For the first year or two after my visit to France, I continued my old studies, with the addition of some new ones. When I returned, my father was just finishing for the press his "Elements of Political Economy," and he made me perform an exercise on the manuscript, which Mr Bentham practised on all his own writings, making what he called, "marginal contents"; a short abstract of every paragraph, to enable the writer more easily to judge of, and improve, the order of the ideas, and the general character of the exposition. Soon after, my father put into my hands Condillac's Traité des Sensations, and the logical and metaphysical volumes of his Cours d'Etudes; the first (notwithstanding the superficial resemblance between Condillac's Psychological system and my father's) quite as much for a warning as for an example. I am not sure whether it was in this winter or the next that I first read a history of the French Revolution. I learnt with astonishment3, that the principles of democracy, then apparently4 in so insignificant5 and hopeless a minority everywhere in Europe, had borne all before them in France thirty years earlier, and had been the creed6 of the nation. As may be supposed from this, I had previously7 a very vague idea of that great commotion8. I knew only that the French had thrown off the absolute monarchy9 of Louis XIV and XV, had put the King and Queen to death, guillotined many persons, one of whom was Lavoisier, and had ultimately fallen under the despotism of Bonaparte. From this time, as was natural, the subject took an immense hold of my feelings. It allied10 itself with all my juvenile11 aspirations12 to the character of a democratic champion. What had happened so lately, seemed as if it might easily happen again: and the most transcendant glory I was capable of conceiving, was that of figuring, successful or unsuccessful, as a Girondist in an English Convention.
During the winter of 1821-2, Mr John Austin, with whom at the time of my visit to France my father had but lately become acquainted, kindly13 allowed me to read Roman law with him. My father, notwithstanding his abhorrence14 of the chaos15 of barbarism called English Law, had turned his thoughts towards the bar as on the whole less ineligible16 for me than any other profession: and these readings with Mr Austin, who had made Bentham's best ideas his own, and added much to them from other sources and from his own mind, were not only a valuable introduction to legal studies, but an important portion of general education. With Mr Austin I read Heineccius on the Institutes, his Roman Antiquities17, and part of his exposition of the Pandects; to which was added a considerable portion of Blackstone. It was at the commencement of these studies that my Gather, as a needful accompaniment to them, put into my hands Bentham's principal speculations18, as interpreted to the Continent, and indeed to all the world, by Dumont, in the Traité de Législation. The reading of this book was an epoch19 in my life; one of the turning points in my mental history.
My previous education had been, in a certain sense, already a course of Benthamism. The Benthamic standard of "the greatest happiness" was that which I had always been taught to apply; I was even familiar with an abstract discussion of it, forming an episode in an unpublished dialogue on Government, written by my father on the Platonic20 model. Yet in the first pages of Bentham it burst upon me with all the force of novelty. What thus impressed me was the chapter in which Bentham passed judgment21 on the common modes of reasoning in morals and legislation, deduced from phrases like "law of nature," "right reason," "the moral sense," "natural rectitude," and the like, and characterized them as dogmatism in disguise, imposing22 its sentiments upon others under cover of sounding expressions which convey no reason for the sentiment, but set up the sentiment as its own reason. It had not struck me before, that Bentham's principle put an end to all this. The feeling rushed upon me, that all previous moralists were superseded23, and that here indeed was the commencement of a new era in thought. This impression was strengthened by the manner in which Bentham put into scientific form the application of the happiness principle to the morality of actions, by analysing the various classes and orders of their consequences. But what struck me at the time most of all, was the Classification of Offences, which is much more clear, compact and imposing in Dumont's rédaction than in the original work of Bentham from which it was taken. Logic1 and the dialectics of Plato, which had formed so large a part of my previous training, had given me a strong relish24 for accurate classification. This taste had been strengthened and enlightened by the study of botany, on the principles of what is called the Natural Method, which I had taken up with great zeal25, though only as an amusement, during my stay in France; and when I found scientific classification applied26 to the great and complex subject of Punishable Acts, under the guidance of the ethical27 principle of Pleasurable and Painful Consequences, followed out in the method of detail introduced into these subjects