^i^^i- ^^ii
 
 E'LIBRIS-IOKTSCOMITK 
 
 l>rKIMBERLEY
 
 LI E) RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLRSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 xS2 3 
 
 1818 
 v.\ 
 
 
 ^ook & Special 
 iorts LibfAry
 
 NORTHANGER ABBEY 
 
 AND 
 
 PERSUASION. 
 
 MANSFIELD-PARK," &C. 
 
 WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF THE 
 AUTHOR. 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. 
 
 1818.'
 
 Loiuion; l'n,u..l by C. Ro-.vorth, 
 Bi-ll-)-,»rJ, rcni\>le-b*r.
 
 
 :0 
 
 ^ BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 
 
 OF 
 
 ^ THE AUTHOR. 
 
 ii 
 
 .1 
 
 a ^
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 
 in 2010 witii funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/northangerabbeypOlaust
 
 The following pages are the production of a 
 pen which has already contributed in no small 
 degree to the entertainment of the public. 
 And when the public, which has not been in- 
 sensible to the merits of " Sense and Sensibi- 
 lity," " Pride and Prejudice," " Mansfield 
 Park," and '* Emma," shall be informed that 
 the hand which guided that pen is now moul- 
 dering in the grave, perhaps a brief account of 
 Jane Austen will be read with a kindlier senti- 
 ment than simple curiosity. 
 
 Short and easy will be the task of the mere 
 biographer. A life of usefulness, literature, 
 and religion, was not by any means a life of 
 event. To those who lament their irreparable 
 loss, it is consolatory to think that, as she 
 never deserved disapprobation, so, in the 
 a 3 circle
 
 ( ^i ) 
 
 circle of her family and friends, she never met 
 reproof; that her wishes were not only reason- 
 able, but gratified ; and that to the little disap- 
 pointments incidental to human life was never 
 added, even for a moment, an abatement of 
 good-will from any who knew her. 
 
 Jane Austen was bom on the l6th of De- 
 cember, 177.5, at Steventon, in the county of 
 Hants. Her father was Rector of that parish 
 upwards of forty years. There he resided, in 
 the conscientious and unassisted discharge of 
 his ministerial duties, until he was turned of 
 seventy years. Then he retired with his w ife, 
 our authoress, and her sister, to Bath, for the 
 remainder of his life, a period of about four 
 years. Being not only a profound scholar, 
 but possessing a most exquisite taste in every 
 species of literature, it is not wonderful that 
 his daughter Jane should, at a very early age, 
 have become sensible to the charms of style, 
 and enthusiastic in the cultivation of her own 
 
 law-
 
 ( vJi ) 
 
 language. On the death of her father she re» 
 moved, with her mother and sister, for a short 
 time, to Southampton, and finally, in 1809? to 
 the pleasant village of Chawton, in the same 
 eomity. From this place she sent into the 
 world those novels, which by many have been 
 placed on the same shelf as the works of a 
 D'Arblay and an Edgeworth, Some of these 
 novels had been the gradual performances of 
 her previous life. For though in composition 
 she was equally rapid and correct, yet an in- 
 vincible distrust of her own judgement induced 
 her to withhold her works from the public, till 
 time and many perusals had satisfied her that 
 the charm of recent composition was dissolved. 
 The natural constitution, the regular habits, 
 the quiet and happy occupations of our au- 
 thoress, seemed to promise a long succession 
 of amusement to the public, and a gradual 
 increase of reputation to herself. But th« 
 symptoms of a decay, deep and incurable, be- 
 a 4 gaii
 
 ( viii ) 
 
 %2iX\ to shew themselves in the commencement 
 of 1816. Her decline vvas at first deceitfully 
 slow; and until the spring of this present year, 
 those who knew their happiness to be involved 
 in her existence could not endure to despair. 
 But in the month of May, 1817, it was found 
 advisable that she should be removed to Win- 
 chester for the benefit of constant medical 
 aid, which none even then dared to hope 
 would be permanently beneficial. She sup- 
 ported, during two months, all the varying 
 pain, irksomeness, and tedium, attendant on 
 decaying nature, with more than resignation, 
 with a truly elastic cheerfulness. She retained 
 her faculties, her memory, her fancy, her tem- 
 per, and her alTcctions, warm, clear, and un- 
 impaired, to the last. Neitlier her love of God, 
 nor of her fellow creatures flagged for a moment. 
 She made a point of receiving the sacrament 
 before excessive bodily weakness might have 
 rendered her perception unequal to her w ishes. 
 
 She
 
 ( ix ) 
 
 She wrote whilst she could hold a pen, and 
 with a pencil when a pen was become too la- 
 borious. The day preceding her death she 
 composed some stanzas replete with fancy and 
 vigour. Her last voluntary speech conveyed 
 thanks to her medical attendant ; and to the 
 final question asked of her, purporting to 
 know her wants, she replied, " I want nothing 
 but death." 
 
 She expired shortly after, on Friday the 
 iSth of July, 1817, in the arms of her sister, 
 who, as well as the relator of these events, 
 feels too surely that they shall never look 
 upon her like again. 
 
 Jane Austen was buried on the 24th of 
 July, 1617, in the cathedral church of Win- 
 chester, which, in the whole catalogue of its 
 mighty dead, does not contain the ashes of a 
 brighter genius or a sincerer Christian. 
 
 Of personal attractions she possessed a 
 
 considerable share. Her stature was that of 
 
 a 5 true
 
 ( » ) 
 
 true elegance, ft could not have been in- 
 creased without exceeding the middle height. 
 Her carriage and deportment were quiet, yet 
 graceful. Her features were separately good. 
 Their assemblage produced an unrivalled ex* 
 pression of that cheerfulness, sensibility, and 
 benevolence, which were her real characteris- 
 tics. Her complexion was of the finest tex- 
 ture. It might with truth be said, that her 
 eloquent blood spoke through her modest 
 cheek. Her voice was extremely sweet. She 
 delivered herself with fluency and precision. 
 Indeed she was formed for elegant and rational 
 society, excelling in conversation as much as 
 in composition. In the present age it is 
 hazardous to mention accomplishments. Our 
 authoress would, probably, have been inferior 
 to few in such acquirements, had slie not been 
 so superior to most in higher things. She had 
 not only an excellent taste for drawing, but, in 
 her earlier days, evinced great power of hand 
 
 iu
 
 ( XI ) 
 
 in the management of the pencil. Her own 
 musical attainments she held very cheap. 
 Twenty years ago they woiikl have beea 
 thought more of, and twenty years hence many 
 a parent will expect their daughters to be ap- 
 plauded for meaner performances. She was 
 fond of dancing, and excelled in it. It re- 
 mains now to add a few observations on that 
 w hicli her friends deemed more important, on 
 those endowments which sweetened every 
 hour of their lives. 
 
 If there be an opinion current in the world, 
 that perfect placidity of temper is not recon- 
 cileable to the most lively imagination, and the 
 keenest relish for wit, such an opinion will b^ 
 rejected for ever by those who have had the 
 happiness of knowing the authoress of the fol- 
 lowing works. Though the frailties, foibles, 
 and follies of others could not escape her im- 
 mediate detection, yet even on their vices did 
 she never trust herself to comment with un- 
 a 6 kind-
 
 ( xii ) 
 
 itiiitlness. The affectation of candour is not 
 juucomnion ; but slie hud no affectation. 
 ■Faultless herself, as nearly as human nature 
 can be, she always sought, in the faults of 
 others, sonietlung to excuse, to forgive or for- 
 get. Where extenuation was impossible, she 
 liad a sure refuge in silence. She never ut- 
 tered cither a hasty, a silly, or a severe expres- 
 sion. In short, her temper was as polished as 
 lier wit. Nor were her manners inferior to her 
 temper. They were of the happiest kind. No 
 .one could be often in her company without 
 ieeling a strong desire of obtaining her friend- 
 ^ship, and cherishing a hope of having obtained 
 ^t. She was tranquil without reserve or stiff- 
 ness; and communicative without intrusion or 
 self-sufficiency. She became an authoress en- 
 tirely from taste and inclination. Neither the 
 Jiope of fame nor profit mixed with her early mo- 
 tives. iMosit o( her works, as before observed, 
 were composed many years previous to tlieir 
 
 publi-
 
 ( xili ) 
 
 publication. It was with extreme difficulty 
 that her friends, w hose partiality she suspected 
 whilst she honoured their judgement, could 
 prevail on lier to publish her first work. Nay, 
 so persuaded was she that its sale would not 
 repay the expense of publication, that she 
 actually made a reserve from her very mode- 
 rate income to meet the expected loss. She 
 could scarcely believe what she termed her 
 great good fortune when " Sense and Sensibi- 
 lity'^ produced a clear profit of about £\50. 
 Few so gifted were so truly unpretending. She 
 regarded the above sum as a prodigious re- 
 compense for that which had cost her nothing. 
 Her readers, perhaps, will wonder that such a 
 work produced so little at a time when some 
 authors have received more guineas than they 
 have written lines. The works of our au- 
 thoress, however, may live as long as those 
 which have burst on the world with more 
 eclat. But the public has not been unjust; 
 
 and
 
 ( xiv ) 
 
 and our authoress ^vas far from thinking it so. 
 Most gratifying to her was the applause 
 which from time to time reached her ears 
 from those who were competent to discrimi- 
 nate. Still, in spite of such applause, so 
 much did she shrink from notoriety, that no 
 accumulation of fame would have induced her, 
 had she lived, to affix her name to any pro- 
 ductions of her pen. In the bosom of her 
 own family she talked of them freely, thankful 
 for praise, open to remark, and submissive to 
 criticism. But in public she turned away 
 from any allusion to the character of an au- 
 thoress. She read aloud with very great taste 
 and effect. Her own works, probably, were 
 never heard to so much advantage as from her 
 own moutli; for she partook largely in all the 
 best gifts of the comic muse. She was a warm 
 and judicious admirer of landscape, both in 
 nature and on canvass. At a very early age 
 she was enamoured of Gilpin on the Pic- 
 turesque ;
 
 ( XV ) 
 
 turesque; and she seldom changed her opU 
 Dions either on books or men. 
 
 Her reading was very extensive in history 
 and belles lettres ; and her memory extremely 
 tenacious. Her favourite moral writers were 
 Johnson in prose, and Cowper in verse. It 
 is difficult to say at what age she was not 
 intimately acquainted with the merits and de- 
 fects of the best essays and novels in the 
 English language. Richardson's power of 
 creating, and preserving the consistency of his 
 characters, as particularly exemplified in " Sir 
 Charles Grandison," gratified the natural dis- 
 crimination of her mind, whilst her taste se- 
 cured her from the errors of his prolix style 
 and tedious narrative. She did not rank any 
 work of Fielding quite so high. Without the 
 slightest affectation she recoiled from every 
 thing gross. Neither nature, wit, nor humour, 
 could make her amends for so very low a 
 ecale of morals. 
 
 Her
 
 ( XVI ) 
 
 Her power of inventing characters seems 
 to have been intuitive, and almost unlimited. 
 She drew from nature; but, whatever may 
 have been surmised to the contrary, never 
 from individuals. 
 
 The style of her familiar correspondence 
 was in all respects the same as that of her 
 novels. Every thing came finished from her 
 pen ; for on all subjects she had ideas as clear 
 as her expressions were well chosen. It is 
 not hazarding too much to say that she never 
 dispatched a note or letter unworthy of pub- 
 lication. 
 
 One trait only remains to be touched on. 
 It makes all others unimportant. She was 
 thoroughly religious and devout ; fearful of 
 giving oft'ence to God, and incapable of feeling 
 it towards any fellow cieature. On serious 
 subjects she was well-instructed, both by read- 
 ing and meditation, and her opinions accorded 
 strictly with those of our F.stabli§hed Cluuch. 
 
 Loti(lo)iy Dec. k), LSI?.
 
 ( "ii ) 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Since concluding the above remarks, the 
 writer of them has been put in possession of 
 some extracts from the private correspondence 
 of the authoress. They are few and short ; 
 but are submitted to the public without apo- 
 logy, as being more truly descriptive of her 
 temper, taste, .feelings, and principles than 
 any thing which the pen of a biographer can 
 produce. 
 
 The first extract is a playful defence of her- 
 self from a mock charge of having pilfered 
 the manuscripts of a young relation. 
 
 " What should I do, my dearest E. with 
 your manly, vigorous sketches, so full of life 
 and spirit ? How could I possibly join them 
 on to a little bit of ivory, two inches wide, on 
 •which I work with a brush so fine as to pro- 
 duce little effect after much labour ?" 
 
 The
 
 ( xviii ) 
 
 Tlie remaining extracts are from various 
 parts of a letter written a few weeks before 
 her death. 
 
 " My attendant is encouraging, and talks 
 of making me quite well. I live chiefly on 
 the sofa, but am allowed to walk from one 
 room to the other. I have been out once in 
 a sedan-chair, and am to repeat it, and be 
 promoted to a wheel-chair as the weather 
 serves. On this subject I will only say fur- 
 ther that my dearest sister, my tender, watch- 
 ful, indefatigable nurse, has not been made 
 ill by her exertions. As to what I owe ta 
 her, and to the anxious affection of all my 
 beloved family on this occasion, I cau only 
 cry over it, and pray to God to bless them 
 more and more." 
 
