of the world, and had, as I afterward111 found, a good deal of the knave112 in his composition.
He did not like my lodging at Bradford's while I work'd with him. He had a house, indeed, but without furniture, so he could not lodge me; but he got me a lodging at Mr. Read's, before mentioned, who was the owner of his house; and, my chest and clothes being come by this time, I made rather a more respectable appearance in the eyes of Miss Read than I had done when she first happen'd to see me eating my roll in the street.
I began now to have some acquaintance among the young people of the town, that were lovers of reading, with whom I spent my evenings very pleasantly; and gaining money by my industry and frugality113, I lived very agreeably, forgetting Boston as much as I could, and not desiring that any there should know where I resided, except my friend Collins, who was in my secret, and kept it when I wrote to him. At length, an incident happened that sent me back again much sooner than I had intended. I had a brother-in-law, Robert Holmes, master of a sloop that traded between Boston and Delaware. He being at Newcastle, forty miles below Philadelphia, heard there of me, and wrote me a letter mentioning the concern of my friends in Boston at my abrupt departure, assuring me of their good will to me, and that every thing would be accommodated to my mind if I would return, to which he exhorted114 me very earnestly. I wrote an answer to his letter, thank'd him for his advice, but stated my reasons for quitting Boston fully76 and in such a light as to convince him I was not so wrong as he had apprehended115.
Sir William Keith, governor of the province, was then at Newcastle, and Captain Holmes, happening to be in company with him when my letter came to hand, spoke116 to him of me, and show'd him the letter. The governor read it, and seem'd surpris'd when he was told my age. He said I appear'd a young man of promising parts, and therefore should be encouraged; the printers at Philadelphia were wretched ones; and, if I would set up there, he made no doubt I should succeed; for his part, he would procure117 me the public business, and do me every other service in his power. This my brother-in-law afterwards told me in Boston, but I knew as yet nothing of it; when, one day, Keimer and I being at work together near the window, we saw the governor and another gentleman (which proved to be Colonel French, of Newcastle), finely dress'd, come directly across the street to our house, and heard them at the door.
Keimer ran down immediately, thinking it a visit to him; but the governor inquir'd for me, came up, and with a condescension118 of politeness I had been quite unus'd to, made me many compliments, desired to be acquainted with me, blam'd me kindly for not having made myself known to him when I first came to the place, and would have me away with him to the tavern119, where he was going with Colonel French to taste, as he said, some excellent Madeira. I was not a little surprised, and Keimer star'd like a pig poison'd. I went, however, with the governor and Colonel French to a tavern, at the corner of Third-street, and over the Madeira he propos'd my setting up my business, laid before me the probabilities of success, and both he and Colonel French assur'd me I should have their interest and influence in procuring120 the public business of both governments. On my doubting whether my father would assist me in it, Sir William said he would give me a letter to him, in which he would state the advantages, and he did not doubt of prevailing121 with him. So it was concluded I should return to Boston in the first vessel122, with the governor's letter recommending me to my father. In the mean time the intention was to be kept a secret, and I went on working with Keimer as usual, the governor sending for me now and then to dine with him, a very great honor I thought it, and conversing123 with me in the most affable, familiar, and friendly manner imaginable.
About the end of April, 1724, a little vessel offer'd for Boston. I took leave of Keimer as going to see my friends. The governor gave me an ample letter, saying many flattering things of me to my father, and strongly recommending the project of my setting up at Philadelphia as a thing that must make my fortune. We struck on a shoal in going down the bay, and sprung a leak; we had a blustering124 time at sea, and were oblig'd to pump almost continually, at which I took my turn. We arriv'd safe, however, at Boston in about a fortnight. I had been absent seven months, and my friends had heard nothing of me; for my br. Holmes was not yet return'd, and had not written about me. My unexpected appearance surpriz'd the family; all were, however, very glad to see me, and made me welcome, except my brother. I went to see him at his printing-house. I was better dress'd than ever while in his service, having a genteel new suit from head to foot, a watch, and my pockets lin'd with near five pounds sterling125 in silver. He receiv'd me not very frankly126, look'd me all over, and turn'd to his work again.
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determined
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apprentices
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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chid
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| v.责骂，责备( chide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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sketches
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rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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18
entangling
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| v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的现在分词 ) | |
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19
extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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21
apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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22
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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23
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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concurrence
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| n.同意；并发 | |
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26
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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27
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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28
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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29
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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30
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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31
dissuaded
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| 劝（某人）勿做某事，劝阻( dissuade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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33
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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34
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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35
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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36
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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37
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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38
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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39
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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40
apprenticeship
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| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
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41
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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42
admonishing
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| v.劝告( admonish的现在分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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43
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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45
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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46
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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47
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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48
indenture
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| n.契约；合同 | |
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49
indentures
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| vt.以契约束缚（indenture的第三人称单数形式） | |
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50
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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51
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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52
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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53
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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54
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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55
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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56
atheist
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| n.无神论者 | |
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57
sloop
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| n.单桅帆船 | |
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58
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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59
inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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60
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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61
pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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62
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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63
narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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64
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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65
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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66
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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67
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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68
abate
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| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
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69
scuttle
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| v.急赶，疾走，逃避；n.天窗；舷窗 | |
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70
abating
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| 减少( abate的现在分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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71
victuals
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| n.食物；食品 | |
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72
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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73
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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74
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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75
plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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76
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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77
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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78
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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79
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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80
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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81
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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82
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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83
itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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84
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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85
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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86
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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87
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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88
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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89
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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90
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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91
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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92
draught
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| 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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93
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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94
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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95
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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96
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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97
accosting
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的现在分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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98
mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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99
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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100
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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101
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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102
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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103
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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104
elegy
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| n.哀歌，挽歌 | |
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105
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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106
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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107
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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108
illiterate
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| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
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109
agitations
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| （液体等的）摇动( agitation的名词复数 )； 鼓动； 激烈争论； （情绪等的）纷乱 | |
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110
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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111
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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112
knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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113
frugality
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| n.节约，节俭 | |
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114
exhorted
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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116
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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117
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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118
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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119
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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120
procuring
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的现在分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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121
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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122
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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123
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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124
blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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125
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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126
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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