Mr. Vernon, about this time, put me in mind of the debt I ow'd him, but did not press me. I wrote him an ingenuous1 letter of acknowledgment, crav'd his forbearance a little longer, which he allow'd me, and as soon as I was able, I paid the principal with interest, and many thanks; so that erratum was in some degree corrected.
But now another difficulty came upon me which I had never the least reason to expect. Mr. Meredith's father, who was to have paid for our printing-house, according to the expectations given me, was able to advance only one hundred pounds currency, which had been paid; and a hundred more was due to the merchant, who grew impatient, and su'd us all. We gave bail3, but saw that, if the money could not be rais'd in time, the suit must soon come to a judgment4 and execution, and our hopeful prospects6 must, with us, be ruined, as the press and letters must be sold for payment, perhaps at half price.
In this distress7 two true friends, whose kindness I have never forgotten, nor ever shall forget while I can remember any thing, came to me separately, unknown to each other, and, without any application from me, offering each of them to advance me all the money that should be necessary to enable me to take the whole business upon myself, if that should be practicable; but they did not like my continuing the partnership8 with Meredith, who, as they said, was often seen drunk in the streets, and playing at low games in alehouses, much to our discredit9. These two friends were William Coleman and Robert Grace. I told them I could not propose a separation while any prospect5 remain'd of the Merediths' fulfilling their part of our agreement, because I thought myself under great obligations to them for what they had done, and would do if they could; but, if they finally fail'd in their performance, and our partnership must be dissolv'd, I should then think myself at liberty to accept the assistance of my friends.
Thus the matter rested for some time, when I said to my partner, "Perhaps your father is dissatisfied at the part you have undertaken in this affair of ours, and is unwilling10 to advance for you and me what he would for you alone. If that is the case, tell me, and I will resign the whole to you, and go about my business." "No," said he, "my father has really been disappointed, and is really unable; and I am unwilling to distress him farther. I see this is a business I am not fit for. I was bred a farmer, and it was a folly12 in me to come to town, and put myself, at thirty years of age, an apprentice13 to learn a new trade. Many of our Welsh people are going to settle in North Carolina, where land is cheap. I am inclin'd to go with them, and follow my old employment. You may find friends to assist you. If you will take the debts of the company upon you; return to my father the hundred pound he has advanced; pay my little personal debts, and give me thirty pounds and a new saddle, I will relinquish14 the partnership, and leave the whole in your hands." I agreed to this proposal: it was drawn15 up in writing, sign'd, and seal'd immediately. I gave him what he demanded, and he went soon after to Carolina, from whence he sent me next year two long letters, containing the best account that had been given of that country, the climate, the soil, husbandry, etc., for in those matters he was very judicious16. I printed them in the papers, and they gave great satisfaction to the publick.
As soon as he was gone, I recurr'd to my two friends; and because I would not give an unkind preference to either, I took half of what each had offered and I wanted of one, and half of the other; paid off the company's debts, and went on with the business in my own name, advertising17 that the partnership was dissolved. I think this was in or about the year 1729.
About this time there was a cry among the people for more paper money, only fifteen thousand pounds being extant in the province, and that soon to be sunk. The wealthy inhabitants oppos'd any addition, being against all paper currency, from an apprehension18 that it would depreciate19, as it had done in New England, to the prejudice of all creditors20. We had discuss'd this point in our Junto21, where I was on the side of an addition, being persuaded that the first small sum struck in 1723 had done much good by increasing the trade, employment, and number of inhabitants in the province, since I now saw all the old houses inhabited, and many new ones building; whereas I remembered well, that when I first walk'd about the streets of Philadelphia, eating my roll, I saw most of the houses in Walnut-street, between Second and Front streets, with bills on their doors, "To be let"; and many likewise in Chestnut-street and other streets, which made me then think the inhabitants of the city were deserting it one after another.
