001 - 001 - Advertisment ; Chapter 1-5

8/18/2019 001 - 001 - Advertisment ; Chapter 1-5

1/52

Jane Austen (1775-1817)

Northanger Abbey (1803)

ADVERTISEMENT BY THE AUTHORESTO NORTHANGER ABBEY

THIS little work was finished in the year 18

nd intended for immediate publication. It wisposed of to a bookseller, it was ev

dvertised, and why the business proceeded

arther, the author has never been able to lear

That any bookseller should think it worth-wh

o purchase what he did not think it worth-wh

o publish seems extraordinary. But with th

either the author nor the public have any oth

oncern than as some observation is necessa

pon those parts of the work which thirteen yeaave made comparatively obsolete. The pub

re entreated to bear in mind that thirteen yea

ave passed since it was finished, many mo

ince it was begun, and that during that perio


2/52

laces, manners, books, and opinions ha

ndergone considerable changes.

CHAPTER 1

No one who had ever seen Catherine Morla

n her infancy would have supposed her born

e an heroine. Her situation in life, the charac

f her father and mother, her own person aisposition, were all equally against her. H

ather was a clergyman, without being neglecte

r poor, and a very respectable man, though h

ame was Richard—and he had never be

andsome. He had a considerable independen

esides two good livings—and he was not in t

east addicted to locking up his daughters. H

mother was a woman of useful plain sense, w

good temper, and, what is more remarkabwith a good constitution. She had three so

efore Catherine was born; and instead of dyi

n bringing the latter into the world, as anybo

might expect, she still lived on—lived to have s


3/52

hildren more—to see them growing up arou

er, and to enjoy excellent health herself.

amily of ten children will be always called a fi

amily, where there are heads and arms and le

nough for the number; but the Morlands httle other right to the word, for they were

eneral very plain, and Catherine, for many yea

f her life, as plain as any. She had a th

wkward figure, a sallow skin without colouark lank hair, and strong features—so much f

er person; and not less unpropitious for herois

eemed her mind. She was fond of all boy's pla

nd greatly preferred cricket not merely to dol

ut to the more heroic enjoyments of infanc

ursing a dormouse, feeding a canary-bird,

watering a rose-bush. Indeed she had no taste f

garden; and if she gathered flowers at all, it w

hiefly for the pleasure of mischief—at least sowas conjectured from her always preferring tho

which she was forbidden to take. Such were h

ropensities—her abilities were quite

xtraordinary. She never could learn


4/52

nderstand anything before she was taught; a

ometimes not even then, for she was oft

nattentive, and occasionally stupid. Her moth

was three months in teaching her only to repe

he "Beggar's Petition"; and after all, her neister, Sally, could say it better than she did. N

hat Catherine was always stupid—by no mean

he learnt the fable of "The Hare and Ma

riends" as quickly as any girl in England. Hmother wished her to learn music; and Catheri

was sure she should like it, for she was very fo

f tinkling the keys of the old forlorn spinnet; s

t eight years old she began. She learnt a ye

nd could not bear it; and Mrs. Morland, who d

ot insist on her daughters being accomplished

pite of incapacity or distaste, allowed her

eave off. The day which dismissed the mus

master was one of the happiest of Catherine's lHer taste for drawing was not superior; thou

whenever she could obtain the outside of a lett

rom her mother or seize upon any other o

iece of paper, she did what she could in th


5/52

way, by drawing houses and trees, hens a

hickens, all very much like one another. Writi

nd accounts she was taught by her fath

rench by her mother: her proficiency in eith

was not remarkable, and she shirked her lesson both whenever she could. What a strang

naccountable character!—for with all the

ymptoms of profligacy at ten years old, she h

either a bad heart nor a bad temper, was seldotubborn, scarcely ever quarrelsome, and ve

ind to the little ones, with few interruptions

yranny; she was moreover noisy and wild, hat

onfinement and cleanliness, and loved nothi

o well in the world as rolling down the gre

lope at the back of the house.

Such was Catherine Morland at ten. At fiftee

ppearances were mending; she began to curl hair and long for balls; her complexion improv

er features were softened by plumpness a

olour, her eyes gained more animation, and h

igure more consequence. Her love of dirt ga


6/52

way to an inclination for finery, and she gre

lean as she grew smart; she had now t

leasure of sometimes hearing her father a

mother remark on her personal improveme

Catherine grows quite a good-looking girl—ss almost pretty today," were words which caug

er ears now and then; and how welcome we

he sounds! To look almost pretty is

cquisition of higher delight to a girl who heen looking plain the first fifteen years of h

fe than a beauty from her cradle can ev

eceive.

