The occupation of so much of my time by office work did not relax my attention to my own pursuits, which were never carried on more vigorously. It was about this time that I began to write in newspapers. The first writings of mine which got into print were two letters published towards the end of 1822, in the Traveller evening newspaper. The Traveller (which afterwards grew into the "Globe and Traveller," by the purchase and incorporation1 of the Globe) was then the property of the well-known political economist2, Colonel Torrens, and under the editorship of an able man, Mr Walter Coulson (who, after being an amanuensis of Mr Bentham, became a reporter, then an editor, next a barrister and conveyancer, and died Counsel to the Home Office), it had become one of the most important newspaper organs of liberal politics. Col. Torrens himself wrote much of the political economy of his paper; and had at this time made an attack upon some opinion of Ricardo and my father, to which, at my father's instigation, I attempted an answer, and Coulson, out of consideration for my father and goodwill3 to me, inserted it. There was a reply by Torrens, to which I again rejoined. I soon after attempted something considerably4 more ambitious. The prosecutions5 of Richard Carlile and his wife and sister for publications hostile to Christianity, were then exciting much attention, and nowhere more than among the people I frequented. Freedom of discussion even in politics, much more in religion, was at that time far from being, even in theory, the conceded point which it at least seems to be now; and the holders6 of obnoxious7 opinions had to be always ready to argue and re-argue for the liberty of expressing them. I wrote a series of five letters, under the signature of Wickliffe, going over the whole length and breadth of the question of free publication of all opinions on religion, and offered them to the Morning Chronicle. Three of them were published in January and February 1823; the other two, containing things too outspoken9 for that journal, never appeared at all. But a paper which I wrote soon after on the same subject, à propos of a debate in the House of Commons, was inserted as a leading article; and during the whole of this year, 1823, a considerable number of my contributions were printed in the Chronicle and Traveller: sometimes notices of books but oftener letters, commenting on some nonsense talked in Parliament, or some defect of the law or misdoings of the magistracy or the courts of justice. In this last department the Chronicle was now rendering11 signal service. After the death of Mr Perry, the editorship and management of the paper had devolved on Mr John Black, long a reporter on its establishment; a man of most extensive reading and information, great honesty and simplicity12 of mind; a Particular friend of my father, imbued13 with many of his and Bentham's ideas, which he reproduced in his articles, among other valuable thoughts, with great facility and skill. From this time the Chronicle ceased to be the merely Whig organ it waS before, and during the next ten years became to a considerable extent a vehicle of the opinions of the Utilitarian15 radicals17. This was mainly by what Black himself wrote, with some assistance from Fonblanque, who first showed his eminent18 qualities as a writer by articles and jeux d'esprit in the Chronicle. The defects of the law, and of the administration of justice, were the subject on which that paper rendered most service to improvement. Up to that time hardly a word had been said, except by Bentham and my father, against that most peccant part of English institutions and of their administration. It was the almost universal creed19 of Englishmen, that the law of England, the judicature of England, the unpaid20 magistracy of England, were models of excellence21. I do not go beyond the mark in saying, that after Bentham, who supplied the principal materials, the greatest share of the merit of breaking down this wretched superstition22 belongs to Black, as editor of the Morning Chronicle. He kept up an incessant23 fire against it, exposing the absurdities24 and vices25 of the law and the courts of justice, paid and unpaid, until he forced some sense of them into people's minds. On many other questions he became the organ of opinions much in advance of any which had ever before found regular advocacy in the newspaper press. Black was a frequent visitor of my father, and Mr Grote used to say that he always knew by the Monday morning's article, whether Black had been with my father on the Sunday. Black was one of the most influential26 of the many channels through which my father's conversation and personal influence made his opinions tell on the world; cooperating with the effect of his writings in making him a power in the country, such as it has rarely been the lot of an individual in a private station to be, through the mere14 force of intellect and character: and a power which was often acting27 the most efficiently28 where it was least seen and suspected. I have already noticed how much of what was done by Ricardo, Hume, and Grote, was the result, in part, of his prompting and persuasion29. He was the good genius by the side of Brougham in most of what he did for the public, either on education, law reform, or any other subject. And his influence flowed in minor30 streams too numerous to be specified31. This influence was now about to receive a great extension by the foundation of the Westminster Review.
Contrary to what may have been supposed, my father was in no degree a party to setting up the Westminster Review. The need of a Radical16 organ to make head against the Edinburgh and Quarterly (then in the period of their greatest reputation and influence), had been a topic of conversation between him and Mr Bentham many years earlier, and it had been a part of their chateau32 en Espagne that my father should be the editor; but the idea had never assumed any practical shape. In 1823, however, Mr Bentham determined33 to establish the review at his own cost, and offered the editorship to my father, who declined it as incompatible34 with his india House appointment. It was then entrusted35 to Mr (now Sir John) Bowring, at that time a merchant in the City. Mr Bowring had been for two or three years previous an assiduous frequenter of Mr Bentham, to whom he was recommended by many personal good qualities, by an ardent36 admiration37 for Bentham, a zealous38 adoption40 of many, though not all, of his opinions, and, not least, by an extensive acquaintanceship and correspondence with Liberals of all countries, which seemed to qualify him for being a powerful agent in spreading Bentham's fame and doctrines42 through all quarters of the world. My father had seen little of Bowring, but knew enough of him to have formed a strong opinion, that he was a man of an entirely43 different type from what my father considered suitable for conducting a political and philosophical45 review: and he augured46 so ill of the enterprise that he regretted it altogether, feeling persuaded not only that Mr Bentham would lose his money, but that discredit47 would probably be brought upon radical principles. He could not, however, desert Mr Bentham, and he consented to write an article for the first number. As it had been a favourite portion of the scheme formerly48 talked of, that part of the work should be devoted49 to reviewing the other Reviews, this article of my father's was to be a general criticism of the Edinburgh Review from its commencement. Before writing it he made me read through all the volumes of the Review, or as much of each as seemed of any importance (which was not so arduous50 a task in 1823 as it would be now), and make notes for him of the articles which I thought he would wish to examine, either on account of their good or their bad qualities. This paper of my father's was the chief cause of the sensation which the Westminster Review produced at its first appearance, and is, both in conception and in execution, one of the most striking of all his writings. He began by an analysis of the tendencies of periodical literature in general; pointing out, that it cannot, like books, wait for success, but must succeed immediately, or not at all, and is hence almost certain to profess52 and inculcate the opinions already held by the public to which it addresses itself, instead of attempting to rectify53 or improve those opinions. He next, to characterize the position of the Edinburgh Review as a political organ, entered into a complete analysis, from the Radical point of view, of the British Constitution. He held up to notice its thoroughly54 aristocratic character: the nomination55 of a majority of the House of Commons by a few hundred families; the entire identification of the more independent portion, the county members, with the great landholders; the different classes whom this narrow oligarchy56 was induced, for convenience, to admit to a share of power; and finally, what he called its two props57, the Church, and the legal profession. He pointed58 out the natural tendency of an aristocratic body of this composition, to group itself into two parties, one of them in possession of the executive, the other endeavouring to supplant59 the former and become the predominant section by the aid of public opinion, without any essential sacrifice of the aristocratic predominance. He described the course likely to be pursued, and the political ground occupied, by an aristocratic party in opposition60, coquetting with popular principles for the sake of popular support. He showed how this idea was realized in the conduct of the Whig party, and of the Edinburgh Review as its chief literary organ. He described, as their main characteristic, what he termed " seesaw61;" writing alternately on both sides of every question which touched the power or interest of the governing classes; sometimes in different articles, sometimes in different parts of the same article: and illustrated62 his position by copious63 specimens64. So formidable an attack on the Whig party and policy had never before been made; nor had so great a blow been ever struck, in this country, for radicalism65; nor was there, I believe, any living person capable of writing that article, except my father.2
In the meantime the nascent66 review had formed a junction67 with another project, of a purely68 literary periodical, to be edited by Mr Henry Southern, afterwards a diplomatist, then a literary man by profession. The two editors agreed to unite their corps69, and divide the editorship, Bowring taking the political, Southern the literary department. Southern's review was to have been published by Longman, and that firm, though part proprietors70 of the Edinburgh, were willing to be the publishers of the new journal. But when all the arrangements had been made, and the prospectuses71 sent out, the Longmans saw my father's attack on the Edinburgh, and drew back. My father was now appealed to for his interest with his own publisher, Baldwin, which was exerted with a successful result. And so, in April, 1824, amidst anything but hope on my father's part, and that of most of those who afterwards aided in carrying on the review, the first number made its appearance.