by Bentham, I felt taken up to an eminence28 from which I could survey a vast mental domain29, and see stretching out into the distance intellectual results beyond all computation. As I proceeded further, there seemed to be added to this intellectual clearness, the most inspiring prospects31 of practical improvements in human affairs. To Bentham's general view of the construction of a body of law I was not altogether a stranger, having read with attention that admirable compendium32, my father's article "Jurisprudence": but I had read it with little profit and scarcely any interest, no doubt from its extremely general and abstract character, and also because it concerned the form more than the substance of the corpus juris, the logic rather than the ethics33 of law. But Bentham's subject was Legislation, of which Jurisprudence is only the formal part: and at every page he seemed to open a clearer and broader conception of what human opinions and institutions ought to be, how they might be made what they ought to be, and how far removed from it they now are. When I laid down the last volume of the Traité, I had become a different being. The "principle of utility" understood as Bentham understood it, and applied in the manner in which he applied it through these three volumes, fell exactly into its place as the keystone which held together the detached and fragmentary component34 parts of my knowledge and beliefs. It gave unity35 to my conceptions of things. I now had opinions; a creed, a doctrine36, a philosophy; in one among the best senses of the word, a religion; the inculcation and diffusion37 of which could be made the principal outward purpose of a life. And I had a grand conception laid before me of changes to be effected in the condition of mankind through that doctrine. The Traité de Législation wound up with what was to me a most impressive picture of human life as it would be made by such opinions and such laws as were recommended in the treatise38. The anticipations39 of practicable improvement were studiously moderate, deprecating and discountenancing as reveries of vague enthusiasm many things which will one day seem so natural to human beings, that injustice40 will probably be done to those who once thought them chimerical41. But, in my state of mind, this appearance of superiority to illusion added to the effect which Bentham's doctrines42 produced on me, by heightening the impression of mental power, and the vista43 of improvement which he did open was sufficiently44 large and brilliant to light up my life, as well as to give a definite shape to my aspirations.
After this I read, from time to time, the most important of the other works of Bentham which had then seen the light, either as written by himself or as edited by Dumont. This was my private reading: while, under my father's direction, my studies were carried into the higher branches of analytic45 psychology46. I now read Locke's Essay, and wrote out an account of it, consisting of a complete abstract of every chapter, with such remarks as occurred to me: which was read by, or (I think) to, my father, and discussed throughout. I performed the same process with Helvetius De l'Esprit, which I read of my own choice. This preparation of abstracts, subject to my father's censorship, was of great service to me, by competing precision in conceiving and expressing psychological doctrines, whether accepted as truths or only regarded as the opinion of others. After Helvetius, my father made me study what he deemed the really master-production in the philosophy of mind, Hartley's Observations on Man. This book, though it did not, like the Traité de Législation, give a new colour to my existence, made a very similar impression on me in regard to its immediate47 subject. Hartley's explanation, incomplete as in many points it is, of the more complex mental phenomena48 by the law of association, commended itself to me at once as a real analysis, and made me feel by contrast the insufficiency of the merely verbal generalizations50 of Condillac, and even of the instructive gropings and feelings about for psychological explanations, of Locke. It was at this very time that my father commenced writing his Analysis of the Mind, which carried Hartley's mode of explaining the mental phenomena to so much greater length and depth. He could only command the concentration of thought necessary for this work, during the complete leisure of his holiday of a month or six weeks annually51: and he commenced it in the summer of 1822, in the first holiday he passed at Dorking; in which neighbourhood, from that time to the end of his life, with the exception of two years, he lived, as far as his official duties permitted, for six months of every year. He worked at the Analysis during several successive vacations, up to the year 1829 when it was published, and allowed me to read the manuscript, portion by portion, as it advanced. The other principal English writers on mental philosophy I read as I felt inclined, particularly Berkeley, Hume's Essays, Reid, Dugald Stewart and Brown on Cause and Effect. Brown's Lectures I did not read until two or three years later, nor at that time had my father himself read them.