Mrs. Morland was a very good woman, a

wished to see her children everything they oug

o be; but her time was so much occupied

ying-in and teaching the little ones, that her eld

aughters were inevitably left to shift fhemselves; and it was not very wonderful th

Catherine, who had by nature nothing hero

bout her, should prefer cricket, baseball, ridi

n horseback, and running about the country


7/52

he age of fourteen, to books—or at least boo

f information—for, provided that nothing li

seful knowledge could be gained from the

rovided they were all story and no reflectio

he had never any objection to books at all. Brom fifteen to seventeen she was in training fo

eroine; she read all such works as heroines mu

ead to supply their memories with tho

uotations which are so serviceable and oothing in the vicissitudes of their eventful liv

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—


8/52

"It is a delightful task

"To teach the young idea how to shoot."

And from Shakespeare she gained a gre

tore 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 alwa

ooks—

"like Patience on a monument

"Smiling at Grief."


9/52

So far her improvement was sufficient—a

n many other points she came on exceeding

well; for though she could not write sonnets, s

rought herself to read them; and though the

eemed no chance of her throwing a whole parnto raptures by a prelude on the pianoforte,

er own composition, she could listen to oth

eople's performance with very little fatigue. H

reatest deficiency was in the pencil—she had otion of drawing—not enough even to attemp

ketch of her lover's profile, that she might

etected in the design. There she fell miserab

hort of the true heroic height. At present she d

ot know her own poverty, for she had no lov

o portray. She had reached the age of seventee

without having seen one amiable youth w

ould call forth her sensibility, without havi

nspired one real passion, and without havixcited even any admiration but what was ve

moderate and very transient. This was stran

ndeed! But strange things may be genera

ccounted for if their cause be fairly searched o


10/52


11/52

hem. Mr. and Mrs. Morland were all complian

nd Catherine all happiness.

CHAPTER 2

In addition to what has been already said

Catherine Morland's personal and men

ndowments, when about to be launched into

he difficulties and dangers of a six weekesidence in Bath, it may be stated, for t

eader's more certain information, lest t

ollowing pages should otherwise fail of givi

ny idea of what her character is meant to be, th

er heart was affectionate; her dispositi

heerful and open, without conceit or affectati

f any kind—her manners just removed from t

wkwardness and shyness of a girl; her pers

leasing, and, when in good looks, pretty—aer mind about as ignorant and uninformed as t

emale mind at seventeen usually is.


12/52

When the hour of departure drew near, t

maternal anxiety of Mrs. Morland will

aturally supposed to be most severe. A thousa

larming presentiments of evil to her belov

Catherine from this terrific separation muppress her heart with sadness, and drown her

ears for the last day or two of their bei

ogether; and advice of the most important a

pplicable nature must of course flow from hwise lips in their parting conference in her clos

Cautions against the violence of such noblem

nd baronets as delight in forcing young ladi

way to some remote farm-house, must, at such

moment, relieve the fulness of her heart. W

would not think so? But Mrs. Morland knew

ttle of lords and baronets, that she entertain

o notion of their general mischievousness, a

was wholly unsuspicious of danger to haughter from their machinations. Her cautio

were confined to the following points. "I be

Catherine, you will always wrap yourself up ve

warm about the throat, when you come from t


13/52

ooms at night; and I wish you would try to ke

ome account of the money you spend; I w

ive you this little book on purpose."

Sally, or rather Sarah (for what young lady ommon gentility will reach the age of sixte

without altering her name as far as she can

must from situation be at this time the intima

riend and confidante of her sister. It emarkable, however, that she neither insisted

Catherine's writing by every post, nor exacted h

romise of transmitting the character of eve

ew acquaintance, nor a detail of eve

nteresting conversation that Bath might produc

Everything indeed relative to this importa

ourney was done, on the part of the Morland

with a degree of moderation and composu

which seemed rather consistent with the commeelings of common life, than with the refin

usceptibilities, the tender emotions which t

irst separation of a heroine from her fam

ught always to excite. Her father, instead


14/52

iving her an unlimited order on his banker,

ven putting an hundred pounds bank-bill in

er hands, gave her only ten guineas, a

romised her more when she wanted it.

