Northanger Abbey

her, should prefer cricket, baseball, riding on horseback, and
running about the country at the age of fourteen, to books -- or
at least books of information -- for, provided that nothing like
useful knowledge could be gained from them, provided they were
all story and no reflection, she had never any objection to books
at all.  But from fifteen to seventeen she was in training for a
heroine; she read all such works as heroines must read to supply
their memories with those quotations which are so serviceable and
so soothing in the vicissitudes of their eventful lives.

From Pope, she learnt to censure those who
   "bear about the mockery of woe."

From Gray, that
   "Many a flower is born to blush unseen,
   "And waste its fragrance on the desert air."

From Thompson, that --
   "It is a delightful task
   "To teach the young idea how to shoot."

And from Shakespeare she gained a great store of information --
amongst the rest, that --
   "Trifles light as air,
   "Are, to the jealous, confirmation strong,
   "As proofs of Holy Writ."

That
   "The poor beetle, which we tread upon,
   "In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great
   "As when a giant dies."

And that a young woman in love always looks --
   "like Patience on a monument
   "Smiling at Grief."

So far her improvement was sufficient -- and in many other points she
came on exceedingly well; for though she could not write sonnets,
she brought herself to read them; and though there seemed no
chance of her throwing a whole party into raptures by a prelude on
the pianoforte, of her own composition, she could listen to other
people's performance with very little fatigue.  Her greatest
deficiency was in the pencil -- she had no notion of drawing --
not enough even to attempt a sketch of her lover's profile, that
she might be detected in the design.  There she fell miserably
short of the true heroic height.  At present she did not know her
own poverty, for she had no lover to portray.  She had reached the
age of seventeen, without having seen one amiable youth who could
call forth her sensibility, without having inspired one real passion,
and without having excited even any admiration but what was very
moderate and very transient.  This was strange indeed!  But strange
things may be generally accounted for if their cause be fairly
searched out.  There was not one lord in the neighbourhood; no --
not even a baronet.  There was not one family among their acquaintance
who had reared and supported a boy accidentally found at their door
-- not one young man whose origin was unknown.  Her father had no
ward, and the squire of the parish no children.

But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the perverseness of forty
surrounding families cannot prevent her.  Something must and will
happen to throw a hero in her way.

Mr. Allen, who owned the chief of the property about Fullerton,
the village in Wiltshire where the Morlands lived, was ordered to
Bath for the benefit of a gouty constitution -- and his lady, a
good-humoured woman, fond of Miss Morland, and probably aware that
if adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she
must seek them abroad, invited her to go with them.  Mr. and Mrs.
Morland were all compliance, and Catherine all happiness.



CHAPTER 2


In addition to what has been already said of Catherine Morland's
personal and mental endowments, when about to be launched into all
the difficulties and dangers of a six weeks' residence in Bath,
it may be stated, for the reader's more certain information, lest
the following pages should otherwise fail of giving any idea of
what her character is meant to be, that her heart was affectionate;
her disposition cheerful and open, without conceit or affectation
of any kind -- her manners just removed from the awkwardness and
shyness of a girl; her person pleasing, and, when in good looks,
pretty -- and her mind about as ignorant and uninformed as the
female mind at seventeen usually is.

When the hour of departure drew near, the maternal anxiety of Mrs.
Morland will be naturally supposed to be most severe.  A thousand
alarming presentiments of evil to her beloved Catherine from this
terrific separation must oppress her heart with sadness, and drown
her in tears for the last day or two of their being together; and
advice of the most important and applicable nature must of course
flow from her wise lips in their parting conference in her closet.
Cautions against the violence of such noblemen and baronets as
delight in forcing young ladies away to some remote farm-house,
must, at such a moment, relieve the fulness of her heart.  Who
would not think so?  But Mrs. Morland knew so little of lords
and baronets, that she entertained no notion of their general
mischievousness, and was wholly unsuspicious of danger to