Among the works read in the course of this year, which contributed materially to my development, I ought to mention a book (written on the foundation of some of Bentham's manuscripts and published under the pseudonyme of Philip Beauchamp) entitled "Analysis of the Influence of Natural Religion on the Temporal Happiness of Mankind." This was an examination not of the truth, but of the usefulness of religious belief, in the most general sense, apart from the peculiarities52 of any special Revelation; which, of all the parts of the discussion concerning religion, is the most important in this age, in which real belief in any religious doctrine is feeble and precarious53, but the opinion of its necessity for moral and social purposes almost universal; and when those who reject revelation, very generally take refuge in an optimistic Deism, a worship of the order of Nature, and the supposed course of Providence54, at least as full of contradictions, and perverting55 to the moral sentiments, as any of the forms of Christianity, if only it is as completely realized. Yet, very little, with any claim to a philosophical56 character, has been written by sceptics against the usefulness of this form of belief. The volume bearing the name of Philip Beauchamp had this for its special object. Having been shown to my father in manuscript, it was put into my hands by him, and I made a marginal analysis of it as I had done of the Elements of Political Economy. Next to the Traité de Législation, it was one of the books which by the searching character of its analysis produced the greatest effect upon me. On reading it lately after an interval58 of many years, I find it to have some of the defects as well as the merits of the Benthamic modes of thought, and to contain, as I now think, many weak arguments, but with a great overbalance of sound ones, and much good material for a more completely philosophic57 and conclusive59 treatment of the subject.
I have now, I believe, mentioned all the books which had any considerable effect on my early mental development. From this point I began to carry on my intellectual cultivation60 by writing still more than by reading. In the summer of 1822 I wrote my first argumentative essay. I remember very little about it, except that it was an attack on what I regarded as the aristocratic prejudice, that the rich were, or were likely to be, superior in moral qualities to the poor. My performance was entirely61 argumentative, without any of the declamation62 which the subject would admit of, and might be expected to suggest to a young writer. In that department however I was, and remained, very inapt. Dry argument was the only thing I could manage, or willingly attempted; though passively I was very susceptible63 to the effect of all composition, whether in the form of poetry or oratory64, which appealed to the feelings on any basis of reason. My father, who knew nothing of this essay until it was finished, was well satisfied, and as I learnt from others, even pleased with it; but, perhaps from a desire to promote the exercise of other mental faculties66 than the purely67 logical, he advised me to make my next exercise in composition one of the oratorical68 kind: on which suggestion, availing myself of my familiarity with Greek history and ideas and with the Athenian orators69, I wrote two speeches, one an accusation70, the other a defence of Pericles, on a supposed impeachment71 for not marching out to fight the Lacedaemonians on their invasion of Attica. After this I continued to write papers on subjects often very much beyond my capacity, but with great benefit both from the exercise itself, and from the discussions which it led to with my father. I had now also begun to converse72, on general subjects, with the instructed men with whom I came in contact: and the opportunities of such contact naturally became more numerous. The two friends of my father from whom I derived73 most, and with whom I most associated, were Mr Grote and Mr John Austin. The acquaintance of both with my father was recent, but had ripened74 rapidly into intimacy75. Mr Grote was introduced to my father by Mr Ricardo, I think in 1819, (being then about twenty-five years old), and sought assiduously his society and conversation. Already a highly instructed man, he was yet, by the side of my father, a tyro76 on the great subjects of human opinion; but he rapidly seized on my father's best ideas; and in the department of political opinion he made himself known as early as 1820, by a pamphlet in defence of Radical77 Reform, in reply to a celebrated78 article by Sir James Mackintosh, then lately published in the Edinburgh Review. Mr Grote's father, the banker, was, I believe, a thorough Tory, and his mother intensely Evangelical; so that for his liberal opinions he was in no way indebted to home influences. But, unlike most persons who have the prospect30 of being rich by inheritance, he had, though actively79 engaged in the business of banking80, devoted81 a great portion of time to philosophic studies; and his intimacy with my father did much to decide the character of the next stage in his mental progress. Him I often visited, and my conversations with him on political, moral, and philosophical subjects gave me, in addition to much valuable instruction, all the pleasure and benefit of sympathetic communion with a man of the high intellectual and moral eminence which his life and writings have since manifested to the world.