Our debates possess'd me so fully22 of the subject, that I wrote and printed an anonymous23 pamphlet on it, entitled "The Nature and Necessity of a Paper Currency." It was well receiv'd by the common people in general; but the rich men dislik'd it, for it increas'd and strengthen'd the clamor for more money, and they happening to have no writers among them that were able to answer it, their opposition24 slacken'd, and the point was carried by a majority in the House. My friends there, who conceiv'd I had been of some service, thought fit to reward me by employing me in printing the money; a very profitable jobb and a great help to me. This was another advantage gain'd by my being able to write.
The utility of this currency became by time and experience so evident as never afterwards to be much disputed; so that it grew soon to fifty-five thousand pounds, and in 1739 to eighty thousand pounds, since which it arose during war to upwards26 of three hundred and fifty thousand pounds, trade, building, and inhabitants all the while increasing, till I now think there are limits beyond which the quantity may be hurtful.
I soon after obtain'd, thro' my friend Hamilton, the printing of the Newcastle paper money, another profitable jobb as I then thought it; small things appearing great to those in small circumstances; and these, to me, were really great advantages, as they were great encouragements. He procured27 for me, also, the printing of the laws and votes of that government, which continu'd in my hands as long as I follow'd the business.
I now open'd a little stationer's shop. I had in it blanks of all sorts, the correctest that ever appear'd among us, being assisted in that by my friend Breintnal. I had also paper, parchment, chapmen's books, etc. One Whitemash, a compositor I had known in London, an excellent workman, now came to me, and work'd with me constantly and diligently28; and I took an apprentice, the son of Aquila Rose.
I began now gradually to pay off the debt I was under for the printing-house. In order to secure my credit and character as a tradesman, I took care not only to be in reality industrious29 and frugal30, but to avoid all appearances to the contrary. I drest plainly; I was seen at no places of idle diversion. I never went out a fishing or shooting; a book, indeed, sometimes debauch'd me from my work, but that was seldom, snug31, and gave no scandal; and, to show that I was not above my business, I sometimes brought home the paper I purchas'd at the stores thro' the streets on a wheelbarrow. Thus being esteem'd an industrious, thriving young man, and paying duly for what I bought, the merchants who imported stationery32 solicited33 my custom; others proposed supplying me with books, and I went on swimmingly. In the mean time, Keimer's credit and business declining daily, he was at last forc'd to sell his printing house to satisfy his creditors. He went to Barbadoes, and there lived some years in very poor circumstances.
His apprentice, David Harry35, whom I had instructed while I work'd with him, set up in his place at Philadelphia, having bought his materials. I was at first apprehensive36 of a powerful rival in Harry, as his friends were very able, and had a good deal of interest. I therefore propos'd a partnership to him which he, fortunately for me, rejected with scorn. He was very proud, dress'd like a gentleman, liv'd expensively, took much diversion and pleasure abroad, ran in debt, and neglected his business; upon which, all business left him; and, finding nothing to do, he followed Keimer to Barbadoes, taking the printing-house with him. There this apprentice employ'd his former master as a journeyman; they quarrel'd often; Harry went continually behindhand, and at length was forc'd to sell his types and return to his country work in Pensilvania. The person that bought them employ'd Keimer to use them, but in a few years he died.
There remained now no competitor with me at Philadelphia but the old one, Bradford; who was rich and easy, did a little printing now and then by straggling hands, but was not very anxious about the business. However, as he kept the post-office, it was imagined he had better opportunities of obtaining news; his paper was thought a better distributer of advertisements than mine, and therefore had many, more, which was a profitable thing to him, and a disadvantage to me; for, tho' I did indeed receive and send papers by the post, yet the publick opinion was otherwise, for what I did send was by bribing37 the riders, who took them privately38, Bradford being unkind enough to forbid it, which occasion'd some resentment39 on my part; and I thought so meanly of him for it, that, when I afterward25 came into his situation, I took care never to imitate it.