 She next touches with just and gentle anim- 
 adversion on a subject of domestic disappoint- 
 ment. Of this the particulars do not concern 
 tlie public. Yet in justice to her character- 
 istic
 
 ( XIX ) 
 
 istic sweetness and resignation, the concluding 
 
 observation of our authoress thereon must 
 
 not be suppressed. 
 
 " But I am getting too near complaint. It 
 
 has been the appointment of God, however 
 secondary causes may have operated." 
 
 The following and final extract will prove 
 the facility with which she could correct every 
 impatient thought, and turn from complaint to 
 cheerfulness. 
 
 " You will find Captain a very 
 
 respectable, well-meaning man, without much 
 manner, his wife and sister all good humour 
 and obligingness, and I hope (since the fa- 
 shion allows it) with rather longer petticoats 
 than last year." 
 
 London, Dec. 20, 1817.
 
 NORTHANGER ABBEY. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT, 
 
 BY THE AUTHORESS, 
 
 TO 
 
 NORTIIANGER ABBEY 
 
 This little work was finished in the 
 year 1803, and intended for imme- 
 diate publication. It was disposed 
 of to a bookseller, it was even adver- 
 tised, and why the business proceed- 
 ed no farther, the author has never 
 been able to learn. That any book- 
 seller should think it worth while to 
 purchase what he did not think it 
 worth while to publish seems extra- 
 ordinary. But with this, neither the 
 
 author
 
 ( XXIV ) 
 
 author nor the public have any other 
 concern tlian as some observation is 
 necessary upon those parts of the 
 work which thirteen years have made 
 comparatively obsolete. The public 
 are entreated to bear in mind that 
 thirteen years have passed since it 
 was finished, many more since it was 
 begun, and that during that period, 
 places, manners, books, and opinions 
 have undergone considerable changes.
 
 NORTHANGER ABBEY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 No one who had ever seen Catherine 
 ]\lorland in her infancy, would have 
 supposed her born to be an heroine. 
 Her situation in hfe, the character of 
 her father and mother, her own person 
 and disposition, were all equal 1}^ against 
 her. Her father was a clergyman, 
 without being neglected, or poor, and 
 a very respectable man, though his 
 name was Richard- and he had never 
 been handsome. He had a considerable 
 independences besides two good livings 
 — and he was not in the least addicted 
 
 VOL. I. B to
 
 ( 2 ) ' 
 
 to locking up liis daughters. Her mo- 
 ^ ther was a woman of useful plain sense, 
 with a good temper, and, what is more 
 remarkahle, with ^ good constitution. 
 She had three sons hefore Catherine 
 was born ; and instead of dying in 
 bHhging the latter into the world, as 
 ^ny body might expect, she still lived 
 on — ^lived to have six children more — 
 to see them growing up around her, 
 and to enjoy excellent health herself. 
 A family of ten children will be always 
 called a fine family, where there are 
 heads and arms and legs enough for 
 the number; but the IVforlands had 
 little other right to the word, for they 
 were in general very plain, and Cathe- 
 rine, for many years of her life, as plain 
 as any. She had a thin awkward figure, 
 a sallow skin without colour, dark lank 
 hair, ^nd strong features; — so mucli 
 
 for
 
 ( 3 ) 
 
 for her person ; — and not less tinpro- 
 pitious for heroism seemed her mind. 
 She was fond of all boys' plays, and 
 greatly preferred cricket not merely to 
 dolls, but to the more heroic enjoy- 
 ments of infancy, nursing a dormouse, 
 feeding a canary-bird, or watering a 
 rose-bush. Indeed she had no taste 
 for a garden ; and if she gathered flow- 
 ers at all, it was chiefly for the pleasure 
 of mischief — at least so it was conjec- 
 tured from her always preferring those 
 which she was forbidden to take. — 
 Such were her propensities — her abili- 
 ties were quite as extraordinary. She 
 never could learn or understand any 
 thing before she was taught ; and 
 sometimes not even then, for she was 
 often inattentive, and occasionally stu- 
 pid. Her mother was three months in 
 teaching her only to repeat the ^' Bcg- 
 B 2 gar s
 
 ( 4 ) 
 
 gar's Petition ;" and after all, her next 
 sister, Sall}^, could say it better than 
 she did. Not that Catherine was al- 
 ways stupid, — by no means; she learnt 
 the fable of '•' The Hare and many 
 Friends," as quickly as any girl in 
 England. Ilcr mother wished her to 
 learn music ; and Catherine was sure 
 she should like it, for she was very 
 fond of tinklins: the kcvs of the old 
 forlorn spinnet ; so, at eight years old 
 she began. She learnt a year, and 
 could not bear it ; — and Mrs,. jNIorland, 
 who did not insist on her daughters 
 being accomplished in spite of incapa- 
 city or distaste, allowed her to leave 
 off. The day which dismissed the mu- 
 sic-master was one of the happiest of 
 Catherine's life. Her taste for draw- 
 ing was not superior ; though when- 
 ever she could obtain the outside of a 
 
 letter
 
 ( 5 ) 
 
 letter from her mother, or seize upon 
 any other odd piece of paper, she did 
 what she could in that way, by draw- 
 ing houses and trees, hens and chick- 
 ens, all very much like one another. — 
 Writing and accounts she was taught 
 by her father ; French by her mother : 
 her proficiency in either was not re- 
 markable, and she shirked her lessons 
 in both whenever she could. What a 
 strange, unaccountable character ! — for 
 with all these symptoms of profligacy 
 at ten years old, she had neither a bad 
 heart nor a bad temper; Avas seldom 
 stubborn, scarcely ever quarrelsome, 
 and very kind to the little ones, with 
 few interruptions of tyranny ; she was 
 moreover noisy and A\'ild, hated con- 
 finement and cleanliness, and loved no- 
 thing so well in the world as rolling 
 B 3 down
 
 ( G ) 
 
 down the green slope at the back of the 
 house. 
 
 Such was Cathei;ine Morland at ten. 
 At fifteen, appearances were mending; 
 she began to curl her hair and long for 
 balls ; her complexion improved, her 
 features were softened by plumpness 
 and colour, her eyes gained more ani- 
 mation, and her figure more conse- 
 quence. Her love of dirt gave way to 
 an inclination for finery, and she grew 
 clean as she grew smart; she had now 
 the pleasure of sometimes hearing her 
 father and mother remark on her per- 
 sonal improvement. " Catherine grows 
 quite a good-looking girl, — she is al- 
 most pretty to day," were words which 
 caught her ears now and then ; and how. 
 Avelcome were the sounds ! To look 
 almost pretty, is an acquisition of higher 
 
 dehght
 
 ( 7 ) 
 
 ^■.'■''^ 
 delight to a girl who has been looking 
 
 plain the first fifteen years of her life, 
 than a beauty from her cradle can ever 
 receive. 
 
 Mrs. Morland was a very good wo- 
 man, and wished to see her children 
 every thing they ought to be; but 
 her time was so much occupied in lying- 
 in and teaching the little ones, that her 
 elder daughters were inevitably left to 
 shift for themselves ;• and it was not 
 very wonderful that Catherine, who 
 had by nature nothing heroic about her, 
 should prefer cricket, base ball, 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 know- 
 ledge could be gained from them, pro- 
 vided they were all story and no reflec- 
 tion, she had never any objection to 
 B 4 books
 
 ( 8 ) 
 
 books at all. But from fifteen to se- 
 venteen she was in training for a he- 
 roine ; she read all such works as he- 
 roines must read to supply their memo- 
 ries with those quotations which are so 
 serviceable and so soothing in the vicis- 
 situdes of their eventful lives. 
 
 From Pope, she learnt to censui*e 
 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 Shakspeare 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
 
 ( 9 ) 
 
 " The poor beetle, which wc (read upon, 
 '' In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great 
 '* As when a giant dies." 
 
 And that a young woman in lovp 
 always looks 
 
 " like Patience on a monument 
 
 " Smiling at Grief/' 
 
 So far her improvement was suffi- 
 cient — and in many other points she 
 came on exceedingly well ; for though 
 she could not write sonnets, she hrought 
 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 composi- 
 tion, she could listen to other people's 
 performance with very little fatigue. 
 Her greatest deficiency was in the pen- 
 cil — she had no notion of drawing — 
 not enough even to attempt a sketch 
 B 5 of
 
 ( 10 ) 
 
 of her lover's profile, that she might 
 be detected in the design. There hihe 
 fell miserably short of the true heroic 
 height. At present she did not know 
 her own poverty, for she had no lover 
 to pourtray. 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 neigh- 
 bourhood; no — not even a baionct. 
 There was not one family among their 
 acquaintance who had reared and sup- 
 ported a boy accidentally found at their 
 door — not one young man whose origin 
 
 was
 
 ( 11 ) 
 
 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 pei-verseness of forty sur- 
 rounding 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 vil- 
 lage 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 befal 
 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. 
 
 b6 CPIAP-
 
 ( 12 ) 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 In addition to what 1ms been already 
 said of Catherine INIorland'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 infarmation, lest 
 the following pages should otherwise 
 fail of giving any idea of what her 
 character is meant to be; that her heart 
 M^as affectionate, her disposition cheer- 
 fid and open, without conceit or af- 
 fectation of any kind — her manners 
 just removed from the awkwardness 
 and shyness of a girl ; her person pleas- 
 ing, and, when in good looks, j)retty — 
 and her mind about us is>:noraiit and 
 
 unin-
 
 ( 1^ ) 
 
 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 ap- 
 plicable nature must of course flow 
 from her wise lips in their parting con- 
 ference 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, reheve the ful- 
 ness of her heart. Who would not think 
 so? But Mrs. Morland knew so little 
 
 of
 
 ( 14 ) 
 
 of lords and baronets, that she enter- 
 tained no notion of their general mis- 
 chievousness, and was wholly unsus- 
 picious of danger to her daughter from 
 their machinations. Her cautions 
 were confined to the following points. 
 " I beg, Catherine, you will always 
 wrap yourself up very warm about the 
 throat, when you come from the Rooms 
 at night; and I wish you would try to 
 keep some account of the money you 
 spend; — I will give you this little 
 book on purpobC." 
 
 Sally, or rather Sarah, (for wb.at young- 
 lady of common gentility will reach 
 the age of sixteen without altering her 
 name as far as she can?) Inust from 
 situation be at this time the intimate 
 friend and confidante of her sister. 
 It is remarkable, however, that she 
 neither insisted on Catherine's writing 
 
 bv
 
 ( 15 ) 
 
 by every post, nor exacted her promise 
 of transmitting the character of every 
 new acquaintance, nor a detail of every 
 interesting conversation that Bath 
 might produce. Every thing indeed 
 relative to this important journey 
 was done, on the part of tlie IMorlands, 
 with a degree of moderation and com- 
 posure, which seemed rather consistent 
 with the common feelings of common 
 life, than with the refined susceptibi- 
 Uties, the tender emotions which the 
 first separation of a heroine from her 
 family ought always to excite. Her fa- 
 ther, instead of giving her an unlimited 
 Order on his banker, or even putting an 
 hundred pounds bank-bill into her 
 hands, gave her only ten guineas, and 
 promised her more when she wanted it. 
 Under these unpromising auspices, 
 the parting took place, and the jour- 
 ney
 
 ( I^ ) . 
 
 hey began. It was pcrfoniied \rith 
 suitable quietness and uneventful 
 safety. Neither robbers nor tempests 
 befriended them, nor one luckv over- 
 turn to introduce them to the hero. 
 Nothing more alarming occurred than 
 a fear on !\Irs. Allen's side, of having 
 once left her clogs behind her at an 
 inn, and that fortunately proved to be 
 groundless. 
 
 They arrived at Bath. Catherine 
 was all eager delight ; — -her eyes were 
 here, there, every ^^llere, as they ap- 
 proached its fine and striking environs, 
 and afterwards drove througli those 
 streets which conducted them to tlie 
 hotel. She was come to be happy, and 
 she felt happy already. 
 
 They were soon settled in com fort- 
 able lodgings in Pulteney-street. 
 
 It is now expedient to give some 
 
 descrip-
 
 ( ^r ) 
 
 description of Mrs. Allen, that the 
 reader may be able to judge, in what 
 manner her actions will hereafter tend 
 to promote the general distress of the 
 work, and how she will, probably, con- 
 tribute to reduce poor Catherine to all 
 the desperate wretchedness of which a 
 last volume is capable — Avhether by 
 her imprudence, vulgarity, or jealousy 
 — whether by intercepting her letters, 
 ruining her character, or turning her 
 out of doors. 
 