Mr Austin, who was four or five years older than Mr Grote, was the eldest82 son of a retired83 miller84 in Suffolk, who had made money by contracts during the war, and who must have been a man of remarkable85 qualities, as I infer from the fact that all his sons were of more than common ability and all eminently86 gentlemen. The one with whom we are now concerned, and whose writings on jurisprudence have made him celebrated, was for some time in the army, and served in Sicily under Lord William Bentinck. After the peace he sold his commission and studied for the bar, to which he had been called for some time before my father knew him. He was not, like Mr Grote, to any extent a pupil of my father, but he had attained88, by reading and thought, a considerable number of the same opinions, modified by his own very decided89 individuality of character. He was a man of great intellectual powers which in conversation appeared at their very best; from the vigour90 and richness of expression with which, under the excitement of discussion, he was accustomed to maintain some view or other of most general subjects; and from an appearance of not only strong, but deliberate and collected will; mixed with a certain bitterness, partly derived from temperament91, and partly from the general cast of his feelings and reflexions. The dissatisfaction with life and the world, felt more or less in the present state of society and intellect by every discerning and highly conscientious92 mind, gave in his case a rather melancholy93 tinge94 to the character, very natural to those whose passive moral susceptibilities are more than proportioned to their active energies. For it must be said, that the strength of will of which his manner seemed to give such strong assurance, expended95 itself principally in manner. With great zeal for human improvement, a strong sense of duty and capacities and acquirements the extent of which is proved by the writings he has left, he hardly ever completed any intellectual task of magnitude. He had so high a standard of what ought to be done, so exaggerated a sense of deficiencies in his own performances, and was so unable to content himself with the amount of elaboration sufficient for the occasion and the purpose, that he not only spoilt much of his work for ordinary use by over-labouring it, but spent so much time and exertion96 in superfluous97 study and thought, that when his task ought to have been completed, he had generally worked himself into an illness, without having half finished what he undertook. From this mental infirmity (of which he is not the sole example among the accomplished98 and able men whom I have known), combined with liability to frequent attacks of disabling though not dangerous ill-health, he accomplished, through life, little in comparison with what he seemed capable of; but what he did produce is held in the very highest estimation by the most competent judges; and, like Coleridge, he might plead as a set-off that he had been to many persons, through his conversation, a source not only of much instruction but of great elevation99 of character. On me his influence was most salutary. It was moral in the best sense. He took a sincere and kind interest in me, far beyond what could have been expected towards a mere49 youth from a man of his age, standing2, and what seemed austerity of character. There was in his conversation and demeanour a tone of high-mindedness which did not show itself so much, if the quality existed as much, in any of the other persons with whom at that time I associated. My intercourse100 with him was the more beneficial, owing to his being of a different mental type from all other intellectual men whom I frequented, and he from the first set himself decidedly against the prejudices and narrownesses which are almost sure to be found in a young man formed by a particular mode of thought or a particular social circle.