I had hitherto continu'd to board with Godfrey, who lived in part of my house with his wife and children, and had one side of the shop for his glazier's business, tho' he worked little, being always absorbed in his mathematics. Mrs. Godfrey projected a match for me with a relation's daughter, took opportunities of bringing us often together, till a serious courtship on my part ensu'd, the girl being in herself very deserving. The old folks encourag'd me by continual invitations to supper, and by leaving us together, till at length it was time to explain. Mrs. Godfrey manag'd our little treaty. I let her know that I expected as much money with their daughter as would pay off my remaining debt for the printing-house, which I believe was not then above a hundred pounds. She brought me word they had no such sum to spare; I said they might mortgage their house in the loan-office. The answer to this, after some days, was, that they did not approve the match; that, on inquiry40 of Bradford, they had been inform'd the printing business was not a profitable one; the types would soon be worn out, and more wanted; that S. Keimer and D. Harry had failed one after the other, and I should probably soon follow them; and, therefore, I was forbidden the house, and the daughter shut up.
Whether this was a real change of sentiment or only artifice41, on a supposition of our being too far engaged in affection to retract42, and therefore that we should steal a marriage, which would leave them at liberty to give or withhold43 what they pleas'd, I know not; but I suspected the latter, resented it, and went no more. Mrs. Godfrey brought me afterward some more favorable accounts of their disposition44, and would have drawn me on again; but I declared absolutely my resolution to have nothing more to do with that family. This was resented by the Godfreys; we differ'd, and they removed, leaving me the whole house, and I resolved to take no more inmates45.
But this affair having turned my thoughts to marriage, I look'd round me and made overtures46 of acquaintance in other places; but soon found that, the business of a printer being generally thought a poor one, I was not to expect money with a wife, unless with such a one as I should not otherwise think agreeable. In the mean time, that hard-to-be-governed passion of youth hurried me frequently into intrigues47 with low women that fell in my way, which were attended with some expense and great inconvenience, besides a continual risque to my health by a distemper which of all things I dreaded48, though by great good luck I escaped it. A friendly correspondence as neighbors and old acquaintances had continued between me and Mrs. Read's family, who all had a regard for me from the time of my first lodging49 in their house. I was often invited there and consulted in their affairs, wherein I sometimes was of service. I piti'd poor Miss Read's unfortunate situation, who was generally dejected, seldom cheerful, and avoided company. I considered my giddiness and inconstancy when in London as in a great degree the cause of her unhappiness, tho' the mother was good enough to think the fault more her own than mine, as she had prevented our marrying before I went thither50, and persuaded the other match in my absence. Our mutual51 affection was revived, but there were now great objections to our union. The match was indeed looked upon as invalid52, a preceding wife being said to be living in England; but this could not easily be prov'd, because of the distance; and, tho' there was a report of his death, it was not certain. Then, tho' it should be true, he had left many debts, which his successor might be call'd upon to pay. We ventured, however, over all these difficulties, and I took her to wife, September 1st, 1730.
None of the inconveniences happened that we had apprehended53, she proved a good and faithful helpmate, assisted me much by attending the shop; we throve together, and have ever mutually endeavored to make each other happy. Thus I corrected that great erratum as well as I could.
About this time, our club meeting, not at a tavern54, but in a little room of Mr. Grace's, set apart for that purpose, a proposition was made by me, that, since our books were often referr'd to in our disquisitions upon the queries55, it might be convenient to us to have them altogether where we met, that upon occasion they might be consulted; and by thus clubbing our books to a common library, we should, while we lik'd to keep them together, have each of us the advantage of using the books of all the other members, which would be nearly as beneficial as if each owned the whole. It was lik'd and agreed to, and we fill'd one end of the room with such books as we could best spare. The number was not so great as we expected; and tho' they had been of great use, yet some inconveniences occurring for want of due care of them, the collection, after about a year, was separated, and each took his books home again
And now I set on foot my first project of a public nature, that for a subscription56 library. I drew up the proposals, got them put into form by our great scrivener, Brockden, and, by the help of my friends in the Junto, procured fifty subscribers of forty shillings each to begin with, and ten shillings a year for fifty years, the term our company was to continue. We afterwards obtain'd a charter, the company being increased to one hundred: this was the mother of all the North American subscription libraries, now so numerous. It is become a great thing itself, and continually increasing. These libraries have improved the general conversation of the Americans, made the common tradesmen and farmers as intelligent as most gentlemen from other countries, and perhaps have contributed in some degree to the stand so generally made throughout the colonies in defense58 of their privileges.