 All's. Allen was one of that nume- 
 rous class of females, whose society can 
 raise no other emotion than surprise at 
 there being any men in the world who 
 could like them well enough to marry 
 them. She had neither beauty, ge- 
 nius, accomplishment, nor manner. 
 The air of a gentlewoman, a great deal 
 of quiet, inactive good temper, and a 
 
 trifling
 
 ( 18 ) 
 
 •tfifling turn of mind, were all that 
 coukl account for her being the choice 
 of a sensible, intelligent man, like Mr. 
 Allen. In one respect she was admi- 
 rably fitted to introduce a young lady 
 into public, being as fond of going 
 everywhere and seeing every thing her- 
 self us any young lady could be. Dress 
 was her passion. She had a most harm- 
 less delight in being fnie; and our 
 heroine's entree into life could not take 
 place till after three or four days had 
 been spent in learning what was 
 mostly worn, and her chaperon was 
 provided with a dress of the newest 
 fashion. Catherine too made some 
 purchases herself, and when all these 
 matters were arranged, the important 
 evening came which was to usher her 
 into the Upper Rooms. Her hair was 
 cut and dressed by the best hand, her 
 
 clothes
 
 ( 15 ) 
 
 clothes put on with care, and both 
 Mrs. Allen and her maid declared she 
 looked quite as she should do. With 
 such encouragement, Catherine hoped 
 at least to pass uncensured through the 
 crowd. As for admiration, it was al- 
 ways very welcome when it came, but 
 she did not depend on it. 
 
 Mrs. Allen was so long in dressing, 
 that they did not enter the ball-room 
 till late. The season was full, the room 
 crowded, and the two ladies squeezed in 
 as w^ell as they could. As for Mr. 
 Allen, he repaired directly to the card- 
 room, and left them to enjoy a mob by 
 tliemseh^es. With more care for the 
 safety of her new gown than for the 
 comfort of her protegee, Mrs. Allen 
 made her way through the throng of 
 men by the door, as swiftly as the ne- 
 cessary caution would allow; Cathe- 
 rine,
 
 ( 20 ) 
 
 rine, however, kept close at her side, 
 and Hnked her arm too firmly within 
 her friend's to be torn asunder by any 
 common effort of a strugghng assem- 
 bly. But to her utter amazement she 
 found that to proceed along the room 
 w^as by no means the \vay to disengage 
 themselves from the crowd; it seemed 
 rather to increase as they went on, 
 whereas she had imaoined that when 
 once fairly w^ithin the door, they should 
 easily find seats and be able to watch 
 the dances with perfect convenience. 
 But this was far from being the case, 
 and though by unwearied dihgence 
 they gained even the top of the room, 
 their situation was just the same; they 
 saw nothing of the dancers but the 
 high feathers of some of the ladies. 
 Still they moved on — something better 
 was yet in view; and by a continued 
 
 exertion
 
 ( 21 ) 
 
 exertion of strength and ingenuity 
 they found themselves at last in the 
 passage behind the highest bench. 
 Here there was something less of 
 crowd than below; and hence Miss 
 Morland had a comprehensive view of 
 all the company beneath her, and of 
 all the dangers of her late passage 
 through them. It was a splendid sight, 
 and she began, for the first time that 
 evening, to feel herself at a ball: she 
 longed to dance, but she had not an 
 acquaintance in the room. Mrs. Allen 
 did all that she could do in such a case 
 by saying very placidly, every now 
 and then, " I wish you could dance, 
 my dear, — I wish you could get a 
 partner." For some time her young- 
 friend felt obliged to her for these 
 wishes; but they were repeated so 
 often, and proved so totally ineffectual, 
 
 that
 
 ( 22 ) 
 
 t ' . * f ^ 3l tj 
 
 tliat Catherine grew tired at lasf/^^^^' 
 would thank lier no more. 
 
 They were not long able, however, 
 to enjoy the repose of the eminence 
 they had so laboriously gained. — 
 Every body was shortly in motion for 
 tea, and tliey must squeeze out like 
 the rest. Catherine l)cgan to feel 
 something of disappointment — she was 
 tired of being continually pressed 
 against by people, the generality of 
 whose faces possessed nothing to in- 
 terest, and with all of whom she was 
 so wholly unacquainted, that she could 
 not relieve the irksomeness of impri- 
 sonment by the exchange of a syllabic 
 with any of her fellow captives; and 
 when at last arrived in the tea-room, 
 she felt yet more the awkwardness of 
 having no party to join, no acquaint- 
 ance to claim, no gentleman to assist 
 
 tlicm.
 
 ( 23 ) 
 
 diem. — They saw nothing of Mr. 
 Allen; and after looking about them 
 in vain for a more eligible situation, 
 were obliged to sit down at the end of 
 a table, at which a large party were 
 already placed, without having any 
 thing to do there, or any body to speak 
 to, except each other. 
 
 Mrs. Allen congratulated herself, as 
 soon as they were seated, on having 
 preserved her gown from injury. '^ It 
 would have been very shocking to 
 have it torn," said she, " would not it? 
 — It is such a delicate muslin. — For 
 my part I have not seen any thing I 
 like so well in the whole room, I assure 
 vou." 
 
 " How uncomfortable it is," whis- 
 pered Catherine, " not to have a single 
 acquaintance here !" 
 
 " Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Allen, 
 
 with
 
 ( 24 ) 
 
 with perfect serenity, " it is very un- 
 comfortable indeed/' 
 
 "What shall we do? — The gentle- 
 men and ladies at this table look as if 
 they wondered why we came here — 
 we seem forcing ourselves into their 
 party." 
 
 " Aye, so we do. — That is very dis- 
 agreea]:)le. I wish we had a large ac- 
 quaintance here." 
 
 ■ ** I wish we had any; — it would be 
 fiOmebody to go to." 
 
 " Very true, my dear; and if we 
 knew anybody we would join them 
 directly. The Skinners were here last 
 year — I wish they were here now." 
 
 ^' Had not we better q-q awav as it 
 is? — Here are no tea thinsJ:s for us, vou 
 see." 
 
 " No more there are, indeed. — How 
 very provoking! But 1 think we had 
 
 better
 
 ( 25 ) 
 
 better sit Still, for one gets so tumbled 
 in such a crowd ! How is my head, my 
 dear? — Somebody gave me a push that 
 has hurt it I am afraid." 
 
 '* No, indeed, it looks very nice.— 
 But, dear Mrs. Allen, are you sure 
 there is nobody you know in all this 
 multitude of people? I think you must 
 know somebody." 
 
 *' I don't upon V my word — I wish I 
 did. I wish I had a large acquaintance 
 here with all my heart, and then I 
 should get you a partner. — I should be 
 so glad to have you dance. There 
 goes a strange-looking woman! What 
 an odd gown she has got on! — How 
 old fashioned it is ! Look at the back." 
 
 After some time they received an 
 offer of tea from one of their neigh- 
 bours; it was thankfully accepted, and 
 
 TOL. I, G this
 
 ( 26 ) 
 
 this introduced a light conversation 
 with the gentleman who ottered it, 
 which was the only time that any body 
 spoke to them during the ev^ening, till 
 they were discovered and joined by 
 Mr. Allen a\ hen the dance was over. 
 
 '' Well, ]Miss JMorland," said he, di- 
 rectly, " I hope you have had an 
 agreeable ball." 
 
 " A^ery agreeable indeed,"' she re- 
 plied, vainly endeavouring to hide a 
 great yawn. 
 
 ^' I wish she had been able to dance," 
 said his Vn ife, '^ I m ish we could have 
 got a partner for her. — I have been 
 saying how glad I should be it' the 
 Skinners were here this winter instead 
 of last; or if the Parrys had come, as 
 they talked of once, she might have 
 danced with George Parry. I am so 
 sorry she has not had a partner !" 
 
 ** We
 
 ( 27 ) 
 
 " We shall do better another even- > 
 iiig I hope," was Mr. Allen's consola-^r^ 
 tion. 
 
 The company began to disperse 
 when the dancing was over^ — enough 
 to leave space for the remainder to 
 walk about in some comfort; and now 
 was the time for a heroine, who had 
 not yet played a very distinguished 
 I)art in the events of the evening, to 
 be noticed and admired. Every live 
 minutes, by removing some of the 
 crowd, gave greater openings for her 
 charms. She was now seen by many 
 young men who had not been near her 
 before. Not one, however, started 
 with rapturous wonder on beholding 
 her, no whisper of eager inquiry ran 
 round the room, nor was she once 
 called a divinity by any body. Yet 
 c 2 Catherine
 
 ( 28 ) 
 
 Catlieriiic was in very good looks, and 
 liad the company only seen her three 
 years before, they v:ou\d 7iow have 
 thought her exceedingly handsome. 
 
 She was looked at however, and with 
 some admiration ; for, in her own hear- 
 ing, two gentlemen pronounced her to 
 be a pretty girl. Such words had their 
 due effect; she immediately thought 
 the evening pleasanter than she had 
 found it before — her humble vanity was 
 contented — she felt more obliged to 
 the two young men for this simple 
 praise than a true quality iieroine 
 would have been for fifteen sonnets in 
 celebration of her charms, and went to 
 her chair in good humour with every 
 body, and perfectly satisfied with her 
 share of public attention. 
 
 CHAP-
 
 ( 29 ) 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Every morning now brought its regu- 
 lar duties; — shops were to be visited; 
 some new part of the town to be 
 looked at; and the Pump-room to be 
 attended, where they paraded up and 
 down for an hour, looking at every 
 body and speaking to no one. The 
 wish of a numerous acquaintance in 
 Bath was still uppermost with Mrs. 
 Allen, and she repeated it after every 
 fresh proof, which every morning 
 brought, of her knowing nobody at all. 
 . They made their appearance in the 
 Lower Rooms; and here fortune was 
 more favourable to our heroine. The 
 master of the ceremonies introduced to 
 c 3 her
 
 ( 30 ) 
 
 her a very gentlemanlike young man 
 as a partner; — his name was Tilney, 
 He seemed to be about four or five and 
 twenty, was rather tall, had a pleasing 
 Gountenance, a very intelligent and 
 lively eye, and, if not quite handsome, 
 was very near it. His address was 
 good, and Catherine felt herself in hig^i 
 luck. There was little leisure for 
 speaking while they danced ; but when 
 they were seated at tea, she found him 
 as agreeable as she had already given 
 him credit for being. He talked with 
 fluency and spirit — and there was an 
 archness and pleasantry in his manner 
 which interested, though it was hardly 
 understood by her. After chatting 
 some time on such matters as naturally 
 arose from the objects around them, he 
 suddenly addressed her with — " I have 
 
 hitherto
 
 ( 31 ) 
 
 hitherto been very remiss, madam, in 
 the proper attentions of a partner here ; 
 I have not yet asked you how long 
 you have been in Bath ; whether you 
 were ever here before; whether you 
 have been at the Upper Rooms, the 
 theatre, and the concert ; and how you 
 like the place altogether. I have been 
 very negligent— but are you now at 
 leisure to satisfy me in these particu- 
 lars? If you are I will begin directly." 
 
 " You need not give yourself that 
 trouble, sir." 
 
 " No trouble I assure you, madam." 
 Then forming his features into a set 
 smile, and aifectedly softening his 
 voice, he added, with a simpering air, 
 " Have you been long in Bath, ma- 
 dam?" 
 
 c 4 " About
 
 ( 52 ) 
 
 " About a week, sir," replied Cathe- 
 rine, trying not to laugh. 
 
 " Really!" with affected astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Why should you be surprized, sir?" 
 " Why, indeed!" said he, in his na- 
 tural tone — " but some emotion must 
 appear to be raised by your reply, and 
 surprize is more easily assumed, and 
 not less reasonable than any other. — 
 Now let us go on. Were you never 
 here before, madam?" 
 " Never, sir." 
 
 *' Indeed! Have you yet honoured 
 the Upper 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,
 
 ( S3 ,) 
 
 '* I ds, 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 may be rational again."^ 
 
 Catherine turned away her head, not 
 knowing whether she might venture 
 to laugh. 
 
 " 1 see what you think of me," said 
 he gravel}^ — " I shall make but a poor 
 figure in your jouniai to-morrow." 
 
 " My journal!" 
 
 " Yes, I know exactly w^hat you w^ill 
 say: Friday, w^ent to' the Lower 
 Rooms; >vore my sprigged muslin 
 robe with blue trimmings— plain black 
 shoes — appeared to much advantage; 
 but was strangely harassed by a queer, 
 half-witted man, who would make me 
 c 5 dance
 
 ( 94 ) 
 
 dance with him, and distressed me by 
 his nonsense." 
 
 " Indeed I shall say no such thing. " 
 " Shall I tell you what you ought to 
 isay?" 
 
 " If you please." 
 
 " I danced with a very agreeable 
 young man, introduced by Mr. King ; 
 had a great deal of conversation with 
 him — seems a most extraordinary 
 genius — hope I may know more of 
 him. That, madam, is what 1 wish 
 you to say." 
 