His younger brother, Charles Austin, of whom at this time and for the next year or two I saw much, had also a great effect on me, though of a very different description. He was but a few years older than myself, and had then just left the University, where he had shone with great éclat as a man of intellect and a brilliant orator65 and converser101. The effect he produced on his Cambridge contemporaries deserves to be accounted an historical event; for to it may in part be traced the tendency towards Liberalism in general, and the Benthamic and politico-economic form of it in particular, which showed itself in a portion of the more active-minded young men of the higher classes from this time to 1830. The Union Debating Society at that time at the height of its reputation, was an arena102 where what were then thought extreme opinions, in politics and philosophy, were weekly asserted, face to face with their opposites, before audiences consisting of the élite of the Cambridge youth: and though many persons afterwards of more or less note, (of whom Lord Macaulay is the most celebrated), gained their first oratorical laurels103 in those debates, the really influential104 mind among these intellectual gladiators was Charles Austin. He continued, after leaving the University, to be, by his conversation and personal ascendancy105, a leader among the same class of young men who had been his associates there; and he attached me among others to his car. Through him I became acquainted with Macaulay, Hyde and Charles Villiers, Strutt (now Lord Belper), Romilly (now Lord Romilly and Master of the Rolls), and various others who subsequently figured in literature or politics, and among whom I heard discussions on many topics, as yet to a certain degree new to me. The influence of Charles Austin over me differed from that of the persons I have hitherto mentioned, in being not the influence of a man over a boy, but that of an elder contemporary. It was through him that I first felt myself, not a pupil under teachers, but a man among men. He was the first person of intellect whom I met on a ground of equality, though as yet much his inferior on that common ground. He was a man who never failed to impress greatly those with whom he came in contact, even when their opinions were the very reverse of his. The impression he gave was that of boundless106 strength, together with talents which, combined with such apparent force of will and character, seemed capable of dominating the world. Those who knew him, whether friendly to him or not, always anticipated that he would play a conspicuous107 part in public life. It is seldom that men produce so great an immediate effect by speech, unless they, in some degree, lay themselves out for it; and he did this in no ordinary degree. He loved to strike, and even to startle. He knew that decision is the greatest element of effect, and he uttered his opinions with all the decision he could throw into them, never so well pleased as when he astonished any one by their audacity108. Very unlike his brother, who made war against the narrower interpretations109 and applications of the principles they both professed110, he, on the contrary, presented the Benthamic doctrines in the most startling form of which they were susceptible, exaggerating everything in them which tended to consequences offensive to any one's preconceived feelings. All which, he defended with such verve and vivacity111, and carried off by a manner so agreeable as well as forcible, that he always either came off victor, or divided the honours of the field. It is my belief that much of the notion popularly entertained of the tenets and sentiments of what are called Benthamites or Utilitarians112 had its origin in paradoxes114 thrown out by Charles Austin. It must be said, however, that his example was followed, haud passibus aequis, by younger proselytes, and that to outrer whatever was by anybody considered offensive in the doctrines and maims of Benthanism, became at one time the badge of a small coterie115 of youths. All of these who had anything in them, myself among others, quickly outgrew116 this boyish vanity; and those who had not, became tired of differing from other people, and gave up both the good and the bad part of the heterodox opinions they had for some time professed.
It was in the winter of 1822-3 that I formed the plan of a little society, to be composed of young men agreeing in fundamental principles — acknowledging Utility as their standard in ethics and politics, and a certain number of the principal corollaries drawn117 from it in the philosophy I had accepted — and meeting once a fortnight to read essays and discuss questions conformably to the premises118 thus agreed on. The fact would hardly be worth mentioning, but for the circumstance, that the name I gave to the society I had planned was the Utilitarian113 Society. It was the first time that any one had taken the title of Utilitarian; and the term made its way into the language from this humble119 source. I did not invent the word, but found it in one of Galt's novels, the "Annals of the Parish," in which the Scotch120 clergyman, of whom the book is a supposed autobiography121, is represented as warning his parishioners not to leave the Gospel and become utilitarians. With a boy's fondness for a name and a banner I seized on the word, and for some years called myself and others by it as a sectarian appellation122; and it came to be occasionally used by some others holding the opinions which it was intended to designate. As those opinions attracted more notice, the term was repeated by strangers and opponents, and got into rather common use just about the time when those who had originally assumed it, laid down that along with other sectarian characteristics. The Society so called consisted at first of no more than three members, one of whom, being Mr Bentham's amanuensis, obtained for us permission to hold our meetings in his house. The number never, I think, reached ten, and the society was broken up in 1826. It had thus an existence of about three years and a half. The chief effect of it as regards myself, over and above the benefit of practice in oral discussion, was that of bringing me in contact with several young men at that time less advanced than myself, among whom, as they professed the same opinions, I was for some time a sort of leader, and had considerable influence on their mental progress. Any young man of education who fell in my way, and whose opinions were not incompatible123 with those of the Society, I endeavoured to press into its service; and some others I probably should never have known, had they not joined it. Those of the members who became my intimate companions — no one of whom was in any sense of the word a disciple124, but all of them independent thinkers on their own basis — were William Eyton Tooke, son of the eminent87 political economist125, a young man of singular worth both moral and intellectual, lost to the world by an early death; his friend William Ellis, an original thinker in the field of political economy, now honourably126 known by his apostolic exertions127 for the improvement of education; George Graham, afterwards an official assignee of the Bankruptcy128 Court, a thinker of originality129 and power on almost all abstract subjects; and (from the time when he came first to England to study for the bar in 1824 or 1825) a man who has made considerably130 more noise in the world than any of these, John Arthur Roebuck.