Under these unpromising auspices, the parti

ook place, and the journey began. It w

erformed with suitable quietness and uneventf

afety. Neither robbers nor tempests befriendhem, nor one lucky overturn to introduce the

o the hero. Nothing more alarming occurred th

fear, on Mrs. Allen's side, of having once l

er clogs behind her at an inn, and th

ortunately proved to be groundless.

They arrived at Bath. Catherine was all eag

elight—her eyes were here, there, everywhe

s they approached its fine and striking environnd afterwards drove through those streets whi

onducted them to the hotel. She was come to

appy, and she felt happy already.


15/52

They were soon settled in comfortab

odgings in Pulteney Street.

It is now expedient to give some descripti

f Mrs. Allen, that the reader may be able udge in what manner her actions will hereaft

end to promote the general distress of the wor

nd how she will, probably, contribute to redu

oor Catherine to all the desperate wretchednef which a last volume is capable—whether

er imprudence, vulgarity, or jealousy—wheth

y intercepting her letters, ruining her charact

r turning her out of doors.

Mrs. Allen was one of that numerous class

emales, whose society can raise no oth

motion than surprise at there being any men

he world who could like them well enough marry them. She had neither beauty, geniu

ccomplishment, nor manner. The air of

entlewoman, a great deal of quiet, inactive go

emper, and a trifling turn of mind were all th


16/52

ould account for her being the choice of

ensible, intelligent man like Mr. Allen. In o

espect she was admirably fitted to introduce

oung lady into public, being as fond of goi

verywhere and seeing everything herself as aoung lady could be. Dress was her passion. S

ad a most harmless delight in being fine; a

ur heroine's entree into life could not take pla

ll after three or four days had been spent earning what was mostly worn, and h

haperone was provided with a dress of t

ewest fashion. Catherine too made som

urchases herself, and when all these matte

were arranged, the important evening cam

which was to usher her into the Upper Room

Her hair was cut and dressed by the best han

er clothes put on with care, and both Mrs. All

nd her maid declared she looked quite as should do. With such encouragement, Catheri

oped at least to pass uncensured through t

rowd. As for admiration, it was always ve


17/52

welcome when it came, but she did not depe

n it.

Mrs. Allen was so long in dressing that th

id not enter the ballroom till late. The seaswas full, the room crowded, and the two ladi

queezed in as well as they could. As for M

Allen, he repaired directly to the card-room, a

eft them to enjoy a mob by themselves. Wimore care for the safety of her new gown than f

he comfort of her protegee, Mrs. Allen made h

way through the throng of men by the door,

wiftly as the necessary caution would allo

Catherine, however, kept close at her side, a

nked her arm too firmly within her friend's to

orn asunder by any common effort of

truggling assembly. But to her utter amazeme

he found that to proceed along the room was o means the way to disengage themselves fro

he crowd; it seemed rather to increase as th

went on, whereas she had imagined that wh

nce fairly within the door, they should eas


18/52


19/52

ut they were repeated so often, and proved

otally ineffectual, that Catherine grew tired

ast, and would thank her no more.

They were not long able, however, to enjhe repose of the eminence they had

aboriously gained. Everybody was shortly

motion for tea, and they must squeeze out li

he rest. Catherine began to feel something isappointment—she was tired of bei

ontinually pressed against by people, t

enerality of whose faces possessed nothing

nterest, and with all of whom she was so who

nacquainted that she could not relieve t

rksomeness of imprisonment by the exchange

syllable with any of her fellow captives; a

when at last arrived in the tea-room, she felt y

more the awkwardness of having no party to joo acquaintance to claim, no gentleman to ass

hem. They saw nothing of Mr. Allen; and aft

ooking about them in vain for a more eligib

ituation, were obliged to sit down at the end o


20/52

able, at which a large party were already place

without having anything to do there, or anybo

o speak to, except each other.

Mrs. Allen congratulated herself, as soon hey were seated, on having preserved her gow

rom injury. "It would have been very shocki

o have it torn," said she, "would not it? It is su

delicate muslin. For my part I have not senything I like so well in the whole room,

ssure you."

"How uncomfortable it is," whisper

Catherine, "not to have a single acquaintan

ere!"

"Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Allen, w

erfect serenity, "it is very uncomfortabndeed."