That number was an agreeable surprise to most of us. The average of the articles was of much better quality than had been expected. The literary and artistic72 department had rested chiefly on Mr Bingham, a barrister (subsequently a Police Magistrate), who had been for some years a frequenter of Bentham, was a friend of both the Austins, and had adopted with great ardour Mr Bentham's philosophical opinions. Partly from accident, there were in the first number as many as five articles by Bingham; and we were extremely pleased with them. I well remember the mixed feeling I myself had about the Review; the joy at finding, what we did not at all expect, that it was sufficiently73 good to be capable of being made a creditable organ of those who held the opinions it professed74; and extreme vexation, since it was so good on the whole, at what we thought the blemishes75 of it. When, however, in addition to our generally favourable76 opinion of it, we learned that it had an extraordinarily77 large sale for a first number, and found that the appearance of a Radical review, with pretensions78 equal to those of the established organs of parties, had excited much attention, there could be no room for hesitation79, and we all became eager in doing everything we could to strengthen and improve it.
My father continued to write occasional articles. The Quarterly Review received its exposure, as a sequel to that of the Edinburgh. Of his other contributions, the most important were an attack on Southey's Book of the Church, in the fifth number, and a political article in the twelfth. Mr Austin only contributed one paper, but one of great merit, an argument against primogeniture, in reply to an article then lately published in the Edinburgh Review by McCulloch. Grote also was a contributor only once; all the time he could spare being already taken up with his History of Greece. The article he wrote was on his own subject, and was a very complete exposure and castigation80 of Mitford. Bingham and Charles Austin continued to write for some time; Fonblanque was a frequent contributor from the third number. Of my particular associates, Ellis was a regular writer up to the ninth number; and about the time when he left off, others of the set began; Eyton Tooke, Graham, and Roebuck. I was myself the most frequent writer of all, having contributed, from the second number to the eighteenth, thirteen articles; reviews of books on history and political economy, or discussions on special political topics, as corn laws, game laws, laws of libel. Occasional articles of merit came in from other acquaintances of my father's, and, in time, of mine; and some of Mr Bowring's writers turned out well. On the whole, however, the conduct of the Review was never satisfactory to any of the persons strongly interested in its principles, with whom I came in contact. Hardly ever did a number come out without containing several things extremely offensive to us, either in point of opinion, of taste, or by mere want of ability. The unfavourable judgments81 passed by my father, Grote, the two Austins, and others, were re-echoed with exaggeration by us younger people; and as our youthful zeal39 tendered us by no means backward in making complaints, we led the two editors a sad life. From my knowledge of what I then was, I have no doubt that we were at least as often wrong as right; and I am very certain that if the Review had been carried on according to our notions (I mean those of the juniors), it would have been no better, perhaps not even so good as it was. But it is worth noting as a fact in the history of Benthanism, that the periodical organ, by which it was best known, was from the first extremely unsatisfactory to those whose opinions on all subjects it was supposed specially82 to represent.
Meanwhile, however, the Review made considerable noise in the world, and gave a recognised status, in the arena83 of opinion and discussion, to the Benthamic type of radicalism, out of all proportion to the number of its adherents84, and to the personal merits and abilities, at that time, of most of those who could be reckoned among them. It was a time, as is known, of rapidly rising Liberalism. When the fears and animosities accompanying the war with France had been brought to an end, and people had once more a place in their thoughts for home politics, the tide began to set towards reform. The renewed oppression of the Continent by the old reigning85 families, the countenance86 apparently87 given by the English Government to the conspiracy88 against liberty called the Holy Alliance, and the enormous weight of the national debt and taxation89 occasioned by so long and costly90 a war, tendered the government and parliament very unpopular. Radicalism, under the leadership of the Burdetts and Cobbetts, had assumed a character and importance which seriously alarmed the Administration: and their alarm had scarcely been temporarily assuaged91 by the celebrated92 Six Acts, when the trial of Queen Caroline roused a still wider and deeper feeling of hatred93. Though the outward signs of this hatred passed away with its exciting cause, there arose on all sides a spirit which had never shown itself before, of opposition to abuses in detail. Mr Hume's persevering94 scrutiny95 of the public expenditure97, forcing the House of Commons to a division on every objectionable item in the estimates, had begun to tell with great force on public opinion, and had extorted98 many minor retrenchments from an unwilling99 administration. Political economy had asserted itself with great vigour100 in public affairs, by the Petition of the Merchants of London for Free Trade, drawn101 up in 1820 by Mr Tooke and presented by Mr Alexander Baring; and by the noble exertions102 of Ricardo during the few years of his parliamentary life. His writings, following up the impulse given by the Bullion103 controversy104, and followed up in their turn by the expositions and comments of my father and McCulloch (whose writings in the Edinburgh Review during those years were most valuable), had drawn general attention to the subject, making at least partial converts in the Cabinet itself; and Huskisson, supported by Canning, had commenced that gradual demolition105 of the protective system, which one of their colleagues virtually completed in 1846, though the last vestiges106 were only swept away by Mr Gladstone in 1860. Mr Peel, then Home Secretary, was entering cautiously into the untrodden and peculiarly Benthamic path of Law Reform. At this period, when Liberalism seemed to be becoming the tone of the time, when improvement of institutions was preached from the highest places, and a complete change of the constitution of Parliament was loudly demanded in the lowest, it is not strange that attention should have been roused by the regular appearance in controversy of what seemed a new school of writers, claiming to be the legislators and theorists of this new tendency. The air of strong conviction with which they wrote, when scarcely any one else seemed to have an equally strong faith in as definite a creed: the boldness with which they tilted107 against the very front of both the existing political Parties; their uncompromising profession of opposition to many of the generally received opinions, and the suspicion they lay under of holding others still more heterodox than they professed; the talent and verve of at least my father's articles, and the appearance of a corps behind him sufficient to carry on a review; and finally, the fact that the review was bought and read, made the so-called Bentham school in philosophy and politics fill a greater place in the public mind than it had held before, or has ever again held since other equally earnest schools of thought have arisen in England. As I was in the headquarters of it, knew of what it was composed, and as one of the most active of its very small number, might say without undue109 assumption, quorum110 pars111 magna fui, it belongs to me more than to most others, to give some account of it.