Memo59. Thus far was written with the intention express'd in the beginning and therefore contains several little family anecdotes60 of no importance to others. What follows was written many years after in compliance61 with the advice contain'd in these letters, and accordingly intended for the public. The affairs of the Revolution occasion'd the interruption.
Letter from Mr. Abel James, with Notes of my Life (received in Paris).
"MY DEAR AND HONORED FRIEND: I have often been desirous of writing to thee, but could not be reconciled to the thought that the letter might fall into the hands of the British, lest some printer or busy-body should publish some part of the contents, and give our friend pain, and myself censure62.
"Some time since there fell into my hands, to my great joy, about twenty-three sheets in thy own handwriting, containing an account of the parentage and life of thyself, directed to thy son, ending in the year 1730, with which there were notes, likewise in thy writing; a copy of which I inclose, in hopes it may be a means, if thou continued it up to a later period, that the first and latter part may be put together; and if it is not yet continued, I hope thee will not delay it. Life is uncertain, as the preacher tells us; and what will the world say if kind, humane63, and benevolent64 Ben. Franklin should leave his friends and the world deprived of so pleasing and profitable a work; a work which would be useful and entertaining not only to a few, but to millions? The influence writings under that class have on the minds of youth is very great, and has nowhere appeared to me so plain, as in our public friend's journals. It almost insensibly leads the youth into the resolution of endeavoring to become as good and eminent65 as the journalist. Should thine, for instance, when published (and I think it could not fail of it), lead the youth to equal the industry and temperance of thy early youth, what a blessing66 with that class would such a work be! I know of no character living, nor many of them put together, who has so much in his power as thyself to promote a greater spirit of industry and early attention to business, frugality67, and temperance with the American youth. Not that I think the work would have no other merit and use in the world, far from it; but the first is of such vast importance that I know nothing that can equal it."
The foregoing letter and the minutes accompanying it being shown to a friend, I received from him the following:
Letter from Mr. Benjamin Vaughan. "PARIS, January 31, 1783.
"My DEAREST SIR: When I had read over your sheets of minutes of the principal incidents of your life, recovered for you by your Quaker acquaintance, I told you I would send you a letter expressing my reasons why I thought it would be useful to complete and publish it as he desired.
Various concerns have for some time past prevented this letter being written, and I do not know whether it was worth any expectation; happening to be at leisure, however, at present, I shall by writing, at least interest and instruct myself; but as the terms I am inclined to use may tend to offend a person of your manners, I shall only tell you how I would address any other person, who was as good and as great as yourself, but less diffident. I would say to him, Sir, I solicit34 the history of your life from the following motives68: Your history is so remarkable69, that if you do not give it, somebody else will certainly give it; and perhaps so as nearly to do as much harm, as your own management of the thing might do good. It will moreover present a table of the internal circumstances of your country, which will very much tend to invite to it settlers of virtuous70 and manly71 minds. And considering the eagerness with which such information is sought by them, and the extent of your reputation, I do not know of a more efficacious advertisement than your biography would give. All that has happened to you is also connected with the detail of the manners and situation of a rising people; and in this respect I do not think that the writings of Caesar and Tacitus can be more interesting to a true judge of human nature and society. But these, sir, are small reasons, in my opinion, compared with the chance which your life will give for the forming of future great men; and in conjunction with your Art of Virtue72 (which you design to publish) of improving the features of private character, and consequently of aiding all happiness, both public and domestic. The two works I allude73 to, sir, will in particular give a noble rule and example of self-education. School and other education constantly proceed upon false principles, and show a clumsy apparatus74 pointed11 at a false mark; but your apparatus is simple, and the mark a true one; and while parents and young persons are left destitute75 of other just means of estimating and becoming prepared for a reasonable course in life, your discovery that the thing is in many a man's private power, will be invaluable76! Influence upon the private character, late in life, is not only an influence late in life, but a weak influence. It is in youth that we plant our chief habits and prejudices; it is in youth that we take our party as to profession, pursuits and matrimony. In youth, therefore, the turn is given; in youth the education even of the next generation is given; in youth the private and public character is determined77; and the term of life extending but from youth to age, life ought to begin well from youth, and more especially before we take our party as to our principal objects. But your biography will not merely teach self-education, but the education of a wise man; and the wisest man will receive lights and improve his progress, by seeing detailed78 the conduct of another wise man. And why are weaker men to be deprived of such helps, when we see our race has been blundering on in the dark, almost without a guide in this particular, from the farthest trace of time? Show then, sir, how much is to be done, both to sons and fathers; and invite all wise men to become like yourself, and other men to become wise. When we see how cruel statesmen and warriors79 can be to the human race, and how absurd distinguished80 men can be to their acquaintance, it will be instructive to observe the instances multiply of pacific, acquiescing81 manners; and to find how compatible it is to be great and domestic, enviable and yet good-humored.