"What shall we do? The gentlemen and ladi

t this table look as if they wondered why w


21/52

ame here—we seem forcing ourselves into th

arty."

"Aye, so we do. That is very disagreeable

wish we had a large acquaintance here."

"I wish we had any—it would be somebody

o to."

"Very true, my dear; and if we knew anybo

we would join them directly. The Skinners we

ere last year—I wish they were here now."

"Had not we better go away as it is? Here a

o tea-things for us, you see."

"No more there are, indeed. How ve

rovoking! But I think we had better sit still, fne gets so tumbled in such a crowd! How is m

ead, my dear? Somebody gave me a push th

as hurt it, I am afraid."


22/52

"No, indeed, it looks very nice. But, dear M

Allen, are you sure there is nobody you know

ll this multitude of people? I think you mu

now somebody."

"I don't, upon my word—I wish I did. I wish

ad a large acquaintance here with all my hea

nd then I should get you a partner. I should

o glad to have you dance. There goes a strangooking woman! What an odd gown she has g

n! How old-fashioned it is! Look at the back."

After some time they received an offer of t

rom one of their neighbours; it was thankful

ccepted, and this introduced a light conversati

with the gentleman who offered it, which was t

nly time that anybody spoke to them during t

vening, till they were discovered and joined Mr. Allen when the dance was over.

"Well, Miss Morland," said he, directly,

ope you have had an agreeable ball."


23/52

"Very agreeable indeed," she replied, vain

ndeavouring to hide a great yawn.

"I wish she had been able to dance," said hwife; "I wish we could have got a partner for h

have been saying how glad I should be if t

kinners were here this winter instead of last;

f the Parrys had come, as they talked of onche might have danced with George Parry. I a

o sorry she has not had a partner!"

"We shall do better another evening I hope

was Mr. Allen's consolation.

The company began to disperse when t

ancing was over—enough to leave space for t

emainder to walk about in some comfort; aow was the time for a heroine, who had not y

layed a very distinguished part in the events

he evening, to be noticed and admired. Eve

ive minutes, by removing some of the crow


24/52

ave greater openings for her charms. She w

ow seen by many young men who had not be

ear her before. Not one, however, started wi

apturous wonder on beholding her, no whisp

f eager inquiry ran round the room, nor was snce called a divinity by anybody. Yet Catheri

was in very good looks, and had the compa

nly seen her three years before, they would no

ave thought her exceedingly handsome.

She was looked at, however, and with som

dmiration; for, in her own hearing, tw

entlemen pronounced her to be a pretty gi

uch words had their due effect; she immediate

hought the evening pleasanter than she h

ound it before—her humble vanity w

ontented—she felt more obliged to the tw

oung men for this simple praise than a truuality heroine would have been for fifte

onnets in celebration of her charms, and went

er chair in good humour with everybody, a


25/52


26/52

ather tall, had a pleasing countenance, a ve

ntelligent and lively eye, and, if not qu

andsome, was very near it. His address w

ood, and Catherine felt herself in high luc

There was little leisure for speaking while thanced; but when they were seated at tea, s

ound him as agreeable as she had already giv

im credit for being. He talked with fluency a

pirit—and there was an archness and pleasantn his manner which interested, though it w

ardly understood by her. After chatting som

me on such matters as naturally arose from t

bjects around them, he suddenly addressed h

with—"I have hitherto been very remiss, mada

n the proper attentions of a partner here; I ha

ot yet asked you how long you have been

Bath; whether you were ever here befo

whether you have been at the Upper Rooms, theatre, and the concert; and how you like t

lace altogether. I have been very negligent—b

re you now at leisure to satisfy me in the

articulars? If you are I will begin directly."


27/52

"You need not give yourself that trouble, sir

"No trouble, I assure you, madam." Th

orming his features into a set smile, affectedly softening his voice, he added, with

impering air, "Have you been long in Ba

madam?"

"About a week, sir," replied Catherine, tryi

ot to laugh.

"Really!" with affected astonishment.

"Why should you be surprised, sir?"

"Why, indeed!" said he, in his natural ton

But some emotion must appear to be raised our reply, and surprise is more easily assume

nd not less reasonable than any other. Now

s go on. Were you never here before, madam?


28/52

"Never, sir."

"Indeed! Have you yet honoured the Upp

Rooms?"

"Yes, sir, I was there last Monday."

"Have you been to the theatre?"