 " But, perhaps, 1 keep no joumal." 
 " Perhaps you arc not sitting in this 
 room, and I am not sitting by you. 
 These are points in which a doubt is 
 equally possible. Not keep a journal \ 
 How are your absent cousins to undcr- 
 ,stand the tcnour of your life in Bath 
 
 without
 
 ( 35 ) 
 
 without one? How are the civihties 
 and comphments of every day to ht 
 related as they ought to be, unless 
 noted down every evenmg in a jour- 
 nal? How are your various dresses to 
 be remembered, and the particular 
 state of your complexion, and curl of 
 your hair to be described in all their 
 diversities, without having constant 
 recourse to a journal? — My dear ma- 
 dam, I am not so ignorant of young 
 ladies' ways as you wish to believe me ; 
 it is this delightful habit of journaliz- 
 ing which largely contributes to forai 
 the easy style of writing for which 
 ladies are so generally celebrated. 
 Every body allows that the talent of 
 writing agreeable letters is peculiarly 
 female. Nature may have done some- 
 thing, but I am sure it must be essen- 
 c 6 tially
 
 ( 36 ) 
 
 tially assisted by the practice of keep- 
 ing a journal." 
 
 '' 1 have sometimes thought," said 
 Catherine, doubtingly, " whether ladies 
 do write so much better letters than 
 gentlemen! That is — I should not 
 think the superiority was always on 
 our side." 
 
 '^ As far as I have had opportunity 
 of judging, it appears to me that the 
 usual style of letter-w^riting among 
 women is faultless, except in three 
 particulars." 
 
 " And what are they?" 
 
 *^ A general deficiency of subject, a 
 total inattention to stops, and a very 
 frequent ignorance of grammar." 
 
 " Upon my word! I need not have 
 been afraid of disclaiming the compli- 
 ment.
 
 ( S7 ) 
 
 meht. You do not think too highly of 
 us in that way." 
 
 " I should no more lay it down as 
 a general rule that women write better 
 letters than men, than that they sing 
 better duets, or draw better landscapes. 
 In every power, of which taste is the 
 foundation, excellence is pretty fairly 
 divided between the sexes." 
 
 They were interrupted by Mrs. Al- 
 len : — " My dear Catherine," said she, 
 "do take this pin out of my sleeve; I 
 am afraid it has torn a hole already ; 
 I shall be quite sorry if it has, for this 
 is a favourite gown, though it cost 
 but nine shillings a yard." 
 
 " That is exactly what I should 
 have guessed it, madam/' said Mr. 
 Tilney, looking at the muslin. 
 
 " Do you understand muslins, sir?" 
 
 " Par-
 
 \ ( 38 ) 
 
 f* Particularly well ; I always buy 
 my own cravats, and am allowed to 
 be an excellent judge ; and my sister 
 has often trusted me in the choice of a 
 gown. I bought one for her the other 
 day, and it was pronounced to be a 
 prodigious bargain by every lady who 
 saw it. I gave but five shillings a 
 yard for it, and a true Indian mushn." 
 
 Mrs. Allen was quite struck by his 
 genius. " Men commonly take so 
 little notice of those things," said she : 
 " I can never get Mr. Allen to know 
 one of my gowns from another. You 
 must be a great comfort to your sister, 
 
 sir." 
 
 " I hope I am, madam." 
 " And pray, sir, what do think of 
 Miss Morland's gown ?" 
 
 "It is very pretty, madam," said he, 
 
 gravely
 
 ( 39 ) 
 
 gravely examining it ; " but I do not 
 think it will wash wxli ; I am afraid it 
 will fray." '^ 
 
 *' How can you," said Catherine, 
 
 laughing, ^' be so " she had almost 
 
 said, strange. 
 
 " I am quite of your opinion, sir," 
 replied Mrs. Allen; "and so I told 
 Miss Morland when she bought it." 
 
 " But then you know, madam, mus- 
 lin always turns to some account or 
 other ; Miss Morland will get enough 
 out of it for a handkerchief, or a cap, 
 or a cloak. — Muslin can never be said 
 to be wasted. I have heard my sister 
 say so forty times, when she has been 
 extravagant in buying more than she 
 wanted, or careless in cutting it to 
 pieces." 
 
 "Bath is a cliarming place, sir; 
 
 there
 
 ( 40 ) 
 
 there are so many good shops here*-^ 
 We are sadly off in the country ; not 
 but what we have very good shops in 
 Sahsbury, but it is so far to go ; — eight 
 miles is a long way ; Mr. Allen says it 
 is nine, measured nine ; but I am sure 
 it cannot be more than eight ; and it 
 is such a fag — I come back tired to 
 death. Now here one can step out 
 of doors and get a thing in five mi- 
 nutes." 
 
 Mr. Tilney was polite enough to 
 seem interested in w^hat she said ; and 
 she kept him on the subject of muslins 
 till the dancing recommenced. Ca- 
 therine feared, as she listened to their 
 discourse, that he indulged himself a 
 little too much with the foibles of 
 others. — " What are you thinking of 
 so earnestly?" said he, as they w^alked 
 
 back
 
 ( 41 ) 
 
 back to the ball-room ; — " not of your 
 partner, I hope, for, by that shake of 
 the head, your meditations are not sa- 
 tisfactory." 
 
 Catherine coloured, and said, " I 
 was not thinking of any thing.'* 
 
 " That is artful and deep, to be 
 sure ; but I had rather be told at once 
 that you will not tell me." 
 
 " Well then, I will not." 
 
 ** Thank you ; for now we shall soon 
 be acquainted, as I am authorized to 
 tease you on this subject whenever we 
 meet, and nothing in the world ad- 
 vances intimacy so much." 
 
 They danced again ; and, when the 
 assembly closed, parted, on the lady's 
 side at least, with a strong inclination 
 for continuing the acquaintance. Whe- 
 ther she thought of him so much, 
 
 while
 
 ( 42 ) 
 
 while she drank her warm wine and 
 water, and prepared herself for bed, 
 as to dream of him when there, cannot 
 be ascertained ; but I hope it was no 
 more than in a slight slumber, or a 
 morning doze at most ; for if it be 
 true, as a celebrated writer has main- 
 tained, that no young lady can be jus- 
 tified in falling in love before the gen- 
 tleman's love is declared,* it must be 
 very improper that a young lady should 
 dream of a gentleman before the gen- 
 tleman is first known to have dreamt 
 of her. How proper Mr. Tilney might 
 be as a dreamer or a lover, had not yet 
 perhaps entered Mr. Allen's head, but 
 that he was not objectionable as a 
 common acquaintance for his young 
 
 * Vide a letter from Mr. Richardson, No. ^7* 
 vol. ii. Rambler. 
 
 charge
 
 ( 43 ) 
 
 charge he was on inquiry satisfied; 
 for he had early in the evening taken 
 pains to know who her partner was, 
 and had been assured of Mr. Til- 
 ney's being a clergyman, and of a 
 very respectable family in Gloucester- 
 shire. 
 
 CHAP-
 
 ( 44 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 With more than usual eagerness did 
 Catherine hasten to the Pump-room 
 the next day, secure within herself 
 of seeing Mr. Tilney there before the 
 morning were over, and ready to meet 
 him with a smile : — but no smile was 
 demanded — Mr. Tilney did not appear. 
 Every creature in Bath, except him- 
 self, was to be seen in the room at 
 different periods of the fashionable 
 hours ; crowds of people were every 
 moment passing in and out, up the 
 steps and down ; people whom no- 
 body cared about, and nobody wanted 
 to see; and he only was absent. 
 " What a delightful place Bath is/* 
 
 said
 
 ( 45 ) 
 
 said Mrs. Allen, as they sat clown near 
 the great clock, after parading the room 
 till they were tircd; "and how plea- 
 sant it would be if we had any ac- 
 quaintance here." 
 
 This sentiment had been uttered so 
 often in vain, that Mrs. Allen had no 
 particular reason to hope it would be 
 followed with more advantage now ; 
 but we are told to " despair of nothing 
 we would attain," as '• unwearied di- 
 ligence our point v/ould gain ;" and 
 the unwearied diligence with which 
 she had every day wished for the 
 same thing was at length to have its 
 just reward, for hardly had she been 
 seated ten minutes before a lady of 
 about her own age, who was sitting . 
 by her, and had been looking at her 
 attentively for several minutes, ad- 
 dressed
 
 (■46 ) 
 
 dressed her with great complaisance iu 
 these words : — '' I think, madam, I 
 cannot be mistaken ; it is a long time 
 since I had the pleasure of seeing you, 
 but is not your name Allen?" This 
 question answered, as it readily was, 
 the stranger pronounced her's to be 
 Thorpe; and Mrs. Allen immediately 
 recognized the features of a former 
 schoolfellow and intimate, whom she 
 had seen only once since their respec- 
 tive mairiages, and that many years 
 ago. Their joy on this meeting was 
 very great, as well it might, since they 
 had been contented to know nothing 
 of each other for the last fifteen years. 
 Compliments on good looks now 
 passed ; and, after observing how time 
 harl slipped away since they were last 
 together, how little they had thought 
 
 of
 
 ( 47 ) 
 
 of meeting in Bath, and what a plea- 
 sure it was to see an old friend, they 
 proceeded to make inquiries and give 
 intelligence as to their families, sisters^ 
 and cousins, talking both together, far 
 more ready to give than to receive in- 
 fonnation, and each hearing very little 
 of what the other said. Mrs. Thorpe, 
 however, had one great advantage as a 
 talker, over Mrs. Allen, in a family 
 of children ; and when she expatiated 
 on the talents of her sons, and the 
 beauty of her daughters, — when she 
 related their different situations and 
 views, — that John was at Oxford, 
 Edward at Merchant-Taylors', and 
 William at sea, — and all of them 
 more beloved and respected in their 
 different station than any other three 
 beings ever were^ Mrs. Allen had 
 no similar information to give, no si- 
 milar
 
 ( 4B ) 
 
 milar triumphs to press on the un- 
 willing and unbelieving ear of her 
 friend, and was forced to sit and ap- 
 pear to listen to all these maternal ef- 
 fusions, consoling herself, however, 
 with the discovery, which her keen 
 eye soon made, that the lace on Mrs. 
 Thorpe's pelisse was not half so hand- 
 some as that on her own. 
 
 '' Here come my dear girls," cried 
 Mrs, Thorpe, pointing at three smart 
 looking females, who, arm in arm, 
 were then moving towards her. '' My 
 dear Mrs. Allen, I long to introduce 
 them ; they will be so delighted to see 
 you : the tallest is Isabella, my eldest; 
 is not she a line young woman ? The 
 others are very much admired too, but 
 I beheve Isabella is the handsomest." 
 
 The Miss Thorpes were introduced ; 
 
 and
 
 ( 49 ) 
 
 and Miss Morland, who had been for 
 a short time forgotten, was introduced 
 hkcwise. The name seemed to strike 
 them all ; and, after speaking to her 
 with great civility, the eldest young 
 lady observed aloud to the rest, " How 
 excessively like her brother Miss Mor- 
 knd is 1" 
 
 *' The very picture of him indeed l** 
 cried the mother — and " I should have 
 known her anywhere for his sister!" 
 was repeated by them all, two or three 
 times over. For a moment Catherine 
 was surprized; but Mrs. Thorpe and 
 her daughters had scarcely begun the 
 history of their acquaintance with Mr. 
 James Morland, before she remembered 
 that her eldest brother had lately 
 formed an intimacy with a young man 
 of his own college, of the name of 
 
 VOL. T, D Thorpe;
 
 ( 50 ) 
 
 Thorpe ; and that he had spent the last 
 week of the Christmas vacation with 
 his family, near London. 
 
 The whole being explained, many 
 obliging things were said by the Miss 
 Thorpes of their wish of being better 
 acquainted with her ; of being consi- 
 dered as already friends, through the 
 friendship of their brothers, S:c, which 
 Catherine heard with pleasure, and an- 
 swered with all the pretty expressions 
 she could command ; and, as the first 
 proof of amity, she was soon invited 
 to accept an arm of the eldest Miss 
 Thorpe, and take a turn with her 
 about the room. Catherine was de- 
 lighted with this extension of her 
 Bath acquaintance, and almost forgot 
 Mr. Tilney while she talked to Miss 
 Thorpe. Friendship is certainly the 
 
 finegt
 
 ( 51 ) 
 
 finest balm for the pangs of disap-* 
 pointed love. 
 