This supposed school, then, had no other existence than what was constituted by the fact, that my father's writings and conversation drew round him a certain number of young men who had already imbibed112, or who imbibed from him, a greater or smaller portion of his very decided113 political and philosophical opinions. The notion that Bentham was surrounded by a band of disciples114 who received their opinions from his lips, is a fable115 to which my father did justice in his "Fragment on Mackintosh," and which, to all who knew Mr Bentham's habits of life and manner of conversation, is simply ridiculous. The influence which Bentham exercised was by his writings. Through them he has produced, and is producing, effects on the condition of mankind, wider and deeper, no doubt, than any which can be attributed to my father. He is a much greater name in history. But my father exercised a far greater personal ascendancy116. He was sought for the vigour and instructiveness of his conversation, and did use it largely as an instrument for the diffusion117 of his opinions. I have never known any man who could do such ample justice to his best thoughts in colloquial118 discussion. His perfect command over his great mental resources, the terseness119 and expressiveness120 of his language and the moral earnestness as well as intellectual force of his delivery, made him one of the most striking of all argumentative conversers: and he was full of anecdote121, a hearty122 laugher, and, when with people whom he liked, a most lively and amusing companion. It was not solely123, ot even chiefly, in diffusing124 his merely intellectual convictions that his power showed itself: it was still more through the influence of a quality, of which I have only since learnt to appreciate the extreme rarity: that exalted125 public spirit, and regard above all things to the good of the whole, which warmed into life and activity every germ of similar virtue126 that existed in the minds he came in contact with: the desire he made them feel for his approbation127, the shame at his disapproval128; the moral support which his conversation and his very existence gave to those who were aiming to the same objects, and the encouragement he afforded to the fainthearted or desponding among them, by the firm confidence which (though the reverse of sanguine129 as to the results to be expected in any one particular case) he always felt in the power of reason, the general progress of improvement, and the good which individuals could do by judicious130 effort.
It was my father's opinions which gave the distinguishing character to the Benthamic or utilitarian propagandism of that time. They fell singly, scattered131 from him in many directions, but they flowed from him in a continued stream principally in three channels. One was through me, the only mind directly formed by his instructions, and through whom considerable influence was exercised over various young men, who became, in their turn, propagandists. A second was through some of the Cambridge contemporaries of Charles Austin, who, either initiated132 by him or under the general mental impulse which he gave, had adopted many opinions allied133 to those of my father, and some of the more considerable of whom afterwards sought my father's acquaintance and frequented his house. Among these may be mentioned Strutt, afterwards Lord Belper, and the present Lord Romilly with whose eminent father, Sir Samuel, my father had of old been on terms of friendship. The third channel was that of a younger generation of Cambridge undergraduates, contemporary, not with Austin, but with Eyton Tooke, who were drawn to that estimable person by affinity134 of opinions, and introduced by him to my father: the most notable of these was Charles Buller. Various other persons individually received and transmitted a considerable amount of my father's influence: for example, Black (as before mentioned) and Fonblanque: most of these, however, we accounted only partial allies; Fonblanque, for instance, was always divergent from us on many important points. But indeed there was by no means complete unanimity135 among any portion of us, nor had any of us adopted implicitly136 all my father's opinions. For example, although his Essay on Government was regarded probably by all of us as a masterpiece of political wisdom, our adhesion by no means extended to the paragraph of it, in which he maintains that women may consistently with good government, be excluded from the suffrage137, because their interest is the same with that of men. From this doctrine41, I, and all those who formed my chosen associates, most positively138 dissented139. It is due to my father to say that he denied having intended to affirm that women should be excluded, any more than men under the age of forty, concerning whom he maintained, in the very next paragraph, an exactly similar thesis. He was, as he truly said, not discussing whether the suffrage had better be restricted, but only (assuming that it is to be restricted) what is the utmost limit of restriction140, which does not necessity involve a sacrifice of the securities for good government. But I thought then, as I have always thought since, that the opinion which he acknowledged, no less than that which he disclaimed141, is as great an error as any of those against which the Essay was directed; that the interest of women is included in that of men exactly as much and no more, as the interest of subjects is included in that of kings; and that every reason which exists for giving the suffrage to anybody, demands that it should not be withheld142 from women. This was also the general opinion of the younger proselytes; and it is pleasant to be able to say that Mr Bentham, on this important point, was wholly on our side.