"Yes, sir, I was at the play on Tuesday."

"To the concert?"

"Yes, sir, on Wednesday."

"And are you altogether pleased with Bath?"

"Yes—I like it very well."

"Now I must give one smirk, and then we m

e rational again." Catherine turned away h

ead, not knowing whether she might venture


29/52

augh. "I see what you think of me," said

ravely—"I shall make but a poor figure in yo

ournal tomorrow."

"My journal!"

"Yes, I know exactly what you will sa

riday, went to the Lower Rooms; wore m

prigged muslin robe with blue trimmings—plalack shoes—appeared to much advantage; b

was strangely harassed by a queer, half-witt

man, who would make me dance with him, a

istressed me by his nonsense."

"Indeed I shall say no such thing."

"Shall I tell you what you ought to say?"

"If you please."

"I danced with a very agreeable young ma

ntroduced by Mr. King; had a great deal


30/52


31/52

which ladies are so generally celebrate

Everybody allows that the talent of writi

greeable letters is peculiarly female. Nature m

ave done something, but I am sure it must

ssentially assisted by the practice of keepingournal."

"I have sometimes thought," said Catherin

oubtingly, "whether ladies do write so muetter letters than gentlemen! That is—I shou

ot think the superiority was always on our side

"As far as I have had opportunity of judgin

t appears to me that the usual style of lette

writing among women is faultless, except

hree particulars."

"And what are they?"

"A general deficiency of subject, a to

nattention to stops, and a very freque

gnorance of grammar."


32/52

"Upon my word! I need not have been afra

f disclaiming the compliment. You do not thi

oo highly of us in that way."

"I should no more lay it down as a gener

ule that women write better letters than me

han that they sing better duets, or draw bett

andscapes. In every power, of which taste is toundation, excellence is pretty fairly divid

etween the sexes."

They were interrupted by Mrs. Allen: "M

ear Catherine," said she, "do take this pin out

my sleeve; I am afraid it has torn a hole already

hall be quite sorry if it has, for this is a favour

own, though it cost but nine shillings a yard."

"That is exactly what I should have guessed

madam," said Mr. Tilney, looking at the muslin

"Do you understand muslins, sir?"


33/52


34/52

"It is very pretty, madam," said he, grave

xamining it; "but I do not think it will wash w

am afraid it will fray."

"How can you," said Catherine, laughing, "o—" She had almost said "strange."

"I am quite of your opinion, sir," replied M

Allen; "and so I told Miss Morland when sought it."

"But then you know, madam, muslin alwa

urns to some account or other; Miss Morla

will get enough out of it for a handkerchief, or

ap, or a cloak. Muslin can never be said to

wasted. I have heard my sister say so forty time

when she has been extravagant in buying mo

han she wanted, or careless in cutting it ieces."

"Bath is a charming place, sir; there are

many good shops here. We are sadly off in t


35/52

ountry; not but what we have very good sho

n Salisbury, but it is so far to go—eight miles

long way; Mr. Allen says it is nine, measur

ine; but I am sure it cannot be more than eigh

nd it is such a fag—I come back tired to deaNow, here one can step out of doors and get

hing in five minutes."

Mr. Tilney was polite enough to seenterested in what she said; and she kept him

he subject of muslins till the danci

ecommenced. Catherine feared, as she listen

o their discourse, that he indulged himself a lit

oo much with the foibles of others. "What a

ou thinking of so earnestly?" said he, as th

walked back to the ballroom; "not of your partn

hope, for, by that shake of the head, yo

meditations are not satisfactory."

Catherine coloured, and said, "I was n

hinking of anything."


36/52

"That is artful and deep, to be sure; but I h

ather be told at once that you will not tell me."

"Well then, I will not."

"Thank you; for now we shall soon

cquainted, as I am authorized to tease you

his subject whenever we meet, and nothing

he world advances intimacy so much."

They danced again; and, when the assemb

losed, parted, on the lady's side at least, with

trong inclination for continuing the acquaintan

Whether she thought of him so much, while s

rank her warm wine and water, and prepar

erself for bed, as to dream of him when the

annot be ascertained; but I hope it was no mo

han in a slight slumber, or a morning doze most; for if it be true, as a celebrated writer h

maintained, that no young lady can be justified

alling in love before the gentleman's love

eclared,* it must be very improper that a you


37/52

ady should dream of a gentleman before t

entleman is first known to have dreamt of h

How proper Mr. Tilney might be as a dreamer

lover had not yet perhaps entered Mr. Allen

ead, but that he was not objectionable asommon acquaintance for his young charge

was on inquiry satisfied; for he had early in t

vening taken pains to know who her partner w

nd had been assured of Mr. Tilney's beinglergyman, and of a very respectable family

Gloucestershire.