 Their conversation turned upon those 
 subjects, of which the free discussion 
 has generally much to do in perfect- 
 ing a sudden intimacy between two 
 young ladies; such as dress, balls, 
 flirtations, and quizzes. Miss Thorpe, 
 however, being four years older than 
 Miss Morland, and at least four 
 years better informed, had a veiy de- 
 cided advantage in discussing such 
 points ; she could compare the balls 
 of Bath with those of Tunbridge ; its 
 fashions with the fashions of London; 
 could rectify the opinions of her new 
 friend in many articles of tasteful at- 
 tire ; could discover a flirtation between 
 any gentleman and lady who only 
 smiled on each other ; and point out a 
 D 2 quiz 
 
 LIBRAE r 
 
 UNlVEfiSiyY OF ILUNO(j
 
 . ( 52 ) 
 
 quiz through the thickness of a crowd. 
 These powers received due admiration 
 from Catherine, to whom they were en- 
 tirely new ; and the respect which they 
 naturally inspired might have been too 
 great for familiarity, had not the easy 
 gaiety of ^liss Thorpe's manners, and 
 her frequent expressions of delight on 
 this acquaintance with her, softened 
 down every feeling of awe, and left 
 nothing but tender aifection. Their 
 increasing attachment was not to be 
 satisfied with* half a dozen turns in 
 the Pump-room, but required, when 
 they all quitted it together, that ]\Iiss 
 Thorpe should accompany Miss Bor- 
 land to the very door of jNIr. Allen's 
 house; and that they should there 
 part with a most affectionate and 
 lengthened shake of hands, after learn- 
 ing,
 
 X 63 ) . 
 
 ing, to their mutual relief, that they 
 should see each other across the thea- 
 tre at night, and say their prayers in 
 the same chapel the next morning. 
 Catherine then ran directly up stairs, 
 and watched Miss Thorpe's progress 
 down the street from the drawing- 
 room window; admired the graceful 
 spirit of her walk, the fashionable 
 air of her figure and dress, and felt 
 grateful, as well she might, for the 
 chance which had procured her such a 
 friend. 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe was a widow, and not 
 a very rich one ; she was a good-hu- 
 moured, well-meaning woman, and a 
 very indulgent mother. Her eldest 
 daughter had great personal beauty, 
 and the younger ones, by pretending 
 to be as handsome as their sister, imi- 
 p 3 tating
 
 ( 54 ) 
 
 tatii;ig her air, and dressing in the 
 same style, did very well. 
 
 This brief account of the family is 
 intended to supersede the necessity of 
 a long and minute detail from Mrs. 
 Thorpe herself, of her past adventures 
 and suiferings, which might otherwise 
 be expected to occupy the three or 
 four following chapters ; in which the 
 worthlessness of lords and attornies 
 might be set forth, and conversations, 
 which had passed twenty years before, 
 be minutely repeated. 
 
 CHAP-
 
 ( ^^ ) 
 
 , CHAPTER V. 
 
 Catherine was not so much engaged 
 at the theatre that evening, in return- 
 ing the nods and smiles of Miss Thorpe, 
 though they certainly claimed much of 
 her leisure, as to forget to look with an 
 inquiring eye for Mr. Tihiey in every 
 box which her eye could reach ; but 
 she looked in vain. Mr. Tiiney was 
 no fonder of the play than the Pump* 
 room. She hoped to be more fortu- 
 nate the next day ; and when her 
 wishes for fine weather were answered 
 by seeing a beautiful morning, she 
 hardly felt a doubt of it; for a fine 
 Sunday in Bath empties every house 
 of its inhabitants, and all the world 
 D 4 appears
 
 ( ^i> ) 
 
 appears on such an occasion to walk- 
 about and tell their acquaintance what 
 a charming clay it is. 
 
 As soon as divine service was over, 
 the Thorpes and Aliens eagerly joined 
 each other; and after staying long 
 enough in the Pump-room to discover 
 that the crowd was insupportable, and 
 that there was not a genteel face to be 
 seen, which every body discovers every 
 Sunday throughout the season, they 
 hastened away to the Crescent, to 
 breathe the fresh air of better com- 
 pany. Here Catherine and Isabella, 
 arm in arm, again tasted the sweets of 
 friendship in an unreserved conversa- 
 tion; — they talked much, and with 
 much enjoyment ; but again was Ca- 
 therine disappointed in her hope of re- 
 i^eeing her partner. He was no where 
 
 to
 
 ( 57 ) 
 
 to be met with ; every search for hhn 
 was equally unsuccessful, in morning 
 lounges or evening assemblies ; neither 
 at the upper nor lower rooms, at 
 dressed or undressed balls, was he per- 
 ceivable ; nor among the walkers, the 
 horsemen, or the curricle-drivers of the 
 morning. His name was not in the 
 Pump-room book, and curiosity could do 
 no more. He must be gone from Bath. 
 Yet he had not mentioned that his stay 
 would be so short ! This sort of myS' 
 teriousness, which is always so becom- 
 ing in a hero, threw a fresh grace in 
 Catherine's imagination around his 
 person and manners, and increased her 
 anxiety to know more of him. From 
 the Thorpes she could learn nothing, 
 for they had been only two days in 
 Bath before thev met with Mrs. Allen. 
 1)3 It
 
 ( 58 ) 
 
 It was a subject, however, in which she 
 often indulged with her fair friend, from 
 whom she received every possible encou- 
 raoement to continue to think of him : 
 and his impression on her fancy was not 
 Suffered therefore to weaken. Isabella 
 was very sure that he must be a charm- 
 ing young man ; and was equally sure 
 that he must have been delighted with 
 her dear Catherine, and woukl there- 
 fore shortly return. She liked him the 
 better for being a clergyman, " for she 
 must confess herself very partial to the 
 profession ;'' and something like a sigh 
 escaped her as she said it. Perhaps 
 Catherine was wrong in not demand- 
 ing the cause of that gentle emotion — 
 but she was not experienced enough in 
 the linesse of love, or the duties of 
 friendship, to know when delicate rail- 
 lery
 
 ( 59 ) 
 
 lery was properly called for, or when a 
 confidence should be forced. 
 
 Mrs. Allen was now quite happy — 
 quite satisfied with Bath. She had 
 found some acquaintance, had been so 
 lucky too as to find in them the family 
 of a most worthy old friend ; and, as 
 the completion of good fortune, had 
 found these friends by no means so 
 expensively dressed as herself. Her 
 -daily expressions were no longer, " I 
 wish wc had some acquaintance in 
 Bath!" They were changed into— 
 '* How glad I am we have met with 
 Mrs. Thorpe !" — and she was as eager in 
 promoting the intercourse of the two 
 families, as her youi^g charge and Isa- 
 bella themselves could be ; never satis- 
 fied with the day unless she spent the 
 chief of it by tiie side of Mrs. Thorpe, 
 D 6 in
 
 ( 60 ) 
 
 in what they called conversation, but in 
 which there was scarcely ever any ex- 
 change of opinion, and not often any 
 resemblance of subject, for Mrs. Thorpe 
 talked chiefly of her children, and Mrs. 
 Allen of her gowns. 
 
 The progress of the friendship be- 
 tween Catherine and Isabella was 
 quick as its beginning had been warm, 
 and they passed so rapidly through 
 every gradation of increasing tender- 
 ness, that there was shortly no fresh 
 proof of it to be given to their friends 
 or themselves. They called each other 
 by their Christian name, were always 
 arm in arm when they walked, pinned 
 up each other's train for the dance, 
 and were not to be divided in the set ; 
 and if a rainy morning deprived them 
 of other enjoyments, they were still 
 
 resolute
 
 ( 61 ) 
 
 resolute in meeting in defiance of wet 
 and dirt, and shut themselves up, to 
 read novels together. Yes, novels ; — 
 for I will not adopt that ungenerous 
 and impolitic custom so common with 
 novel writers, of degrading by their 
 contemptuous censure the very per- 
 formances, to the number of which 
 they are themselves adding — joining 
 with their greatest enemies in bestow- 
 ing the harshest epithets on such works, 
 and scarcely ever permitting them to 
 be read by their own heroine, who, if 
 she accidentally take up a novel, is 
 sure to turn over its insipid pages with 
 disgust. Alas ! if the heroine of one 
 novel be not patronized by the heroine 
 of another, from whom can she expect 
 protection and regard? I cannot ap- 
 prove of it. Let us leave it to the Re- 
 
 vie^^^ers
 
 ( 62 ) 
 
 viewers to abuse such eiFusions of 
 fancy at their leisure, and over every 
 new novel to talk in threadbare 
 strains of the trash with which the 
 press now groans. Let ^is not desert 
 one another ; we are an injured body. 
 Although our productions have afforded 
 more extensive and unaifected pleasure 
 than those of any other literary corpo- 
 ration in the world, no species of com- 
 position has been so much decried » 
 From pride, ignorance, or fashion, our 
 foes are almost as many as our readers. 
 And while the abilities of the nincr 
 hundredth abridger of the History of 
 England, or of the man who collects 
 and publishes in a volume some dozen 
 lines of Milton, Pope, and Prior, with 
 a paper from th^ Spectator, and a chap- 
 ter from Sterne, are eulooized bv a 
 
 thousand
 
 ( 63 ) 
 
 thousand pens,— -there seems almost 
 a general wish of decrying the capa- 
 city and undervaluing the labour of 
 the novelist, and of slighting the per- 
 formances which have only genius, 
 wit, and taste to recommend therti, 
 ** I am no novel reader — I seldom look 
 into novels — Do not imagine that / 
 often read novels — It is really very 
 well for a novel." — Such is the common 
 cant. — '" And what are you reading. 
 Miss — ?" '' Oh ! it is only a no- 
 vel !" replies the young lady ; while 
 she lays down her book w^ith aifected 
 indifference, or momentary shame. — 
 " It is only Cecilia, or Camilla, or Be- 
 linda ;" or, in short, only some work in 
 which the greatest powers of the mind 
 are displayed, in wdiich the most tho- 
 rough
 
 ( 64 ) 
 
 rough knowledge of human nature, 
 the happiest dehneation of its varieties, 
 the livehest effusions of wit and hu- 
 mour are conveyed to the world in 
 the best chosen language. Now, had 
 the same young lady been engaged 
 with a volume of the Spectator, in- 
 stead of such a work, how proudly 
 would she have produced the book, 
 and told its name ; though the chances 
 must be against her being occupied 
 by any part of that voluminous publi- 
 cation, of which either the matter or 
 manner would not disgust a young 
 person of taste : the substance of its 
 papers so often consisting in the state- 
 ment of improbable circumstances, 
 unnatural characters, and topics of 
 conversation, which no longer con- 
 cern
 
 ( 65 ) 
 
 cern any one living; and their lan- 
 guage, too, frequently so coarse as to 
 give no very favourable idea of the 
 age that could endure it. 
 
 CHAP-
 
 C ee ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The following conversation, which 
 took place betv/een the two friends in 
 the Pump-room one morning, after an 
 acquaintance of eight or nine clays, is 
 given as a specimen of their very warm 
 attachment, and of the delicacy, dis- 
 cretion, originality of thought, and 
 literary taste which marked the rea- 
 sonableness of that attachment. 
 
 They met by appointment ; and as 
 Isabella had arrived nearly five minutes- 
 before her friend, her first address na- 
 turally was — '^ My dearest creature, 
 what can have made you so late ? I 
 have been waiting for you at least 
 this age !" 
 
 '' Have
 
 ( 67 ) 
 
 ^' Wave you, iiidetd ! — 1 am very 
 sorry for it; but really I thought I 
 was in very good time. It is but just 
 one. I hope you have not been here 
 long: r" 
 
 " Oh ! these ten ages at least. I 
 am sure I have been here this half 
 hour. But now, let us go and sit down 
 at the other end of the room, and 
 enjoy ourselves. I have an hundred 
 things to say to you. In the first 
 place, I was so afraid it would rain 
 this morning, just as I wanted to set 
 off; it looked very shoAvery, and that 
 would have thrown me into agonies ! 
 Do you know, I saw the prettiest hat 
 you can imagine, in a shop window in 
 Milsom-street just now — very like 
 yours, only with coquelicot ribbons 
 
 instead
 
 ( 68 ) 
 
 instead of green ; I quite longed for 
 it. But, my dearest Catherine, what 
 have you been doing with yourself all 
 this morning? — Have you gone on 
 withUdolpho?" 
 
 " Yes, I have been reading it ever 
 since I woke; and I am got to the 
 black veiL" 
 
 " Are you, indeed ? How delight- 
 ful 1 Oh ! I would not tell you what 
 is behind the black veil for the world ! 
 Are not you wild to know ?" 
 
 ** Oh! yes, quite; what can it be?~ 
 But do not tell me — I would not be 
 told upon any account. I know it 
 must be a skeleton, I am sure it is 
 Laurentina's skeleton. Oh ! 1 am de- 
 lighted with the book ! I should like 
 to spend my whole life in reading it. 
 
 I assure
 
 ( 69 ) 
 
 I assure you, if it had not been to 
 meet you, I would not have come away 
 from it for all the world." 
 
 " Dear creature ! how much I am 
 obliged to you ; and when you have 
 finished Udolpho, we will read the 
 Italian togetlicr; and I have made out 
 a list of ten or twelve more of the same 
 kind for you." 
 
 " Have you, indeed ! How glad I 
 am ! — What are they all ?" 
 
 " I will read you their names di- 
 rectly ; here they are, in my pocket- 
 book. Castle of Wolfenbach, Cler- 
 mont, Mysterious Warnings, Necro- 
 mancer of the Black Forest, Midnight 
 Bell, Orphan of the Rhine, and Honid 
 Mysteries. Those will last us some 
 time." 
 
 " Yes, pretty well ; but are they all 
 
 horrid,
 
 ( 70 ) 
 
 horrid, are you sure they are all hor- 
 rid?" 
 
 "Yes, quite sure; for a particular 
 friend of mine, a Miss Andrews, a 
 sweet girl, one of the sweetest crea- 
 tures in the world, has read every one of 
 them. I wish you knew Miss Andrews, 
 you would be delighted with her. Slie 
 is netting herself the sweetest cloak 
 you can conceive. I think her as 
 beautiful as an angel, and I am so 
 vexed with the men for not admiring 
 her! — I scold them all amazingly 
 about it." 
 