But though none of us, probably, agreed in every respect with my father, his opinions, as I said before, were the principal element which gave its colour and character to the little group of young men who were the first propagators of what was afterwards called "philosophic44 radicalism." Their mode of thinking was not characterized by Benthamism in any sense which has relation to Bentham as a chief or guide, but rather by a combination of Bentham's point of view with that of the modern political economy, and with the Hartleian metaphysics. Malthus's population principle was quite as much a banner, and point of union among us, as any opinion specially belonging to Bentham. This great doctrine, originally brought forward as an argument against the indefinite improvability of human affairs, we took up with ardent zeal in the contrary sense, as indicating the sole means of realizing that improvability by securing full employment at high wages to the whole labouring population through a voluntary restriction of the increase of their numbers. The other leading characteristics of the creed, which we held in common with my father, may be stated as follows:
In politics, an almost unbounded confidence in the efficacy of two things: representative government, and complete freedom of discussion. So complete was my father's reliance on the influence of reason over the minds of mankind, whenever it is allowed to reach them, that he felt as if all would be gained if the whole population were taught to read, if all sorts of opinions were allowed to be addressed to them by word and in writing, and if by means of the suffrage they could nominate a legislature to give effect to the opinions they adopted. He thought that when the legislature no longer represented a class interest, it would aim at the general interest, honestly and with adequate wisdom; since the people would be sufficiently under the guidance of educated intelligence, to make in general a good choice of persons to represent them, and having done so, to leave to those whom they had chosen a liberal discretion143. Accordingly aristocratic rule, the government of the Few in any of its shapes, being in his eyes the only thing which stood between mankind and an administration of their affairs by the best wisdom to be found among them, was the object of his sternest disapprobation, and a democratic suffrage the principal article of his political creed, not on the ground of liberty, Rights of Man, or any of the phrases, more or less significant, by which, up to that time, democracy had usually been defended, but as the most essential of "securities for good government." In this, too, he held fast only to what he deemed essentials; he was comparatively indifferent to monarchical144 or republican forms-far more so than Bentham, to whom a king, in the character of "corrupter-general," appeared necessarily very noxious8. Next to aristocracy, an established church, or corporation of priests, as being by position the great depravers of religion, and interested in opposing the progress of the human mind, was the object of his greatest detestation; though he disliked no clergyman personally who did not deserve it, and was on terms of sincere friendship with several. In ethics145, his moral feelings were energetic and rigid146 on all points which he deemed important to human well being, while he was supremely147 indifferent in opinion (though his indifference148 did not show itself in personal conduct) to all those doctrines of the common morality, which he thought had no foundation but in asceticism149 and priest-craft. He looked forward, for example, to a considerable increase of freedom in the relations between the sexes, though without pretending to define exactly what would be, or ought to be, the precise conditions of that freedom. This opinion was connected in him with no sensuality either of a theoretical or of a practical kind. He anticipated, on the contrary, as one of the beneficial effects of increased freedom, that the imagination would no longer dwell upon the physical relation and its adjuncts, and swell150 this into one of the principal objects of life; a perversion151 of the imagination and feelings, which he regarded as one of the deepest seated and most pervading152 evils in the human mind. In psychology153, his fundamental doctrine was the formation of all human character by circumstances, through the universal Principle of Association, and the consequent unlimited154 possibility of improving the moral and intellectual condition of mankind by education. Of all his doctrines none was more important than this, or needs more to be insisted on: unfortunately there is none which is more contradictory155 to the prevailing156 tendencies of speculation157, both in his time and since.
These various opinions were seized on with youthful fanaticism158 by the little knot of young men of whom I was one: and we put into them a sectarian spirit, from which, in intention at least, my father was wholly free. What we (or rather a phantom159 substituted in the place of us) were sometimes, by a ridiculous exaggeration, called by others, namely a "school," some of us for a time really hoped and aspired160 to be. The French philosophes of the eighteenth century were the example we sought to imitate, and we hoped to accomplish no less results. No one of the set went to so great excesses in this boyish ambition as I did; which might be shown by many particulars, were it not an useless waste of space and time.
All this, however, is properly only the outside of our existence; or, at least, the intellectual part alone, and no more than one side of that. In attempting to penetrate161 inward, and give any indication of what we were as human beings, I must be understood as speaking only of myself, of whom alone I can speak from sufficient knowledge; and I do not believe that the picture would suit any of my companions without many and great modifications162.
I conceive that the description so often given of a Benthamite, as a mere reasoning machine, though extremely inapplicable to most of those who have been designated by that title, was during two or three years of my life not altogether untrue of me. It was perhaps as applicable to me as it can well be to any one just entering into life, to whom the common objects of desire must in general have at least the attraction of novelty. There is nothing very extraordinary in this fact: no youth of the age I then was, can be expected to be more than one thing, and this was the thing I happened to be. Ambition and desire of distinction, I had in abundance; and zeal for what I thought the good of mankind was my strongest sentiment, mixing with and colouring all others. But my zeal was as yet little else, at that period of my life, than zeal for speculative163 opinions. It had not its root in genuine benevolence164, or sympathy with mankind; though these qualities held their due place in my ethical165 standard. Nor was it connected with any high enthusiasm for ideal nobleness. Yet of this feeling I was imaginatively very susceptible166; but there was at that time an intermission of its natural ailment167, poetical169 culture, while there was a superabundance of the discipline antagonistic170 to it, that of mere logic171 and analysis. Add to this that, as already mentioned, my father's teachings tended to the under-valuing of feeling. It was not that he was himself cold-hearted or insensible; I believe it was rather from the contrary quality; he thought that feeling could take care of itself; that there was sure to be enough of it if actions were properly cared about. Offended by the frequency with which, in ethical and philosophical controversy, feeling is made the ultimate reason and justification172 of conduct, instead of being itself called on for a justification, while, in practice, actions, the effect of which on human happiness is mischievous173, are defended as being required by feeling, and the character of a person of feeling obtains a credit for desert, which he thought only due to actions, he had a teal impatience174 of attributing praise to feeling, or of any but the most sparing reference to it, either in the estimation of persons ot in the discussion of things. In addition to the influence which this characteristic in him had on me and others, we found all the opinions to which we attached most importance, constantly attacked on the ground of feeling. Utility was denounced as cold calculation; political economy as hard-hearted; anti-population doctrines as repulsive175 to the natural feelings of mankind. We retorted by the word "sentimentality" which, along with "declamation176" and "vague generalities," served us as common terms of opprobrium177. Although we were generally in the right, as against those who were opposed to us, the effect was that the cultivation178 of feeling (except the feelings of public and private duty), was not in much esteem179 among us, and had very little place in the thoughts of most of us, myself in particular. What we principally thought of, was to alter people's opinions; to make them believe according to evidence, and know what was their real interest, which when they once knew, they would, we thought, by the instrument of opinion, enforce a regard to it upon one another. While fully180 recognizing the superior excellence of unselfish benevolence and love of justice, we did not expect the regeneration of mankind from any direct action on those sentiments, but from the effect of educated intellect, enlightening the selfish feelings. Although this last is prodigiously181 important as a means of improvement in the hands of those who are themselves impelled182 by nobler principles of action, I do not believe that any one of the survivors183 of the Benthamites or Utilitarians184 of that day, now relies mainly upon it for the general amendment185 of human conduct.