CHAPTER 4

With more than usual eagerness did Catheri

asten to the pump-room the next day, secu

within herself of seeing Mr. Tilney there befo

he morning were over, and ready to meet hiwith a smile; but no smile was demanded—M

Tilney did not appear. Every creature in Ba

xcept himself, was to be seen in the room

ifferent periods of the fashionable hou


38/52

rowds of people were every moment passing

nd out, up the steps and down; people who

obody cared about, and nobody wanted to se

nd he only was absent. "What a delightful pla

Bath is," said Mrs. Allen as they sat down nehe great clock, after parading the room till th

were tired; "and how pleasant it would be if w

ad any acquaintance here."

This sentiment had been uttered so often

ain that Mrs. Allen had no particular reason

ope it would be followed with more advanta

ow; but we are told to "despair of nothing w

would attain," as "unwearied diligence our po

would gain"; and the unwearied diligence w

which she had every day wished for the sam

hing was at length to have its just reward, f

ardly had she been seated ten minutes befoready of about her own age, who was sitting

er, and had been looking at her attentively f

everal minutes, addressed her with gre

omplaisance in these words: "I think, madam


39/52

annot be mistaken; it is a long time since I h

he pleasure of seeing you, but is not your nam

Allen?" This question answered, as it readily w

he stranger pronounced hers to be Thorpe; a

Mrs. Allen immediately recognized the featurf a former schoolfellow and intimate, whom s

ad seen only once since their respecti

marriages, and that many years ago. Their joy

his meeting was very great, as well it migince they had been contented to know nothing

ach other for the last fifteen years. Complimen

n good looks now passed; and, after observi

ow time had slipped away since they were la

ogether, how little they had thought of meeti

n Bath, and what a pleasure it was to see an o

riend, they proceeded to make inquiries and gi

ntelligence as to their families, sisters, a

ousins, talking both together, far more ready ive than to receive information, and ea

earing very little of what the other said. M

Thorpe, however, had one great advantage as

alker, over Mrs. Allen, in a family of childre


40/52

nd when she expatiated on the talents of h

ons, and the beauty of her daughters, when s

elated their different situations and views—th

ohn was at Oxford, Edward at Mercha

Taylors', and William at sea—and all of themore beloved and respected in their differe

tation than any other three beings ever we

Mrs. Allen had no similar information to give,

imilar triumphs to press on the unwilling anbelieving ear of her friend, and was forced

it and appear to listen to all these matern

ffusions, consoling herself, however, with t

iscovery, which her keen eye soon made, th

he lace on Mrs. Thorpe's pelisse was not half

andsome as that on her own.

"Here come my dear girls," cried Mrs. Thorp

ointing at three smart-looking females who, arn arm, were then moving towards her. "My de

Mrs. Allen, I long to introduce them; they will

o delighted to see you: the tallest is Isabella, m

ldest; is not she a fine young woman? T


41/52

thers are very much admired too, but I belie

sabella is the handsomest."

The Miss Thorpes were introduced; and M

Morland, who had been for a short time forgottwas introduced likewise. The name seemed

trike them all; and, after speaking to her w

reat civility, the eldest young lady observ

loud to the rest, "How excessively like hrother Miss Morland is!"

"The very picture of him indeed!" cried t

mother—and "I should have known h

nywhere for his sister!" was repeated by the

ll, two or three times over. For a mome

Catherine was surprised; but Mrs. Thorpe and h

aughters had scarcely begun the history of th

cquaintance with Mr. James Morland, befohe remembered that her eldest brother had late

ormed an intimacy with a young man of his ow

ollege, of the name of Thorpe; and that he h


42/52

pent the last week of the Christmas vacati

with his family, near London.