"The little private incidents which you will also have to relate, will have considerable use, as we want, above all things, rules of prudence82 in ordinary affairs; and it will be curious to see how you have acted in these. It will be so far a sort of key to life, and explain many things that all men ought to have once explained to them, to give, them a chance of becoming wise by foresight83. The nearest thing to having experience of one's own, is to have other people's affairs brought before us in a shape that is interesting; this is sure to happen from your pen; our affairs and management will have an air of simplicity84 or importance that will not fail to strike; and I am convinced you have conducted them with as much originality85 as if you had been conducting discussions in politics or philosophy; and what more worthy86 of experiments and system (its importance and its errors considered) than human life?
"Some men have been virtuous blindly, others have speculated fantastically, and others have been shrewd to bad purposes; but you, sir, I am sure, will give under your hand, nothing but what is at the same moment, wise, practical and good, your account of yourself (for I suppose the parallel I am drawing for Dr. Franklin, will hold not only in point of character, but of private history) will show that you are ashamed of no origin; a thing the more important, as you prove how little necessary all origin is to happiness, virtue, or greatness. As no end likewise happens without a means, so we shall find, sir, that even you yourself framed a plan by which you became considerable; but at the same time we may see that though the event is flattering,the means are as simple as wisdom could make them;that is, depending upon nature, virtue, thought and habit.Another thing demonstrated will be the propriety87 of everyman's waiting for his time for appearing upon the stage of the world. Our sensations being very much fixed88 to the moment, we are apt to forget that more moments are to follow the first, and consequently that man should arrange his conduct so as to suit the whole of a life. Your attribution appears to have been applied89 to your life, and the passing moments of it have been enlivened with content and enjoyment90 instead of being tormented91 with foolish impatience92 or regrets. Such a conduct is easy for those who make virtue and themselves in countenance93 by examples of other truly great men, of whom patience is so often the characteristic. Your Quaker correspondent, sir (for here again I will suppose the subject of my letter resembling Dr. Franklin), praised your frugality, diligence and temperance, which he considered as a pattern for all youth; but it is singular that he should have forgotten your modesty94 and your disinterestedness95, without which you never could have waited for your advancement96, or found your situation in the mean time comfortable; which is a strong lesson to show the poverty of glory and the importance of regulating our minds. If this correspondent had known the nature of your reputation as well as I do, he would have said, Your former writings and measures would secure attention to your Biography, and Art of Virtue; and your Biography and Art of Virtue, in return, would secure attention to them. This is an advantage attendant upon a various character, and which brings all that belongs to it into greater play; and it is the more useful, as perhaps more persons are at a loss for the means of improving their minds and characters, than they are for the time or the inclination97 to do it. But there is one concluding reflection, sir, that will shew the use of your life as a mere2 piece of biography. This style of writing seems a little gone out of vogue98, and yet it is a very useful one; and your specimen99 of it may be particularly serviceable, as it will make a subject of comparison with the lives of various public cutthroats and intriguers, and with absurd monastic self-tormentors or vain literary triflers. If it encourages more writings of the same kind with your own, and induces more men to spend lives fit to be written, it will be worth all Plutarch's Lives put together. But being tired of figuring to myself a character of which every feature suits only one man in the world, without giving him the praise of it, I shall end my letter, my dear Dr. Franklin, with a personal application to your proper self.