In May, 1823, my professional occupation and status for the next thirty-five years of my life, were decided by my father's obtaining for me an appointment from the East India Company, in the office of the Examiner of india Correspondence, immediately under himself. I was appointed in the usual manner, at the bottom of the list of clerks, to rise, at least in the first instance, by seniority; but with the understanding that I should be employed from the beginning in preparing drafts of despatches, and be thus trained up as a successor to those who then filled the higher departments of the office. My drafts of course required, for some time, much revision from my immediate superiors, but I soon became well acquainted with the business, and by my father's instructions and the general growth of my own powers, I was in a few years qualified131 to be, and practically was, the chief conductor of the correspondence with India in one of the leading departments, that of the Native States. This continued to be my official duty until I was appointed Examiner, only two years before the time when the abolition132 of the East India Company as a political body determined133 my retirement134. I do not know any one of the occupations by which a subsistence can now be gained, more suitable than such as this to any one who, not being in independent circumstances, desires to devote a part of the twenty-four hours to private intellectual pursuits. Writing for the press, cannot be recommended as a permanent resource to any one qualified to accomplish anything in the higher departments of literature or thought: not only on account of the uncertainty135 of this means of livelihood136, especially if the writer has a conscience, and will not consent to serve any opinions except his own; but also because the writings by which one can live, are not the writings which themselves live, and are never those in which the writer does his best. Books destined137 to form future thinkers take too much time to write, and when written come, in general, too slowly into notice and repute, to be relied on for subsistence. Those who have to support themselves by their pen must depend on literary drudgery138, or at best on writings addressed to the multitude; and can employ in the pursuits of their own choice, only such time as they can spare from those of necessity; which is generally less than the leisure allowed by office occupations, while the effect on the mind is far more enervating139 and fatiguing140. For my own part I have, through life, found office duties an actual rest from the other mental occupations which I have carried on simultaneously141 with them. They were sufficiently intellectual not to be a distasteful drudgery, without being such as to cause any strain upon the mental powers of a person used to abstract thought, or to the labour of careful literary composition. The drawbacks, for every mode of life has its drawbacks, were not, however, unfelt by me. I cared little for the loss of the chances of riches and honours held out by some of the professions, particularly the bar, which had been, as I have already said, the profession thought of for me. But I was not indifferent to exclusion142 from Parliament, and public life: and I felt very sensibly the more immediate unpleasantness of confinement143 to London; the holiday allowed by India-house practice not exceeding a month in the year, while my taste was strong for a country life, and my sojourn144 in France had left behind it an ardent145 desire of travelling. But though these tastes could not be freely indulged, they were at no time entirely sacrificed. I passed most Sundays, throughout the year, in the country, taking long rural walks on that day even when residing in London. The month's holiday was, for a few years, passed at my father's house in the country. afterwards a part or the whole was spent in tours, chiefly pedestrian, with some one or more of the young men who were my chosen companions; and, at a later period, in longer journeys or excursions, alone or with other friends. France, Belgium, and Rhenish Germany were within easy reach of the annual holiday: and two longer absences, one of three, the other of six months, under medical advice, added Switzerland, the Tyrol, and Italy to my list. Fortunately, also, both these journeys occurred rather early, so as to give the benefit and charm of the remembrance to a large portion of life.