 " Scold them ! Do you scold them 
 for not admiring her ?" 
 
 " Yes, that I do. There is nothing 
 I would not do for those who are really 
 my friends. I have no notion of lov- 
 ing people by halves, it is not my 
 
 nature.
 
 ( 71. ) 
 
 nature. My attachments are always 
 excessively strong. I told Capt. Hunt 
 at one of our assemblies this winter, 
 that if he was to tease me all night, I 
 would not dance with him, unless he 
 would allow Miss Andrews to be as 
 beautiful as an angel. The men think 
 us incapable of real friendship you 
 know, and I am determined to shew 
 them the diiference. Now, if I were 
 to hear any body speak slightingly of 
 you, I should fire up in a moment : — 
 but that is not at all likely, for i/ou 
 are just the kind of girl to be a great 
 favourite with the men." 
 
 '' Oh ! dear," cried Catherine, co- 
 louring, '' how can you say so ?" 
 
 " I know you very well; you have 
 so much animation, which is exactly 
 what Miss Andrews wants, for I must 
 
 confess
 
 ( 73 ; 
 
 confess there is something amazingly 
 insipid about her. Oh ! I must tell 
 you, that just after we parted yester- 
 day, I saw a young man looking at 
 you so earnestly — I am sure he is 
 in love with you." Catherine co- 
 loured, and disclaimed again. Isabella 
 laughed. " It is very true, upon my 
 honour, but I sec how it is ; you are 
 indifferent to every body's admiration, 
 except that of one gentleman, who 
 shall be nameless. Nay, I cannot 
 blame you — (speaking more seriously) 
 — your feelings are easily understood. 
 Where the heart is really attached, I 
 know very well how little one can be 
 pleased with the attention of any b xiy 
 else. Every thing is so insipid, so un- 
 interesting, that docs not relate to the 
 beloved object ! I can perfectly com- 
 prehend your feelings." 
 
 " But
 
 ( 1(^ ) 
 
 *' But you should not persuade me 
 that I think so very much about Mr. 
 Tihiey, for perhaps I may never see 
 him again." 
 
 " Not see him again ! My dearest 
 creature, do not talk of it. I am sure 
 you would be miserable if you thought 
 ,so," 
 
 " No, indeed, I should not. I do 
 not pretend to say that I was not very 
 much pleased with him ; but while I 
 have Udolpho to read, I feel as if no- 
 body could make me miserable. Oh I 
 the dreadful black veil ! My dear Isa- 
 bella, I am sure there must be Lauren- 
 tina's skeleton behind it." 
 
 " It is so odd to me, that you should 
 never have read Udolpho before; but 
 I suppose ]\frs. Morland objects to 
 novels." 
 
 VOL. T. £ " No,
 
 ( 74 ) 
 
 *' No, she does not. She very often 
 reads Sir Charles Grandison herself; 
 but new books do not fall in our 
 way." 
 
 " Sir Charles Grandison ! That is 
 an amazing horrid book, is it not ? — 
 I remember Miss Andrews could not 
 get through the first volume." 
 
 " It is not like Udolpho at all ; but 
 yet I think it is very entertaining." 
 
 " Do you indeed ! — you surprize me; 
 I thought it had not been readable. 
 But, my dearest Catherine, have 3 ou 
 settled what to wear on your head to- 
 night ? I am detemiined at all events 
 to be dressed exactly like you. The 
 men take notice of that sometimes you 
 know." 
 
 '^ But it does not signify if they do;" 
 said Catherine, very innocently. 
 
 *^ Signify !
 
 ( 75 ) 
 
 '* Signify ! Oh, heavens ! I make 
 it a rule never to mind what they say. 
 They are very often amazingly imper- 
 tinent if you do not treat them with 
 spirit, and make them keep their dis- 
 tance." 
 
 " Are they? — Well, I never observed 
 that. They always behave very well 
 tome." 
 
 - '^*0h! they give themselves such 
 airs. They are the most conceited 
 creatures in the world, and think them- 
 selves of so much importance ! — By the 
 bye, though I have thought of it a 
 hundred times, I have always forgot 
 to ask you what is your favourite 
 complexion in a man. Do you like 
 them best dark or fair ?" 
 
 " I hardly know. I never much 
 
 thought about it. Something between 
 
 E SI both,
 
 ( 1^ ) 
 
 both, I think. Brown — not fair, and 
 and not very dark." 
 
 " Very well, Catherine. That is 
 exactly he. I have not forgot your 
 description of Mr. Tilney ; — ' a brown 
 skin, with dark eyes, and rather dark 
 hair.' — Well, my taste is different. I 
 prefer light eyes, and as to complexion 
 — do you know — I like a sallow better 
 than any other. You must not be- 
 tray me, if you should ever meet with 
 one of your acquaintance answering 
 that description." 
 
 " Betray you ! — What do you mean?" 
 *' Nay, do not distress me. I be- 
 lieve I have said too much. Let us 
 drop the subject." 
 
 3 
 
 Catherine, in some amazement, com- 
 plied; and after remaining a few mo- 
 ments silent, was on the point of re- 
 verting
 
 ( ->! ) 
 
 verting to what interested her at that 
 time rather more than any thing else 
 in the world, Laurentina's skeleton"; 
 when her friend prevented her, by say- 
 ing, — " For Heaven's sake ! let us move 
 away from this end of the room. Do 
 you know, there are two odious young- 
 men who have been staring at me this 
 half hour. They reaUy put me quite 
 out of countenance. Let us go and 
 look at the arrivals. They will hardly 
 follow us there." 
 
 Away they walked to the book ; 
 and while Isabella examined the 
 names, it was Catherine's employment 
 to watch the proceedings of these 
 alarming young men. 
 
 ^' They are not coming this way, 
 are they ? I hope they are not so im- 
 pertinent as to follow us. Pray let 
 E 3 me
 
 ( 78 ) 
 
 me know if they are coming. I am 
 determined I will not look up." 
 
 In a few moments Catherine, with 
 unaffected pleasure, assured her that she 
 need not be longer uneasy, as the gen- 
 tlemen had just left the Pump-room. 
 
 " And which way are they gone?" 
 said Isabella, turning hastily round. 
 " One was a very good-looking young 
 man." 
 
 " They went towards the church* 
 yard." 
 
 " Well, I am amazingly glad 1 have 
 got rid of them ! And now, what say 
 you to going to Edgar's Buildings with 
 me, and looking at my new hat? You 
 said you should like to see it." 
 
 Catherine readily agreed. " Only," 
 «he added, " perhaps we may overtake 
 the two young men." 
 
 "Oh>
 
 ( 79 ) 
 
 " Oh ! never mind that. If we 
 make haste, we sliall pass by then> 
 presently, and I am dying to shew you 
 my hat." 
 
 " But if we only wait a few mi- 
 nutes, there will be no danger of our 
 seeing them at all." 
 
 '* I shall not pay them any such 
 compliment, I assure you. I have 
 no notion of treating men with such 
 respect. That is the way to spoil 
 them." 
 
 Catherine had nothing to oppose 
 against such reasoning; and there- 
 fore, to shew the independence of 
 Miss Thorpe, and her resolution of 
 humbling the sex, they set off imme- 
 diately as fast as they could walk, in 
 pursuit of the two young men. 
 
 E 4 CHAP-
 
 ( 80 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Half a minute conducted them through 
 the Pump-yard to the archway, op- 
 posite Union-passage; but here they 
 were stopped. Every body acquainted 
 with Bath may remember the diffi- 
 culties of crossing Cheap-street at this 
 point ; it is indeed a street of so im- 
 pertinent a nature, so unfortunately 
 connected with the great London and 
 Oxford roads, and the principal inn of 
 the city, that a day never |>asses in 
 which parties of ladies, . however im- 
 portant their business, whether in quest 
 of pastry, millinery, or even (as in the 
 present case) of young men, are not 
 detained on one side or other by car- 
 riages.
 
 ( 81 ) 
 
 Hages, horsemen, or carts. Tliis evil 
 had been felt and lamented, at least 
 three times a day, by Isabella since her 
 residence in Bath ; and she was now 
 fated to feel and lament it once more, 
 for at the very moment of coming op- 
 posite to Union-passage, and within 
 view of the two gentlemen who were 
 proceeding through the crowds, and 
 threading the gutters of that interest- 
 ing alley, they were prevented crossing 
 by the approach of a gig, driven along 
 on bad pavement by a most knowing- 
 looking coachman with all the ve- 
 hemence that could most fitly endan- 
 ger the lives of himself, his compa- 
 nion, and his horse. 
 
 '' Oh, these odious gigs !'* said Isa- 
 bella, looking up, '^ how I detest 
 them." But this detestation, though 
 E 5 so
 
 ( 82 ) 
 
 SO just, was of short duration, for she 
 looked again and exclaimed, " De- 
 lightful! Mr. Morland and my bro- 
 ther!" 
 
 " Good heaven ! 'tis James I" was 
 uttered at the same moment by Ca- 
 therine; and, on catching the young 
 men's eyes, the horse was immediately 
 checked with a violence which almost 
 threw him on his haunches, and the 
 servant having now scampered up, 
 the gentlemen jumped out, and the 
 equipage was delivered to his care. 
 
 Catherine, by whom this meeting was 
 wholly unexpected, received her bro- 
 ther with the liveliest pleasure ; and he, 
 being of a very amiable disposition, 
 and sincerely attached to her, gave 
 every proof on his side of equal satis- 
 faction, which he could have leisure 
 
 to
 
 ( 83 ) 
 
 to do, while the bright eyes of Miss 
 Thorpe were incessantly challenging 
 his notice ; and to her his devoirs were 
 speedily paid, with a mixture of joy 
 and embarrassment which might have 
 informed Catherine, had she been 
 more expert in the developement of 
 other people's feelings, and less sin> 
 ply engrossed by her own, that her 
 brother thought her friend quite as 
 pretty as she could do herself. 
 
 John Thorpe, who in the mean time 
 had been giving orders, about the 
 horses, soon joined them, and from 
 him she directly received the amends 
 which were her due; for while he 
 slightly and carelessly touched the 
 hand of Isabella, on her he bestowed 
 a whole scrape and half a short bow. 
 He was a stout young man of mid- 
 i: 6* dling:
 
 ( 8^ ) 
 
 dling ^height, who, with a plain face 
 and ungraceful form, seemed fearful 
 of being too handsome unless he wore 
 the dress of a groom, and too much 
 hke a gentleman unless he were easy 
 where he ought to be civil, and impu- 
 dent where he might be allowed to be 
 easy. He took out his watch : '' How 
 long do you think we have been run- 
 ning it from Tetbury^ Miss Morland r" 
 
 " I do not know the distance." Her 
 brother told her that it was twenty- 
 s three miles. 
 
 " 77iree-and-twenty T' cried Thorpe; 
 " five-and-twenty if it is an inch." 
 Morland remonstrated, pleaded the 
 authority of road-books, innkeepers, 
 and milestones; but his friend disre- 
 garded them all ; he had a surer test of 
 distance. '^ I know it must be five- 
 and-twenty,"
 
 ( 85 ) 
 
 and-tvvcnty," said he, " by the time 
 we have been<.loing it. It is now half 
 after one ; we drove out of the inn- 
 yard at Tetbury as the town-clock 
 struck eleven ; and I defy any man in 
 England to make my horse go less 
 than ten miles an hour in harness; 
 that makes it exactly twenty-five." 
 
 " You have lost an hour," said Mor- 
 land; " it was only ten o'clock when 
 we came from Tetbury." 
 
 " Ten o'clock 1 it was eleven, upon 
 my soul 1 I counted every stroke. 
 This brother of yours would persuade 
 me out of my senses, Miss Morland ; 
 do but look at my horse; did you 
 ever see an animal so made for speed 
 in your life?" (The servant had just 
 mounted the carriage and was driving 
 off.) " Such true blood ! Three hours 
 
 and
 
 ( 86 ) 
 
 and a half indeed coming only three- 
 and-twenty miles 1 look at that crea- 
 ture, and suppose it possible if you 
 can." 
 
 " He does look very hot to be sure." 
 " Hot ! he had not turned a hair till 
 we came to Walcot Church : but look 
 at his forehand ; look at his loins ; 
 only see how he moves ; that horse 
 ' cannot go less than ten miles an hour : 
 tie his legs and he will get on. What 
 do you think of my gig, Miss Mor- 
 land? a neat one, is not it? Well 
 hung ; town built ; I have not had it 
 a month. It was built for a Christ- 
 church man, a friend of mine, a very 
 good sort of fellow ; he ran it a few 
 weeks, till, I believe, it was conve- 
 nient to have done with it. I hap- 
 pened just then to be looking out for 
 
 some
 
 ( 87 ) 
 
 some light tiling of the kind, though 
 I had pretty well determined on a cur- 
 ricle too ; but I chanced to meet him 
 on Magdalen Bridge, as he was driving 
 into Oxford, last term : ' Ah ! Thorpe,' 
 said he, * do you happen to want such 
 a little thing as this ? it is a capital 
 one of the kind, but I am cursed tired 
 
 of it/ *OhI d ,' said I, 'I am 
 
 your man; what do you ask?' And 
 how much do you think he did, IMiss 
 ^lorland?" 
 