The whole being explained, many obligi

hings were said by the Miss Thorpes of thwish of being better acquainted with her;

eing considered as already friends, through t

riendship of their brothers, etc., which Catheri

eard with pleasure, and answered with all tretty expressions she could command; and,

he first proof of amity, she was soon invited

ccept an arm of the eldest Miss Thorpe, and ta

turn with her about the room. Catherine w

elighted with this extension of her Ba

cquaintance, and almost forgot Mr. Tilney wh

he talked to Miss Thorpe. Friendship is certain

he finest balm for the pangs of disappointed lo

Their conversation turned upon those subjec

f which the free discussion has generally mu

o do in perfecting a sudden intimacy betwe

wo young ladies: such as dress, balls, flirtation


43/52

nd quizzes. Miss Thorpe, however, being fo

ears older than Miss Morland, and at least fo

ears better informed, had a very decid

dvantage in discussing such points; she cou

ompare the balls of Bath with those Tunbridge, its fashions with the fashions

London; could rectify the opinions of her ne

riend in many articles of tasteful attire; cou

iscover a flirtation between any gentleman aady who only smiled on each other; and po

ut a quiz through the thickness of a crow

These powers received due admiration fro

Catherine, to whom they were entirely new; a

he respect which they naturally inspired mig

ave been too great for familiarity, had not t

asy gaiety of Miss Thorpe's manners, and h

requent expressions of delight on th

cquaintance with her, softened down eveeeling of awe, and left nothing but tend

ffection. Their increasing attachment was not

e satisfied with half a dozen turns in the pum

oom, but required, when they all quitted


44/52

ogether, that Miss Thorpe should accompa

Miss Morland to the very door of Mr. Allen

ouse; and that they should there part with a mo

ffectionate and lengthened shake of hands, aft

earning, to their mutual relief, that they shouee each other across the theatre at night, and s

heir prayers in the same chapel the next morni

Catherine then ran directly upstairs, and watch

Miss Thorpe's progress down the street from trawing-room window; admired the gracef

pirit of her walk, the fashionable air of h

igure and dress; and felt grateful, as well s

might, for the chance which had procured h

uch a friend.

Mrs. Thorpe was a widow, and not a very ri

ne; she was a good-humoured, well-meani

woman, and a very indulgent mother. Her eldeaughter had great personal beauty, and t

ounger ones, by pretending to be as handsom

s their sister, imitating her air, and dressing

he same style, did very well.


45/52

This brief account of the family is intended

upersede the necessity of a long and minu

etail from Mrs. Thorpe herself, of her pa

dventures and sufferings, which migtherwise be expected to occupy the three or fo

ollowing chapters; in which the worthlessness

ords and attorneys might be set forth, a

onversations, which had passed twenty yeaefore, be minutely repeated.

CHAPTER 5

Catherine was not so much engaged at t

heatre that evening, in returning the nods a

miles of Miss Thorpe, though they certain

laimed much of her leisure, as to forget to lo

with an inquiring eye for Mr. Tilney in every bwhich her eye could reach; but she looked in va

Mr. Tilney was no fonder of the play than t

ump-room. She hoped to be more fortunate t

ext da ; and when her wishes for fine weath


46/52

were answered by seeing a beautiful mornin

he hardly felt a doubt of it; for a fine Sunday

Bath empties every house of its inhabitants, a

ll the world appears on such an occasion to wa

bout and tell their acquaintance what a charmiay it is.

As soon as divine service was over, t

Thorpes and Allens eagerly joined each othnd after staying long enough in the pump-roo

o discover that the crowd was insupportable, a

hat there was not a genteel face to be see

which everybody discovers every Sund

hroughout the season, they hastened away to t

Crescent, to breathe the fresh air of bet

ompany. Here Catherine and Isabella, arm

rm, again tasted the sweets of friendship in

nreserved conversation; they talked much, awith much enjoyment; but again was Catheri

isappointed in her hope of reseeing her partn

He was nowhere to be met with; every search f

im was equally unsuccessful, in morni


47/52

ounges or evening assemblies; neither at t

Upper nor Lower Rooms, at dressed or undress

alls, was he perceivable; nor among the walke

he horsemen, or the curricle-drivers of t

morning. His name was not in the pump-rooook, and curiosity could do no more. He mu

e gone from Bath. Yet he had not mention

hat his stay would be so short! This sort

mysteriousness, which is always so becoming hero, threw a fresh grace in Catherin

magination around his person and manners, a

ncreased her anxiety to know more of him. Fro

he Thorpes she could learn nothing, for they h

een only two days in Bath before they met w

Mrs. Allen. It was a subject, however, in whi

he often indulged with her fair friend, fro

whom she received every possib

ncouragement to continue to think of him; ais impression on her fancy was not suffer

herefore to weaken. Isabella was very sure th

e must be a charming young man, and w

qually sure that he must have been delight


48/52

with her dear Catherine, and would therefo

hortly return. She liked him the better for bei

clergyman, "for she must confess herself ve

artial to the profession"; and something like

igh escaped her as she said it. Perhaps Catheriwas wrong in not demanding the cause of th

entle emotion—but she was not experienc

nough in the finesse of love, or the duties

riendship, to know when delicate raillery wroperly called for, or when a confidence shou

e forced.