I am disposed to agree with what has been surmised146 by others, that the opportunity which my official position gave me of learning by personal observation the necessary conditions of the practical conduct of public affairs, has been of considerable value to me as a theoretical reformer of the opinions and institutions of my time. Not, indeed, that public business transacted147 on paper, to take effect on the other side of the globe, was of itself calculated to give much practical knowledge of life. But the occupation accustomed me to see and hear the difficulties of every course, and the means of obviating148 them, stated and discussed deliberately149 with a view to execution; it gave me opportunities of perceiving when public measures, and other political facts, did not produce the effects which had been expected of them, and from what causes; above all, it was valuable to me by making me, in this portion of my activity, merely one wheel in a machine, the whole of which had to work together. As a speculative150 writer, I should have had no one to consult but myself, and should have encountered in my speculations none of the obstacles which would have started up whenever they came to be applied to practice. But as a Secretary conducting political correspondence, I could not issue an order or express an opinion, without satisfying various persons very unlike myself, that the thing was fit to be done. I was thus in a good position for finding out by practice the mode of putting a thought which gives it easiest admittance into minds not prepared for it by habit; while I became practically conversant151 with the difficulties of moving bodies of men, the necessities of compromise, the art of sacrificing the non-essential to preserve the essential. I learnt how to obtain the best I could, when I could not obtain everything; instead of being indignant or dispirited because I could not have entirely my own way, to be pleased and encouraged when I could have the smallest part of it; and when even that could not be, to bear with complete equanimity152 the being overruled altogether. I have found, through life, these acquisitions to be of the greatest possible importance for personal happiness, and they are also a very necessary condition for enabling any one, either as theorist or as practical man, to effect the greatest amount of good compatible with his opportunities.
1 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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2 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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3 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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4 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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5 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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6 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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7 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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8 commotion | |
n.骚动,动乱 | |
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9 monarchy | |
n.君主,最高统治者;君主政体,君主国 | |
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10 allied | |
adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
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11 juvenile | |
n.青少年,少年读物;adj.青少年的,幼稚的 | |
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12 aspirations | |
强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 ); 志向; 发送气音; 发 h 音 | |
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13 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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14 abhorrence | |
n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
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15 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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16 ineligible | |
adj.无资格的,不适当的 | |
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17 antiquities | |
n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 );古迹;古人们;古代的风俗习惯 | |
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18 speculations | |
n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 );思考;投机活动;推断 | |
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19 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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20 platonic | |
adj.精神的;柏拉图(哲学)的 | |
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21 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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22 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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23 superseded | |
[医]被代替的,废弃的 | |
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24 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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25 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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26 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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27 ethical | |
adj.伦理的,道德的,合乎道德的 | |
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28 eminence | |
n.卓越,显赫;高地,高处;名家 | |
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29 domain | |
n.(活动等)领域,范围;领地,势力范围 | |
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30 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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31 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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32 compendium | |
n.简要,概略 | |
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33 ethics | |
n.伦理学;伦理观,道德标准 | |
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34 component | |
n.组成部分,成分,元件;adj.组成的,合成的 | |
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35 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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36 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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37 diffusion | |
n.流布;普及;散漫 | |
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38 treatise | |
n.专著;(专题)论文 | |
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39 anticipations | |
预期( anticipation的名词复数 ); 预测; (信托财产收益的)预支; 预期的事物 | |
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40 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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41 chimerical | |
adj.荒诞不经的,梦幻的 | |
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42 doctrines | |
n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 );教义;学说;(政府政策的)正式声明 | |
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43 vista | |
n.远景,深景,展望,回想 | |
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44 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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45 analytic | |
adj.分析的,用分析方法的 | |
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46 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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47 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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48 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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49 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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50 generalizations | |
一般化( generalization的名词复数 ); 普通化; 归纳; 概论 | |
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51 annually | |
adv.一年一次,每年 | |
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52 peculiarities | |
n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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53 precarious | |
adj.不安定的,靠不住的;根据不足的 | |
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54 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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55 perverting | |
v.滥用( pervert的现在分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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56 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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57 philosophic | |
adj.哲学的,贤明的 | |
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58 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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59 conclusive | |
adj.最后的,结论的;确凿的,消除怀疑的 | |
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60 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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61 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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62 declamation | |
n. 雄辩,高调 | |
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63 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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64 oratory | |