I am earnestly desirous, then, my dear sir, that you should let the world into the traits of your genuine character, as civil broils100 nay101 otherwise tend to disguise or traduce102 it. Considering your great age, the caution of your character, and your peculiar103 style of thinking, it is not likely that any one besides yourself can be sufficiently104 master of the facts of your life, or the intentions of your mind. Besides all this, the immense revolution of the present period, will necessarily turn our attention towards the author of it, and when virtuous principles have been pretended in it, it will be highly important to shew that such have really influenced; and, as your own character will be the principal one to receive a scrutiny105, it is proper (even for its effects upon your vast and rising country, as well as upon England and upon Europe) that it should stand respectable and eternal. For the furtherance of human happiness, I have always maintained that it is necessary to prove that man is not even at present a vicious and detestable animal; and still more to prove that good management may greatly amend106 him; and it is for much the same reason, that I am anxious to see the opinion established, that there are fair characters existing among the individuals of the race; for the moment that all men, without exception, shall be conceived abandoned, good people will cease efforts deemed to be hopeless, and perhaps think of taking their share in the scramble107 of life, or at least of making it comfortable principally for themselves. Take then, my dear sir, this work most speedily into hand: shew yourself good as you are good; temperate108 as you are temperate; and above all things, prove yourself as one, who from your infancy109 have loved justice, liberty and concord110, in a way that has made it natural and consistent for you to have acted, as we have seen you act in the last seventeen years of your life. Let Englishmen be made not only to respect, but even to love you. When they think well of individuals in your native country, they will go nearer to thinking well of your country; and when your countrymen see themselves well thought of by Englishmen, they will go nearer to thinking well of England. Extend your views even further; do not stop at those who speak the English tongue, but after having settled so many points in nature and politics, think of bettering the whole race of men. As I have not read any part of the life in question, but know only the character that lived it, I write somewhat at hazard. I am sure, however, that the life and the treatise111 I allude to (on the Art of Virtue) will necessarily fulfil the chief of my expectations; and still more so if you take up the measure of suiting these performances to the several views above stated. Should they even prove unsuccessful in all that a sanguine112 admirer of yours hopes from them, you will at least have framed pieces to interest the human mind; and whoever gives a feeling of pleasure that is innocent to man, has added so much to the fair side of a life otherwise too much darkened by anxiety and too much injured by pain. In the hope, therefore, that you will listen to the prayer addressed to you in this letter, I beg to subscribe57 myself, my dearest sir, etc., etc.,
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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depreciate
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| v.降价，贬值，折旧 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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junto
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| n.秘密结社；私党 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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opposition
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afterward
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upwards
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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31
snug
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| 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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32
stationery
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| n.文具；(配套的)信笺信封 | |
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solicited
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| v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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34
solicit
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| vi.勾引；乞求；vt.请求，乞求；招揽(生意) | |
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35
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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36
apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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37
bribing
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| 贿赂 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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40
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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41
artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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42
retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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43
withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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44
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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45
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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46
overtures
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| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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48
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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49
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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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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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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memo
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| n.照会，备忘录；便笺；通知书；规章 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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frugality
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| n.节约，节俭 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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74
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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75
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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80
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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81
acquiescing
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的现在分词 ) | |
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82
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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83
foresight
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| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
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84
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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85
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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86
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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87
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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88
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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89
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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90
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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91
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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92
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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93
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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94
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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95
disinterestedness
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96
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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97
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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98
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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99
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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100
broils
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| v.（用火）烤（焙、炙等）( broil的第三人称单数 )；使卷入争吵；使混乱；被烤（或炙） | |
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101
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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102
traduce
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| v.中伤；n.诽谤 | |
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103
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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104
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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105
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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106
amend
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| vt.修改，修订，改进；n.[pl.]赔罪，赔偿 | |
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107
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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108
temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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109
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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110
concord
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| n.和谐；协调 | |
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111
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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112
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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