Mrs. Allen was now quite happy—qu

atisfied with Bath. She had found som

cquaintance, had been so lucky too as to find

hem the family of a most worthy old friend; an

s the completion of good fortune, had fou

hese friends by no means so expensively dresss herself. Her daily expressions were no long

I wish we had some acquaintance in Bath

They were changed into, "How glad I am w

ave met with Mrs. Thorpe!" and she was


49/52

ager in promoting the intercourse of the tw

amilies, as her young charge and Isabe

hemselves could be; never satisfied with the d

nless she spent the chief of it by the side of M

Thorpe, in what they called conversation, but which there was scarcely ever any exchange

pinion, and not often any resemblance

ubject, for Mrs. Thorpe talked chiefly of h

hildren, and Mrs. Allen of her gowns.

The progress of the friendship betwe

Catherine and Isabella was quick as its beginni

ad been warm, and they passed so rapid

hrough every gradation of increasing tenderne

hat there was shortly no fresh proof of it to

iven to their friends or themselves. They call

ach other by their Christian name, were alwa

rm in arm when they walked, pinned up eather's train for the dance, and were not to

ivided in the set; and if a rainy morni

eprived them of other enjoyments, they we

till resolute in meeting in defiance of wet a


50/52

irt, and shut themselves up, to read nove

ogether. Yes, novels; for I will not adopt th

ngenerous and impolitic custom so comm

with novel-writers, of degrading by th

ontemptuous censure the very performances, he number of which they are themselv

dding—joining with their greatest enemies

estowing the harshest epithets on such work

nd scarcely ever permitting them to be read heir own heroine, who, if she accidentally ta

p a novel, is sure to turn over its insipid pag

with disgust. Alas! If the heroine of one novel

ot patronized by the heroine of another, fro

whom can she expect protection and regard?

annot approve of it. Let us leave it to t

eviewers to abuse such effusions of fancy

heir leisure, and over every new novel to talk

hreadbare strains of the trash with which tress now groans. Let us not desert one anoth

we are an injured body. Although o

roductions have afforded more extensive a

naffected pleasure than those of any oth


51/52

terary corporation in the world, no species

omposition has been so much decried. Fro

ride, ignorance, or fashion, our foes are almo

s many as our readers. And while the abilities

he nine-hundredth abridger of the History England, or of the man who collects a

ublishes in a volume some dozen lines

Milton, Pope, and Prior, with a paper from t

pectator, and a chapter from Sterne, aulogized by a thousand pens—there seem

lmost a general wish of decrying the capaci

nd undervaluing the labour of the novelist, a

f slighting the performances which have on

enius, wit, and taste to recommend them. "I a

o novel-reader—I seldom look into novels—D

ot imagine that I often read novels—It is rea

ery well for a novel." Such is the common can

And what are you reading, Miss—?" "Oh! Itnly a novel!" replies the young lady, while s

ays down her book with affected indifference,

momentary shame. "It is only Cecilia, or Camil

r Belinda"; or, in short, only some work


52/52

which the greatest powers of the mind a

isplayed, in which the most thorou

nowledge of human nature, the happie

elineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusio

f wit and humour, are conveyed to the world he best-chosen language. Now, had the sam

oung lady been engaged with a volume of t

pectator, instead of such a work, how proud

would she have produced the book, and told ame; though the chances must be against h

eing occupied by any part of that volumino

ublication, of which either the matter or mann

would not disgust a young person of taste: t

ubstance of its papers so often consisting in t

tatement of improbable circumstances, unnatur

haracters, and topics of conversation which

onger concern anyone living; and their languag

oo, frequently so coarse as to give no veavourable idea of the age that could endure it.

001 - 001 - Advertisment ; Chapter 1-5

Documents