n.演讲术;词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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65 orator | |
n.演说者,演讲者,雄辩家 | |
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66 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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67 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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68 oratorical | |
adj.演说的,雄辩的 | |
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69 orators | |
n.演说者,演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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70 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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71 impeachment | |
n.弹劾;控告;怀疑 | |
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72 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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73 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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74 ripened | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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76 tyro | |
n.初学者;生手 | |
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77 radical | |
n.激进份子,原子团,根号;adj.根本的,激进的,彻底的 | |
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78 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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79 actively | |
adv.积极地,勤奋地 | |
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80 banking | |
n.银行业,银行学,金融业 | |
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81 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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82 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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83 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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84 miller | |
n.磨坊主 | |
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85 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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86 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
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87 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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88 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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89 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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90 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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91 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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92 conscientious | |
adj.审慎正直的,认真的,本着良心的 | |
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93 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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94 tinge | |
vt.(较淡)着色于,染色;使带有…气息;n.淡淡色彩,些微的气息 | |
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95 expended | |
v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 );使用(钱等)做某事;用光;耗尽 | |
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96 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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97 superfluous | |
adj.过多的,过剩的,多余的 | |
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98 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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99 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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100 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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101 converser | |
交谈,谈话; [计]对话,会话 | |
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102 arena | |
n.竞技场,运动场所;竞争场所,舞台 | |
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103 laurels | |
n.桂冠,荣誉 | |
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104 influential | |
adj.有影响的,有权势的 | |
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105 ascendancy | |
n.统治权,支配力量 | |
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106 boundless | |
adj.无限的;无边无际的;巨大的 | |
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107 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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108 audacity | |
n.大胆,卤莽,无礼 | |
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109 interpretations | |
n.解释( interpretation的名词复数 );表演;演绎;理解 | |
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110 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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111 vivacity | |
n.快活,活泼,精神充沛 | |
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112 utilitarians | |
功利主义者,实用主义者( utilitarian的名词复数 ) | |
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113 utilitarian | |
adj.实用的,功利的 | |
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114 paradoxes | |
n.似非而是的隽语,看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 );用于语言文学中的上述隽语;有矛盾特点的人[事物,情况] | |
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115 coterie | |
n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体,小圈子 | |
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116 outgrew | |
长[发展] 得超过(某物)的范围( outgrow的过去式 ); 长[发展]得不能再要(某物); 长得比…快; 生长速度超过 | |
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117 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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118 premises | |
n.建筑物,房屋 | |
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119 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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120 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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121 autobiography | |
n.自传 | |
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122 appellation | |
n.名称,称呼 | |
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123 incompatible | |
adj.不相容的,不协调的,不相配的 | |
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124 disciple | |
n.信徒,门徒,追随者 | |
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125 economist | |
n.经济学家,经济专家,节俭的人 | |
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126 honourably | |
adv.可尊敬地,光荣地,体面地 | |
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127 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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128 bankruptcy | |
n.破产;无偿付能力 | |
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129 originality | |
n.创造力,独创性;新颖 | |
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130 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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131 qualified | |
adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
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132 abolition | |
n.废除,取消 | |
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133 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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134 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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135 uncertainty | |
n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
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136 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
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137 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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138 drudgery | |
n.苦工,重活,单调乏味的工作 | |
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139 enervating | |
v.使衰弱,使失去活力( enervate的现在分词 ) | |
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140 fatiguing | |
a.使人劳累的 | |
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141 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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142 exclusion | |
n.拒绝,排除,排斥,远足,远途旅行 | |
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143 confinement | |
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
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144 sojourn | |
v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
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145 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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146 surmised | |
v.臆测,推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 );揣测;猜想 | |
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147 transacted | |
v.办理(业务等)( transact的过去式和过去分词 );交易,谈判 | |
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148 obviating | |
v.避免,消除(贫困、不方便等)( obviate的现在分词 ) | |
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149 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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150 speculative | |
adj.思索性的,暝想性的,推理的 | |
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151 conversant | |
adj.亲近的,有交情的,熟悉的 | |
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152 equanimity | |
n.沉着,镇定 | |
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