From this neglect both in theory and in practice of the cultivation of feeling, naturally resulted, among other things, an under-valuing of poetry, and of Imagination generally, as an element of human nature. It is, or was, part of the popular notion of Benthamites, that they are enemies of poetry: this was partly true of Bentham himself; he used to say that "all poetry is misrepresentation: " but in the sense in which he said it, the same might have been said of all impressive speech; of all representation or inculcation mote186 oratorical187 in its character than a sum in arithmetic. An article of Bingham's in the first number of the Westminster Review, in which he offered as an explanation of something which he disliked in Moore, that "Mr Moore is a poet, and therefore is not a reasoner," did a good deal to attach the notion of hating poetry to the writers in the Review. But the truth was that many of us were great readers of poetry; Bingham himself had been a writer of it, while as regards me (and the same thing might be said of my father), the correct statement would be, not that I disliked poetry, but that I was theoretically indifferent to it. I disliked any sentiments in poetry which I should have disliked in prose; and that included a great deal. And I was wholly blind to its place in human culture, as a means of educating the feelings. But I was always personally very susceptible to some kinds of it. In the most sectarian period of my Benthamism, I happened to look into Pope's Essay on Man, and though every opinion in it was contrary to mine, I well remember how powerfully it acted on my imagination. Perhaps at that time poetical composition of any higher type than eloquent188 discussion in verse, might not have produced a similar effect on me: at all events I seldom gave it an opportunity. This, however, was a mere passive state. Long before I had enlarged in any considerable degree, the basis of my intellectual creed, I had obtained in the natural course of my mental progress, poetic168 culture of the most valuable kind, by means of reverential admiration for the lives and characters of heroic persons; especially the heroes of philosophy. The same inspiring effect which so many of the benefactors189 of mankind have left on record that they had experienced from Plutarch's Lives, was produced on me by Plato's pictures of Socrates, and by some modern biographies, above all by Condorcet's Life of Turgot; a book well calculated to rouse the best sort of enthusiasm, since it contains one of the wisest and noblest of lives, delineated by one of the wisest and noblest of men. The heroic virtue of these glorious representatives of the opinions with which I sympathized, deeply affected190 me, and I perpetually recurred191 to them as others do to a favourite poet, when needing to be carried up into the more elevated regions of feeling and thought. I may observe by the way that this book cured me of my sectarian follies192. The two or three pages beginning "Il regardait toute secte comme nuisible," and explaining why Turgot always kept himself perfectly193 distinct from the Encyclopedists, sank deeply into my mind. I left off designating myself and others as Utilitarians, and by the pronoun "we" or any other collective designation, I ceased to affiche, sectarianism. My real inward sectarianism I did not get rid of till later, and much more gradually.
About the end of 1824, or beginning of 1825, Mr Bentham, having lately got back his papers on Evidence from M. Dumont (whose Traité des Preuves Judiciaires, grounded on them, was then first completed and published) resolved to have them printed in the original, and bethought himself of me as capable of preparing them for the press; in the same manner as his Book of Fallacies had been recently edited by Bingham. I gladly undertook this task, and it occupied nearly all my leisure for about a year, exclusive of the time afterwards spent in seeing the five large volumes through the press. Mt. Bentham had begun this treatise194 three times, at considerable intervals195, each time in a different manner, and each time without reference to the preceding: two of the three times he had gone over nearly the whole subject. These three masses of manuscript it was my business to condense into a single treatise; adopting the one last written as the groundwork, and incorporating with it as much of the two others as it had not completely superseded196. I had also to unroll such of Bentham's involved and parenthetical sentences, as seemed to overpass197 by their complexity198 the measure of what readers were likely to take the pains to understand. It was further Mr Bentham's particular desire that I should, from myself, endeavour to supply any lacunae which he had left; and at his instance I read, for this purpose, the most authoritative199 treatises200 on the English Law of Evidence, and commented on a few of the objectionable points of the English rules, which had escaped Bentham's notice. I also replied to the objections which had been made to some of his doctrines by reviewers of Dumont's book, and added a few supplementary201 remarks on Some of the more abstract parts of the subject, such as the theory of improbability and impossibility. The controversial part of these editorial additions was written in a more assuming tone than became one so young and inexperienced as I was: but indeed I had never contemplated202 coming forward in my own person; and as an anonymous203 editor of Bentham, I fell into the tone of my author, not thinking it unsuitable to him or to the subject, however it might be so to me. My name as editor was put to the book after it was printed, at Mr Bentham's positive desire, which I in vain attempted to persuade him to forego.
The time occupied in this editorial work was extremely well employed in respect to my own improvement. The "Rationale of judicial204 Evidence" is one of the richest in matter of all Bentham's productions. The theory of evidence being in itself one of the most important of his subjects, and ramifying into most of the others, the book contains, very fully developed, a great proportion of all his best thoughts: while, among more special things, it comprises the most elaborate exposure of the vices and defects of English law, as it then was, which is to be found in his works; not confined to the law of evidence, but including, by way of illustrative episode, the entire procedure or practice of Westminster Hall. The direct knowledge, therefore, which I obtained from the book, and which was imprinted205 upon me much more thoroughly than it could have been by mere reading, was itself no small acquisition. But this occupation did for me what might seem less to be expected; it gave a great start to my powers of composition. Everything which I wrote subsequently to this editorial employment, was markedly superior to anything that I had written before it. Bentham's later style, as the world knows, was heavy and cumbersome206, from the excess of a good quality, the love of precision, which made him introduce clause within clause into the heart of every sentence, that the reader might receive into his mind all the modifications and qualifications simultaneously207 with the main proposition: and the habit grew on him until his sentences became, to those not accustomed to them, most laborious208 reading. But his earlier style, that of the Fragment on Government, Plan of a judicial Establishment, &c., is a model of liveliness and ease combined with fulness of matter, scarcely ever surpassed: and of this earlier style there were many striking specimens in the manuscripts on Evidence, all of which I endeavoured to preserve. So long a course of this admirable writing had a considerable effect upon my own; and I added to it by the assiduous reading of other writers, both French and English, who combined, in a remarkable209 degree, ease with force, such as Goldsmith, Fielding, Pascal, Voltaire, and Courier. Through these influences my writing lost the jejuneness210 of my early compositions; the bones and cartilages began to clothe themselves with flesh, and the style became, at times, lively and almost light.
This improvement was first exhibited in a new field. Mr Marshall, of Leeds, father of the present generation of Marshalls, the same who was brought into Parliament for Yorkshire, when the representation forfeited211 by Grampound was transferred to it, an earnest parliamentary reformer, and a man of large fortune, of which he made a liberal use, had been much struck with Bentham's Book of Fallacies: and the thought had occurred to him that it would be useful to publish annually212 the Parliamentary Debates, not in the chronological213 order of Hansard, but classified according to subjects, and accompanied by a commentary pointing out the fallacies of the speakers. With this intention, he very naturally addressed himself to the editor of the Book of Fallacies; and Bingham, with the assistance of Charles Austin, undertook the editorship. The work was called "Parliamentary History and Review." Its sale was not sufficient to keep it in existence, and it only lasted three years. It excited, however, some attention among parliamentary and political people. The best strength of the party was put forth214 in it; and its execution did them much more credit than that of the Westminster Review had ever done. Bingham and Charles Austin wrote much in it; as did Strutt, Romilly, and several other liberal lawyers. My father wrote one article in his best style; the elder Austin another. Coulson wrote one of great merit. It fell to my lot to lead off the first number by an article on the principal topic of the session (that of 1825), the Catholic Association and the Catholic disabilities. In the second number I wrote an elaborate Essay on the commercial crisis of 1825 and the Currency Debates. In the third I had two articles, one on a minor subject, the other on the Reciprocity principle in commerce, à propos of a celebrated diplomatic correspondence between Canning and Gallatin. These writings were no longer mere reproductions and applications of the doctrines I had been taught; they were original thinking, as far as that name can be applied215 to old ideas in new forms and connexions: and I do not exceed the truth in saying that there was a maturity216, and a well-digested character about them, which there had not been in any of my previous performances. In execution, therefore, they were not at all juvenile217; but their subjects have either gone by, ot have been so much better treated since, that they are entirely superseded, and should remain buried in the same oblivion with my contributions to the first dynasty of the Westminster Review.