 " 1 am sure I cannot guess at all." 
 " Curricle-hung you see; seat, trunk, 
 sword-case, splashing-board, lamps, sil- 
 ver moulding, all you see complete ; the 
 iron-work as good as new, or better. 
 He asked fifty guineas ; I closed with 
 him directly, threw down the money, 
 and the carriage was mine." 
 
 '' And
 
 ( 88 ) 
 
 " And I am sure," said Catherine, 
 *• I know so little of such thinsrs that 
 I cannot judge whether it was cheap 
 or dear." 
 
 " Neither one nor t other ; I might 
 have got it for less I dare say ; but 
 I hate haggling, and poor Freeman 
 wanted cash." 
 
 ^,_ " That was very good-natured of 
 yoUj" said Catherine, quite pleased. 
 
 '• Oh ! d it, when one has the 
 
 means of doing a kind thing by a 
 friend, I hate to be pitiful." 
 
 An inquiry now took place into the 
 intended movements of the young la- 
 dies; and, on finding whither they 
 were going, it was decided that the 
 gentlemen should accompany them to 
 Edgar's Buildings, and pay their re- 
 spects to Mrs. Thorpe, James and 
 
 Isabella
 
 ( 89 ) 
 
 Isabella led the way ; and so well sa- 
 tisfied was the latter with her lot, so 
 contentedly was she endeavouring to 
 ensure a pleasant walk to him who 
 brought the double recommendation of 
 being her brother's friend, and her 
 friend's brother, so pure and uiico- 
 quettish were her feelings, that, though 
 they overtook and passed the two of- 
 fending young men in Mirsom-street, 
 she was so far from seeking to attract 
 4:heirnotice, that she looked back at 
 them only three times. 
 
 John Thorpe kept of course with 
 Catherine, and, after a few minutes' 
 silence, renewed the conversation about 
 his gig — " You will find, however, Miss 
 Morland, it would be reckoned a cheap 
 thing by some people, for I might 
 have sold it for ten guineas more the 
 
 next
 
 ( 90 ) 
 
 next clay ; Jackson, of Oriel, bid me 
 sixty at once ; Morland was with me 
 at the time." 
 
 " Yes," said Morland, who over- 
 heard this ; " but you forget that your 
 horse was included." 
 
 *' My horse ! oh, d — — it ! I would 
 not sell my horse for a hundred. Are 
 you fond of an open carriage, Miss 
 Morland?" 
 
 *^ Yes, very ; I have hardly ever an 
 opportunity of being in one; but I 
 am particularly fond of it." 
 
 *^ I am glad of it ; 1 will drive you 
 out in mine every day." 
 
 " Thank you," said Catherine, in 
 some distress, from a doubt of the pro- 
 priety of accepting such an offer. 
 
 ** I will drive you up Lansdown 
 Hill to-morrow." 
 
 " Thank
 
 ( 91 ) 
 
 ** Thank you ; but will not your 
 horse want rest ?" 
 
 " Rest! he has only come three-and- 
 twenty miles to-day ; all nonsense ; 
 nothing ruins horses so much as rest ; 
 nothing knocks them up so soon. No, 
 no; I shall exercise mine at the aver- 
 fige of four hours every day while I 
 am here." 
 
 ** Shall you indeed !" said Catherine 
 very seriously, ** that v/ill be forty 
 miles a day." 
 
 *' Forty ! aye fifty, fcH' what I care. 
 Well, I will drive you up Lansdown 
 to-morrow ; mind, I am engaged." 
 
 " How delightful that will be !" 
 cried Isabella, turning round ; " my 
 dearest Catherine, I quite envy you ; 
 but I am afraid, brother, you will not 
 have room for a third." 
 
 "A
 
 ( 92 ) 
 
 . " A third indeed ! no, no; I did not 
 come to Bath to drive my sisters about^ 
 that would be a good joke, faith ! 
 Morland must take care of you." 
 
 This brought on a dialogue of ci- 
 vilities between the other two; but 
 Catherine heard neither the particulars 
 nor the result. Her companion's dist 
 course now sunk from its hitherto ani- 
 mated pitch, to nothing, more than a 
 short decisive sentence of praise or 
 condemnation on the face of every 
 woman they met ; and Catherine, af- 
 ter listening and agreeing as long as 
 she could, with all the civility and de- 
 ference of the youthful female mind, 
 fearful of hazarding an opinion of its 
 own in opposition to that of a self- 
 assured man, especially where the 
 beauty of her own sex is concerned, 
 
 ventured
 
 ( 93 ) 
 
 Vientured at length to vary tlie^sul^ject 
 by a question which had been long 
 uppermost in her thoughts; it was, 
 " Have you ever read Udolpho, Mr/ 
 Thorpe?" 
 
 "Udolphol Oh, Lordi not I ; I 
 never read novels • I have something 
 else to do/' 
 
 Catherine, humbled and ashamed, 
 was going to apologize for her ques- 
 tion, but he prevented her by saying, 
 " Novels are all so full of nonsense and 
 stuff; there has not been a tolerably 
 decent one come out since Tom Jones, 
 except the Monk ; I read that t'other 
 day ; but as for all the others, they are 
 the stupidest things in creation." 
 
 " I think you must like Udolpho, if 
 you were to read it ; it is so very in- 
 teresting." 
 
 " Not
 
 ( 94 ) 
 
 "Not I, faith ! No, if I read any. 
 it shall be Mrs. Raclchff 's ; her novels 
 are amusing enough ; they are worth 
 reading; some fun and nature in tkem.'^ 
 " Udolpho was written by Mrs, 
 Radcliff," said Catheiine, with sonic 
 hesitation, from the fear of mortifying 
 him. 
 
 " No sure; was it? Aye, I remem- 
 ber, so it was ; I was thinking of that 
 other stupid book, written by that 
 woman they make such a fuss about. 
 ^hQ who married the French emigrant." 
 *' I suppose you mean Camilla ?'' 
 " Yes, that's the book ; such unna- 
 tural stuff! — An old man playing at 
 see-saw! I took up the hrst volume 
 once and looked it over, but I soon 
 found it would not do ; indeed I 
 guessed what sort of stuff it must bo 
 
 before
 
 ( 95 ) 
 
 before I saw it : as soon as I heard she 
 had married an emigrant, I was sure I 
 should never be able to get through it." 
 
 " I have never read it" 
 
 " You had no loss I assure you ; it 
 is the horridest nonsense you can ima- 
 gine ; there is nothing in the world in 
 it but an old man's playing at see-saw 
 and learning Latin; upon my soul 
 ^ere is not" 
 
 This critique, the justness of which 
 was unfortunately lost on poor Cathe- 
 rine, brought them to the door of 
 Mrs. Thorpe's lodgings, and the feel- 
 mgs of the discerning and unpreju- 
 diced reader of Camilla gav^e way to 
 the feelings of the dutiful and affec- 
 tionate son, as they met Mrs. Thorpe, 
 who had descried them from above, in 
 the passage. " Ah, mother ! how do 
 
 you
 
 ( 96- ) 
 
 you do r" said he, giving her a hearty 
 shake of the hand: "where did you 
 get that quiz of a hat, it makes you 
 look Hke an old witch ? Here is Mor- 
 land and I come to stay a few days 
 with you, so you must look out for a 
 couple of good beds some where near/' 
 And this address seemed to satisfy all 
 the fondest wishes of the mother's 
 heart, for she received him with the 
 most delighted and exulting affection. 
 On his two younger sisters he then 
 bestowed an equal portion of his fra- 
 ternal tenderness, for he asked each of 
 them how they did, and observed that 
 they both looked very ugly. 
 
 These manners did not please Ca- 
 therine ; but he was James's friend 
 and Isabella's brother; and her judg- 
 ment was further bought oif by Isa- 
 bella's
 
 ( 97 ) 
 
 bella's assuring her, when they with- 
 drew to see tlie new hat, that John 
 thought her the most charnnng girl in 
 the world, and by John's engaging her 
 before they parted to dance with liini 
 that evening. Had she been older or 
 vainer, such attacks might have done 
 httle ; but, where youth and diffidence 
 are united, it requires uncommon stea- 
 diness of reason to resist the attraction 
 of being called the most charming girl 
 in the world, and of being so very 
 early engaged as a partner; and the 
 consequence was, that, when the two 
 Morlands, after sitting an hour with 
 the Thorpes, set oiF to walk together 
 to Mr. Allen's, and James, as the door 
 was closed on them, said, '' Well, Ca- 
 thei-ine, how do you like my friend 
 Thorpe ?" instead of answering, as she 
 VOL. I. F probably
 
 ( 98 ) 
 
 probably would have done, had there 
 been no friendship and no flattery in 
 the case, " I do not like him at all ;" 
 she directly replied, " I like him very 
 much ; he seems very agreeable." 
 
 ^* He is as good-natured a fellow as 
 ever lived ; a little of a rattle ; but 
 that will recommend him to your sex 
 I believe : and how do you like the 
 rest of the family ?" 
 
 " Very, very much indeed : Isabella 
 particularly." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear you say so ; 
 she is just the kind of young woman 
 I could wish to see you attached to ; 
 she has so much good sense, and is so 
 thoroughly unaffected and amiable ; I 
 always wanted you to know her ; and 
 she seems very fond of you. She said 
 the highest things in your praise that 
 
 could
 
 ( 99 ) 
 
 could possibly be ; and the praise of 
 such a girl as Miss Thorpe even you, 
 Catherine," taking her hand with af- 
 fection, " may be proud of." 
 
 " Indeed I am," she replied ; " I 
 love her exceedingly, and am delighted 
 to find that you like her too. You 
 hardly mentioned any thing of her, 
 when you wrote to me after your visit 
 there." 
 
 " Because I thought I should soon 
 5ee you myself. I hope you will be a 
 great deal together while you are in 
 Bath. She is a most amiable girl ; 
 such a superior understanding! How 
 fond all the family are of her ; she is 
 evidently the general favourite ; and 
 how much she must be admired in 
 *fuch a place as this — is not she ?" 
 
 F 2 " Yes,
 
 ( 100 ) 
 
 " Yes, very much indeed, I fancy ; 
 Mr. Allen thinks her the prettiest girl 
 in Bath." 
 
 *' I dare say he does ; and I do not 
 know any man who is a hetter judge 
 of beauty than Mr. Allen. I need 
 not ask you whether you are happy 
 here, my dear Catherine ; with such 
 a companion and friend as Isabella 
 Thorpe, it would ])e impossible for 
 you to be otherwise ; and the Aliens 
 I am sure are very kind to you ?" 
 
 " Yes, very kind ; I never was so 
 happy before ; and now you are come 
 it will be more delightful than ever ; 
 how good it is of you to come so far 
 on purpose to see me.'^ 
 
 James accepted this tribute t)f grati- 
 tude, and qualified his conscience for 
 
 accepting
 
 ( 101 ) 
 
 accepting it too, by saying with perfect 
 sincerity, " Indeed, Catherine, I love 
 you dearly." 
 
 Inquiries and communications con- 
 cerning brothers and sisters, the situa- 
 tion of some, the growth of the rest, 
 and other family matters, now passed 
 between them, and continued, with 
 only one small digression on James's 
 part, in praise of Miss Thorpe, till 
 they reached Pulteney-street, where 
 he wajs welcomed with great kindness 
 by Mr. and Mrs. Allen, invited by the 
 former to dine with them, and sum- 
 moned by the latter to guess the price 
 and weigh the merits of a new muiF 
 and tippet. A prc-engagement in Ed- 
 gar's Buildings prevented his accept- 
 ing the invitation of one friend, and 
 obliged him to hurry away as soon as 
 F 3 he
 
 ( 102 ) 
 
 lie had satisfied tlie demands of the 
 other. The time of the two parties 
 uniting in the Octagon Room being 
 correctly adjusted, Catherine was then 
 left to the luxury of a raised, restless, 
 and frightened imagination over the 
 pages of Udolpho, lost from all worldly 
 concerns of dressing and dinner, inca- 
 pable of soothing Mrs. Allen's fears on 
 the delay of an expected dress-maker, 
 and having only one minute in sixty 
 to bestow even on the reflection of her 
 own felicity, in being already engaged 
 for the evening. 
 
 CHAP-
 
 ( 103 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 In spite of Udolpho and the dress- 
 maker, however, the party from Pulte- 
 ney-street reached the Upper- rooms in 
 very good time. The Thorpes and 
 James Morland were there only two^ 
 minutes before them ; and Isabella 
 having gone through the usual cere- 
 monial of meeting her friend with the 
 most smiling and affectionate haste, of 
 admiring the set of her gown, and en- 
 vying the curl of her hair, they fol- 
 lowed their chaperons, arm in arm, in- 
 to the ball-room, whispering to each 
 other whenever a thought occurred, 
 and supplying the place of many ideas 
 F 4 by
 
 ( 104 ) 
 
 by a squeeze of the hand or .a smile of 
 affection. 
 