While thus engaged in writing for the public, I did not neglect other modes of self-cultivation. It was at this time that I learnt German; beginning it on the Hamiltonian method, for which purpose I and several of my companions formed a class. For several years from this period, our social studies assumed a shape which contributed very much to my mental progress. The idea occurred to us of carrying on, by reading and conversation, a joint218 study of several of the branches of science which we wished to be masters of. We assembled to the number of a dozen or more. Mr Grote lent a room of his house in Threadneedle Street for the purpose, and his partner, Prescott, one of the three original members of the Utilitarian Society, made one among us. We met two mornings in every week, from half-past eight till ten, at which hour most of us were called off to our daily occupations. Our first subject was Political Economy. We chose some systematic219 treatise as our text-book; my father's "Elements" being our first choice. One of us read aloud a chapter, ot some smaller portion of the book. The discussion was then opened, and any one who had an objection, or other remark to make, made it. Our rule was to discuss thoroughly every point raised, whether great or small, prolonging the discussion until all who took part were satisfied with the conclusion they had individually arrived at; and to follow up every topic of collateral220 speculation which the chapter or the conversation suggested, never leaving it until we had untied221 every knot which we found. We repeatedly kept up the discussion of some one point for several weeks, thinking intently on it during the intervals of our meetings, and contriving222 solutions of the new difficulties which had risen up in the last morning's discussion. When we had finished in this way my father's Elements, we went in the same manner through Ricardo's Principles of Political Economy, and Bailey's Dissertation223 on Value. These close and vigorous discussions were not only improving in a high degree to those who took part in them, but brought out new views of some topics of abstract Political Economy. The theory of International Values which I afterwards published, emanated224 from these conversations, as did also the modified form of Ricardo's theory of Profits, laid down in my Essay on Profits and Interest. Those among us with whom new speculations225 chiefly originated, were Ellis, Graham, and I; though others gave valuable aid to the discussions, especially Prescott and Roebuck, the one by his knowledge, the other by his dialectical acuteness. The theories of International Values and of Profits were excogitated and worked out in about equal proportions by myself and Graham: and if our original project had been executed, my "Essays on some Unsettled Questions of Political Economy" would have been brought out along with some papers of his, under our joint names. But when my exposition came to be written, I found that I had so much over-estimated my agreement with him, and he dissented so much from the most original of the two Essays, that on international Values, that I was obliged to consider the theory as now exclusively mine, and it came out as such when published many years later. I may mention that among the alterations226 which my father made in revising his Elements for the third edition, several were founded on criticisms elicited227 by these conversations; and in particular he modified his opinions (though not to the extent of our new speculations) on both the points to which I have adverted228.
When we had enough of political economy, we took up the syllogistic229 logic in the same manner, Grote now joining us. Our first text-book was Aldrich, but being disgusted with its superficiality, we reprinted one of the most finished among the many manuals of the school logic, which my father, a great collector of such books, possessed230, the Manuductio ad Logicam of the Jesuit Du Trieu. After finishing this, we took up Whately's Logic, then first republished from the Encyclopaedia231 Metropolitana, and finally the "Computatio sive Logica" of Hobbes. These books, dealt with in our manner, afforded a wide range for original metaphysical speculation: and most of what has been done in the First Book of my System of Logic, to rationalize and correct the principles and distinctions of the school logicians, and to improve the theory of the import of Propositions, had its origin in these discussions; Graham and I originating most of the novelties, while Grote and others furnished an excellent tribunal or test. From this time I formed the project of writing a book on Logic, though on a much humbler scale than the one I ultimately executed.
Having done with Logic, we launched into analytic232 psychology, and having chosen Hartley for our text-book, we raised Priestley's edition to an extravagant233 price by searching through London to furnish each of us with a copy. When we had finished Hartley, we suspended our meetings; but my father's Analysis of the Mind being published soon after, we reassembled for the purpose of reading it. With this our exercises ended. I have always dated from these conversations my own real inauguration234 as an original and independent thinker. It was also through them that I acquired, or very much strengthened, a mental habit to which I attribute all that I have ever done, or ever shall do, in speculation; that of never accepting half-solutions of difficulties as complete; never abandoning a puzzle, but again and again returning to it until it was cleared up; never allowing obscure corners of a subject to remain unexplored, because they did not appear important; never thinking that I perfectly understood any part of a subject until I understood the whole. Our doings from 1825 to 1830 in the way of public speaking, filled a considerable place in my life during those years, and as they had important effects on my development, something ought to be said of them.
There was for some time in existence a society of Owenites, called the Co-operative Society, which met for weekly public discussions in Chancery Lane. In the early part of 1825, accident brought Roebuck in contact with several of its members, and led to his attending one or two of the meetings and taking part in the debate in opposition to Owenism. Some of us started the notion of going there in a body and having a general battle: and Charles Austin and some of his friends who did not usually take part in our joint exercises, entered into the project. It was carried out by concert with the principal members of the Society, themselves nothing loth, as they naturally preferred a controversy with opponents to a tame discussion among their own body. The question of population was proposed as the subject of debate: Charles Austin led the case on our side with a brilliant speech, and the fight was kept up by adjournment236 through five or six weekly meetings before crowded auditories, including along with the members of the Society and their friends, many hearers and some speakers from the Inns of Court. When this debate was ended, another was commenced on the general merits of Owen's system: and the contest altogether lasted about three months. It was a lutte corps-à-corps between Owenites and political economists237, whom the Owenites regarded as their most inveterate238 opponents: but it was a perfectly friendly dispute. We who represented political economy, had the same objects in view as they had, and took pains to show it; and the principal champion on their side was a very estimable man, with whom I was well acquainted, Mr William Thompson, of Cork239, author of a book on the Distribution of Wealth, and of an "Appeal" in behalf of women against the passage relating to them in my father's Essay on Government. Ellis, Roebuck, and I took an active part in the debate, and among those from the inns of Court who joined in it, I remember Charles Villiers. The other side obtained also, on the population question, very efficient support from without. The well-known Gale240 Jones, then an elderly man, made one of his florid speeches; but the speaker with whom I was most struck, though I dissented from nearly every word he said, was Thirlwall, the historian, since Bishop241 of St. David's, then a Chancery barrister, unknown except by a high reputation for eloquence242 acquired at the Cambridge Union before the era of Austin and Macaulay. His speech was in answer to one of mine. Before he had uttered ten sentences, I set him down as the best speaker I had ever heard, and I have never since heard any one whom I placed above him.
The great interest of these debates predisposed some of those who took part in them, to catch at a suggestion thrown out by McCulloch, the political economist, that a society was wanted in London similar to the Speculative Society at Edinburgh, in which Brougham, Horner, and others first cultivated public speaking. Our experience at the Co-operative Society seemed to give cause for being sanguine as to the sort of men who might be brought together in London for such a purpose. McCulloch mentioned the matter to several young men of influence, to whom he was then giving private lessons in political economy. Some of these entered warmly into the project, particularly George Villiers, afterwards Earl of Clarendon. He and his brothers, Hyde and Charles, Romilly, Charles Austin and I, with some others, met and agreed on a plan. We determined to meet once a fortnight from November to June, at the Freemasons' Tavern243, and we had soon a splendid list of members, containing, along with several members of parliament, nearly all the most noted244 speakers of the Cambridge Union and of the Oxford245 United Debating Society. It is curiously246 illustrative of the tendencies of the time, that our principal difficulty in recruiting for the Society was to find a sufficient number of Tory speakers. Almost all whom we could press into the service were Liberals, of different orders and degrees. Besides those already named, we had Macaulay, Thirlwall, Praed, Lord Howick, Samuel Wilberforce (afterwards Bishop of Oxford), Charles Poulett Thomson (afterwards Lord Sydenham), Edward and Henry Lytton Bulwer, Fonblanque, and many others whom I cannot now recollect247, but who made themselves afterwards more or less conspicuous248 in public or literary life. Nothing could seem more promising108. But when the time for action drew near, and it was necessary to fix on a President, and find somebody to open the first debate, none of our celebrities249 would consent to perform either office. Of the many who were pressed on the subject, the only one who could be prevailed on was a man of whom I knew very little, but who had taken high honours at Oxford and was said to have acquired a great oratorical reputation there; who some time afterwards became a Tory member of parliament. He accordingly was fixed250 on, both for filling the President's chair and for making the first speech. The important day arrived; the benches were crowded; all our great speakers were present, to judge of, but not to help our efforts. The Oxford orator's speech was a complete failure. This threw a damp on the whole concern: the speakers who followed were few, and none of them did their best: the affair was a complete fiasco; and the oratorical celebrities we had counted on went away never to return, giving to me at least a lesson in knowledge of the world. This unexpected breakdown251 altered my whole relation to the project. I had not anticipated taking a prominent part, or speaking much or often, particularly at first, but I now saw that the success of the scheme depended on the new men, and I put my shoulder to the wheel. I opened the second question, and from that time spoke10 in nearly every debate. It was very uphill work for some time. The three Villiers' and Romilly stuck to us for some time longer, but the patience of all the founders252 of the Society was at last exhausted253, except me and Roebuck. In the season following, 1826-7, things began to mend. We had acquired two excellent Tory speakers, Hayward and Shee (afterwards Sergeant254 Shee): the radical side was reinforced by Charles Buller, Cockburn, and others of the second generation of Cambridge Benthamites; and with their and other occasional aid, and the two Tories as well as Roebuck and me for regular speakers, almost every debate was a bataille rangée between the "philosophic radicals" and the Tory lawyers; until our conflicts were talked about, and several persons of note and consideration came to hear us. This happened still more in the subsequent seasons, 1828 and 1829, when the Coleridgians, in the persons of Maurice and Sterling255, made their appearance in the Society as a second Liberal and even Radical party, on totally different grounds from Benthamism and vehemently256 opposed to it; bringing into these discussions the general doctrines and modes of thought of the European reaction against the philosophy of the eighteenth century; and adding a third and very important belligerent257 party to our contests, which were now no bad exponent258 of the movement of opinion among the most cultivated part of the new generation. Our debates were very different from those of common debating societies, for they habitually259 consisted of the strongest arguments and most philosophic principles which either side was able to produce, thrown often into close and serré confutations of one another. The practice was necessarily very useful to us, and eminently260 so to me. I never, indeed, acquired real fluency261, and had always a bad and ungraceful delivery; but I could make myself listened to: and as I always wrote my speeches when, from the feelings involved, or the nature of the ideas to be developed, expression seemed important, I greatly increased my power of effective writing; acquiring not only an ear for smoothness and rhythm, but a practical sense for telling sentences, and an immediate51 criterion of their telling property, by their effect on a mixed audience.
The Society, and the preparation for it, together with the preparation for the morning conversations which were going on simultaneously, occupied the greater part of my leisure; and made me feel it a relief when, in the spring of 1828, I ceased to write for the Westminster. The Review had fallen into difficulties. Though the sale of the first number had been very encouraging, the permanent sale had never, I believe, been sufficient to pay the expenses, on the scale on which the review was carried on. Those expenses had been considerably, but not sufficiently, reduced. One of the editors, Southern, had resigned; and several of the writers, including my father and me, who had been paid like other contributors for our earlier articles, had latterly written without payment. Nevertheless, the original funds were nearly or quite exhausted, and if the Review was to be continued some new arrangement of its affairs had become indispensable. My father and I had several conferences with Bowring on the subject. We were willing to do our utmost for maintaining the Review as an organ of our opinions, but not under Bowring's editorship: while the impossibility of its any longer supporting a paid editor, afforded a ground on which, without affront262 to him, we could propose to dispense263 with his services. We and some of our friends were prepared to carry on the Review as unpaid writers, either finding among ourselves an unpaid editor, or sharing the editorship among us. But while this negotiation264 was proceeding265 with Bowring's apparent acquiescence266, he was fig235 on another in a different quarter (with Colonel Perronet Thompson), of which we received the first intimation in a letter from Bowring as editor, informing us merely that an arrangement had been made, and proposing to us to write for the next number, with promise of payment. We did not dispute Bowring's right to bring about, if he could, an arrangement more favourable to himself than the one we had proposed; but we thought the concealment267 which he had practised towards us, while seemingly entering into our own project, an affront: and even had we not thought so, we were indisposed to expend96 any more of our time and trouble in attempting to write up the Review under his management. Accordingly my father excused himself from writing; though two or three years later, on great pressure, he did write one more political article. As for me, I positively refused. And thus ended my connexion with the original Westminster. The last article which I wrote in it had cost me more labour than any previous; but it was a labour of love, being a defence of the early French Revolutionists against the Tory misrepresentations of Sir Walter Scott, in the introduction to his Life of Napoleon. The number of books which I read for this purpose, making notes and extracts — even the number I had to buy (for in those days there was no public or subscription268 library from which books of reference could be taken home), Far exceeded the worth of the immediate object; but I had at that time a half-formed intention of writing a History of the French Revolution; and though I never executed it, my collections afterwards were very useful to Carlyle for a similar purpose.
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incorporation
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| n.设立，合并，法人组织 | |
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economist
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| n.经济学家，经济专家，节俭的人 | |
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goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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prosecutions
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| 起诉( prosecution的名词复数 )； 原告； 实施； 从事 | |
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holders
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| 支持物( holder的名词复数 )； 持有者； （支票等）持有人； 支托（或握持）…之物 | |
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obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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noxious
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| adj.有害的，有毒的；使道德败坏的，讨厌的 | |
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outspoken
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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rendering
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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utilitarian
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| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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radicals
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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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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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unpaid
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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22
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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23
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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24
absurdities
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| n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 )；荒谬；谬论；荒谬的行为 | |
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25
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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26
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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27
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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28
efficiently
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| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
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29
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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30
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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31
specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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32
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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33
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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34
incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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35
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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37
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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38
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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39
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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40
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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41
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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42
doctrines
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| 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
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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44
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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45
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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46
augured
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| v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的过去式和过去分词 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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47
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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48
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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49
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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50
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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51
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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52
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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53
rectify
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| v.订正，矫正，改正 | |
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54
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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55
nomination
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| n.提名，任命，提名权 | |
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56
oligarchy
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| n.寡头政治 | |
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57
props
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| 小道具； 支柱( prop的名词复数 )； 支持者； 道具； （橄榄球中的）支柱前锋 | |
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58
pointed
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|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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59
supplant
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| vt.排挤；取代 | |
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60
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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61
seesaw
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| n.跷跷板 | |
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62
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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63
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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64
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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65
radicalism
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| n. 急进主义, 根本的改革主义 | |
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66
nascent
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| adj.初生的，发生中的 | |
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67
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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68
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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69
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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70
proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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71
prospectuses
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| n.章程，简章，简介( prospectus的名词复数 ) | |
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72
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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73
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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74
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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75
blemishes
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|
| n.（身体的）瘢点( blemish的名词复数 )；伤疤；瑕疵；污点 | |
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76
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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77
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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78
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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79
hesitation
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|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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80
castigation
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| n.申斥，强烈反对 | |
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81
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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82
specially
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|
| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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83
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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84
adherents
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| n.支持者，拥护者( adherent的名词复数 )；党羽；徒子徒孙 | |
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85
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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86
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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87
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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88
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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89
taxation
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| n.征税，税收，税金 | |
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90
costly
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|
| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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91
assuaged
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| v.减轻( assuage的过去式和过去分词 )；缓和；平息；使安静 | |
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92
celebrated
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|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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93
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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94
persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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95
scrutiny
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|
| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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96
expend
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| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
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97
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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98
extorted
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| v.敲诈( extort的过去式和过去分词 )；曲解 | |
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99
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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100
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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101
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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102
exertions
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| 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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103
bullion
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| n.金条，银条 | |
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104
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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105
demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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106
vestiges
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| 残余部分( vestige的名词复数 )； 遗迹； 痕迹； 毫不 | |
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107
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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108
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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109
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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110
quorum
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| n.法定人数 | |
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111
pars
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| n.部，部分；平均( par的名词复数 )；平价；同等；（高尔夫球中的）标准杆数 | |
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112
imbibed
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| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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113
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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114
disciples
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|
| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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115
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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116
ascendancy
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| n.统治权，支配力量 | |
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117
diffusion
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| n.流布；普及；散漫 | |
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118
colloquial
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| adj.口语的，会话的 | |
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119
terseness
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| 简洁，精练 | |
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120
expressiveness
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| n.富有表现力 | |
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121
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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122
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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123
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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124
diffusing
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| （使光）模糊，漫射，漫散( diffuse的现在分词 )； （使）扩散； （使）弥漫； （使）传播 | |
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125
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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126
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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127
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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128
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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129
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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130
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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131
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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132
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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133
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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134
affinity
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| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
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135
unanimity
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| n.全体一致，一致同意 | |
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136
implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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137
suffrage
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| n.投票，选举权，参政权 | |
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138
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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139
dissented
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| 不同意，持异议( dissent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
restriction
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| n.限制，约束 | |
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141
disclaimed
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| v.否认( disclaim的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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142
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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143
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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144
monarchical
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| adj. 国王的，帝王的，君主的，拥护君主制的 =monarchic | |
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145
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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146
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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147
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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148
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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149
asceticism
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| n.禁欲主义 | |
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150
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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151
perversion
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| n.曲解；堕落；反常 | |
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152
pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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153
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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154
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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155
contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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156
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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157
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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158
fanaticism
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| n.狂热，盲信 | |
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159
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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160
aspired
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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161
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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162
modifications
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| n.缓和( modification的名词复数 )；限制；更改；改变 | |
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163
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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164
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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165
ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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166
susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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167
ailment
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| n.疾病，小病 | |
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168
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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169
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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170
antagonistic
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| adj.敌对的 | |
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171
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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172
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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173
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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174
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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175
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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176
declamation
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| n. 雄辩，高调 | |
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177
opprobrium
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| n.耻辱，责难 | |
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178
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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179
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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180
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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181
prodigiously
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| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
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182
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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183
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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184
utilitarians
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| 功利主义者，实用主义者( utilitarian的名词复数 ) | |
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185
amendment
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| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
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186
mote
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| n.微粒；斑点 | |
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187
oratorical
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| adj.演说的，雄辩的 | |
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188
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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189
benefactors
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| n.捐助者，施主( benefactor的名词复数 )；恩人 | |
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190
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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191
recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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192
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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193
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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194
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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195
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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196
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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197
overpass
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| n.天桥，立交桥 | |
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198
complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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199
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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200
treatises
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| n.专题著作，专题论文，专著( treatise的名词复数 ) | |
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201
supplementary
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| adj.补充的，附加的 | |
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202
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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203
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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204
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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205
imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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206
cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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207
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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208
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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209
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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210
jejuneness
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| n.幼稚，空洞 | |
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211
forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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212
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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213
chronological
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| adj.按年月顺序排列的，年代学的 | |
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214
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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215
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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216
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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217
juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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218
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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219
systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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220
collateral
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| adj.平行的；旁系的；n.担保品 | |
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221
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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222
contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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223
dissertation
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| n.（博士学位）论文，学术演讲，专题论文 | |
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224
emanated
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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225
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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226
alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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227
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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228
adverted
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| 引起注意（advert的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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229
syllogistic
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| adj.三段论法的，演绎的，演绎性的 | |
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230
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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231
encyclopaedia
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| n.百科全书 | |
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232
analytic
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| adj.分析的，用分析方法的 | |
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233
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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234
inauguration
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| n.开幕、就职典礼 | |
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235
fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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236
adjournment
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| 休会； 延期； 休会期； 休庭期 | |
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237
economists
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| n.经济学家，经济专家( economist的名词复数 ) | |
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238
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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239
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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240
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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241
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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242
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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243
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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244
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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245
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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246
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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247
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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248
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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249
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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250
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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251
breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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252
founders
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| n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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253
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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254
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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255
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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256
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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257
belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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258
exponent
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| n.倡导者，拥护者；代表人物；指数，幂 | |
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259
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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260
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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261
fluency
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| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
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262
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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263
dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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264
negotiation
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| n.谈判，协商 | |
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265
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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266
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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267
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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268
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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