 The dancing began within a few 
 minutes after tliey were seated ; and 
 James, who had been engaged quite as 
 long as his sister, was very importunate 
 with Isabella to stand up; but John 
 was gone into the card-room to speak 
 to a friend, and nothing, she declared, 
 should induce her to join the set be* 
 fore her dear Catherine could join it too : 
 " I assure you," said she, " I would not 
 stand up without your dear sister for 
 all the world ; for if I did we should 
 certainly be separated the whole evenr 
 ing.'' Catherine accepted this kind- 
 ness with gratitude, and they conti- 
 nued as they were for three minutes 
 logger, when Isabella, who had been 
 
 talking
 
 ( 105 ) 
 
 talking to James on the other side of 
 her, turned again to his sister and 
 whispered, " My dear creature, I am 
 afraid I must leave you, your brother 
 is so amazingly impatient to begin ; I 
 know you will not mind my going 
 away, and I dare say John will be 
 back in a moment, and then you may ea- 
 sily find me out." ' Catherine, though a 
 little disappointed, had too much good- 
 nature to make any opposition, and 
 the others. rising up, Isabella had only 
 time to press her friend's hand and say, 
 " Good bye, my dear love," before 
 tliey hurried off. The younger ^liss 
 Thorpes being also dancing, Catherine 
 was left to the mercy of Mrs. Thorpe 
 and Mrs. Allen, between whom she 
 now remained. She could not help 
 being vexed at the non-appearance of 
 F 5 Mr.
 
 ( 106 ) 
 
 Mr. Thorpe, for she not only longed 
 to be dancing, but was likewise aware 
 that, as the real dignity of her situa- 
 tion could not be known, she was 
 sharing with the scores of other young 
 ladies still sitting down all the discredit 
 of wanting a partner. To be disgraced 
 in the eye of the world, to wear the 
 appearance of infamy while her heart 
 is all purity, her actions all innocence, 
 and the misconduct of another the 
 true source of her debasement, is one 
 of those circumstances which pecu- 
 liarly belong to the heroine's life, and 
 her fortitude under it what particularly 
 dignifies her character. Catherine had 
 fortitude too; she suffered, but no 
 murmur passed her lips. 
 
 From this state of humiliation, she 
 was roused, at the end of ten minutes, 
 
 to
 
 ( 107 ) 
 
 to a pleasanter feeling, by seeing, not 
 Mr. Thorpe, but Mr. Tilney, within 
 three yards of the place where they 
 sat ; he seemed to be moving that way, 
 but he did not see her, and therefore 
 the smile and the blush, which his sud- 
 den reappearance raised in Catherine, 
 passed away without sullying her he- 
 roic importance. He looked as hand- 
 some and as lively as ever, and was 
 talking with interest to a fashionable 
 and pleasing-looking young woman, 
 who leant on his arm^ and w^iom Ca- 
 therine immediately guessed to be his 
 sister ; thus unthinkingly throwing 
 away a fair opportunity of considering 
 him lost to her for ever, by being m^i- 
 ricd already. But guided only by 
 what was simple and probable, it had 
 never entered her head that Mr. Tilney, 
 F 6 could
 
 ( 108 ) 
 
 could be married; lie had not behaved, 
 he- had not talked, like the married 
 men to whoii\ she liad been used ; he 
 had never mentioned a wife, and he 
 had acknowledged a sister. From these 
 circumstances sprang the instant con- 
 elusion of his sister's now being by his 
 side; and therefore, instead of turning 
 of a deathlike paleness, and falling in 
 a fit on Mrs. Allen's bosom, Catherine 
 sat erect, in tlie perfect use of her 
 senses, and with cliceks only a little 
 redder than usual. 
 
 Mr. Tilney and his companion, Avho 
 continued, though slowly, to approacli, 
 were immediately preceded by a lady, 
 an acquaintance of Mrs. Thorpe ; and 
 this lady stopping to sj)cak to her, 
 they, as belonging to her, stopped like- 
 wise, and Catherine, catching Mr. 
 
 Tilnev's
 
 ( 109 ) 
 
 Tilney's eye, instantly receiv^ed from 
 liim the smiling tribute of recognition. 
 She returned it with pleasure, and 
 then advancing still nearer, he spoke 
 both to her and Mrs. Allen, by whom 
 ke was very civilly acknowledged. 
 " I am very happy to see you again, 
 sir, indeed; I was afraid you had 
 left Bath." He thanked her for her 
 fears, and said that he had quitted 
 it for a week, on the very morning 
 after his having had the pleasure of 
 seeius; her. 
 
 '' Well, sir, and I dare say you arc 
 liot sorry to be back again, for it is 
 just the place for young people — and 
 indeed for ever}^ body else too. I tell 
 Mr. Allen, when he talks of being 
 sick of it, that I am sure he should not 
 complain, for it is so very agreeable a 
 
 place,
 
 ( no ) 
 
 place, that it is much better to be here 
 than at home at this dull time of year. 
 I tell him he is quite in luck to be sent 
 here for his health." 
 
 " And I hope, madam, that Mr. Al- 
 len will be obliged to like the place, 
 from finding it of service to him." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. I have no doubt 
 that he will. — A neighbour of ours, 
 Dr. Skinner, was here for his health 
 last winter, and came away quite 
 stout." 
 
 '' That circumstance must give great 
 encou ragement. " 
 
 *' Yes, sir — and Dr. Skinner and his 
 family were here three months ; so I 
 tell Mr. Allen he must not be in a 
 hurry to get away." 
 
 Here they were interrupted by a 
 request from Mrs. Thorpe to Mrs. Al- 
 len,
 
 ( 111 ) 
 
 len, that she would move a little to 
 accommodate Mrs. Hughes and Miss 
 Tilney with seats, as they had agreed 
 to join their party. This was accord- 
 ingly done, Mr. Tilney still continuing 
 standing before them ; and after a few 
 minutes consideration, he asked Cathe- 
 rine to dance with him. This compli- 
 ment, delightful as it was, produced 
 severe mortification to the lady ; and 
 in giving her denial, she expressed her 
 sorrow on the occasion so very much 
 as if she really felt it, that had 
 Thorpe, who joined her just after- 
 wards, been half a minute earlier, he 
 might have thought her sufferings 
 rather too acute. The very easy man- 
 ner in which he then told her that he 
 had kept her waiting, did not by any 
 means reconcile her more to her lot ; 
 
 nor
 
 ( 112 ) 
 
 nor did the particulars which he en- 
 tered into while they were standing? 
 up, of the horses and dogs of the 
 friend whom he had just left, and of a 
 proposed exchange of terriers between 
 #i:em, interest her so much as to pre- 
 vent her looking very ofteu towards 
 that part of the room where she had 
 left Mr. Tilney. Of her dear Isabella, 
 to whom she particularly longed to 
 point out that gentleman, she coidd 
 see nothing. They were in. different 
 sets. She was separated from all her 
 party, and away from all her acquaint- 
 ance ; — one mortification succeeded 
 another, and from the whole she de- 
 duced this useful lesson, that to go 
 previously engaged to. a ball, does not 
 necessarily increase either the dignity 
 or enjoyment of a young lady^ From 
 
 such
 
 ( 113 ) 
 
 such a moralizing strain as this, she 
 was suddenly roused by a touch trn the 
 shoulder, and turning round, perceived 
 Mrs. Hughes directly behind her, at- 
 tended by Miss Tilney and a gentle- 
 man. *' I beg your pardon, Miss Mor- 
 land," said she, ^' for this liberty, — but 
 I cannot any how get to Miss Thorpe, 
 and Mrs. Thorpe said she was sure 
 you would not have the least objection 
 to letting in this young lady by you." 
 Mrs. Hughes could not have applied 
 to any creature in the room more 
 happy to oblige her than Catherine. 
 The young ladies were introduced to 
 each other, Miss Tilney expressing a 
 proper sense of such goodness, Miss 
 Morland with the i-eal delicacy of a 
 generous mind making light of the 
 obligation ; and Mrs. Hughes, satisfied 
 
 with
 
 C 114 ) 
 
 with having so respectably settled her 
 young charge, returned to her party. 
 
 Miss Tilney had a good figure, a 
 pretty face, and a very agreeable coun- 
 tenance ; and her air, though it had not 
 all the decided pretension, the resolute 
 stilishness of Miss Thorpe's, had more 
 real elegance. Her manners shewed 
 good sense and good breeding; they 
 were neither shy, nor affectedly open ; 
 and she seemed capable of being- 
 young, attractive, and at a ball, with- 
 out wanting to ^x the attention of 
 every man near her, and without ex- 
 aggerated feelings of extatic delight 
 or inconceivable vexation on every 
 little trifling occurrence. Catherine, 
 interested at once by her appearance 
 and her relationship to Mr. Tilney^ 
 was desirous of being acquainted with 
 
 her,
 
 ( 115 ) 
 
 her, and readily talked therefore when- 
 ever she could think of any thing to 
 say, and had courage and leis\ire for 
 saying it. But the hindrance thrown 
 in the w^ay of a very speedy intimacy, 
 by the frequent want of one or more 
 of these requisites, prevented their 
 doing more tlian going through the first 
 rudiments of an acquaintance, by in- 
 forming themselves how well the other 
 hked Bath, how much she admired its 
 buildings and surrounding country, 
 whether she drew, or played or sang, 
 and whether she was fond of riding on 
 liorseback. 
 
 The two dances were scarcely con^ 
 eluded before Catherine found her arm 
 gently seized by her faithful Isabella, 
 who in great spirits exclaimed — " At 
 last I have got you. My dearest crea- 
 ture,
 
 ( 116 ) 
 
 ture, 1 have been looking for you this 
 hour. What could induce you to come 
 into this set, when you knew I was in 
 the other? I have been quite wretched 
 without you." 
 
 ^* My dear Isabella, how was it pos- 
 sible for me to get at you? I could 
 not even see where you were." 
 
 "So I told your brother all the 
 time — but he would not believe me. 
 Do go and see for her, Mr. Morland, 
 said I — but all in vain — ^he would not 
 stir an inch. Was not it so, Mr. Mor- 
 land? But you men are all &o immo- 
 derately lazy 1 I have been scolding 
 him to such a degree, my dear Cathe- 
 rine, you would be quite amazed. — 
 You know I never stand upon cere- 
 mony with such people." 
 
 *' Look at that young lady w^ith tliQ 
 
 white
 
 ( 117 ) 
 
 white beads round her head," whis- 
 pered Catherine, detaching her friend 
 from James — " It is Mr. Tilney's sis- 
 ter." 
 
 ^* Oh ! heavens 1 You don't say so ! 
 Let me look at her this moment. 
 What a dehghtful girll I never saw 
 any thing half so beautiful ! But 
 where is her all-conquering brother? 
 Is he in the room ? Point him out to 
 me this instant, if he is. I die to see 
 him. Mr. Morland, you are not to 
 listen. We are not talking about 
 you," 
 
 " But what is all this whispering 
 about ? What is going on ?" 
 
 ^^ There now, I knew how it would 
 be. You men have sucli restless cu- 
 riosity ! Talk of the curiosity of wo- 
 men, indeed! — 'tis nothing. But be 
 
 satisfied,
 
 ( 518 ) 
 
 satisfied, for you are not to know any 
 thing at all of the matter." 
 
 " And is that hkely to satisfy me, 
 do you think ?" 
 
 " Well, I declare I never knew any 
 thing like you. What can it signify 
 to you, what we are talking of? Per- 
 haps we are talking about you, there- 
 fore I would advise you not to listen, 
 or you may happen to hear something 
 not very agreeable." 
 
 In this common-place chatter, which 
 lasted some time, the original subject 
 seemed entirely forgotten ; and though 
 Catherine was very well pleased to 
 have it dropped for a while, she could 
 not avoid a httle suspicion at the total 
 suspension of all Isabella's impatient 
 desire to see Mr. Tilney. When the 
 orchestra struck up a fresh dance, 
 
 James
 
 ( 119 ) 
 
 James would have led his fair partner 
 away, but she resisted. " I tell you, 
 Mr. Morland," she cried, " I would not 
 do such a thing for all the world. How 
 can you be so teasing; only conceive, 
 my dear Catherine, what your brother 
 wants me to do. He wants me to dance 
 with him again, though I tell him that 
 it is a most improper thing, and entirely 
 against the rules. It would make us 
 the talk of the place, if we were not to 
 change partners." 
 
 " Upon my honour," said James, "in 
 these public assemblies, it is as often 
 done as not." 
 
 *' Nonsense, how can you say so? 
 But when you men have a point to 
 carry, you never stick at any thing. 
 My sweet Catherine, do support me, 
 persuade your brother how impossible 
 
 it
 
 ( 120 ) 
 
 it is. Tell him, that it would quite 
 shock ^X)u tq sec me do such a thing; 
 now would not it?" 
 
 " No, not at all; but if you think it 
 wrong, you had much better change/* 
 
 " There," cried Isabella, " you hear 
 what your sister says, and 3^et you will 
 not mind her. Well, remember that it 
 is not my fault, if we set all the old 
 ladies in Batli iu a bustle. Gome along, 
 my dearest Catherine, for heaven's 
 sake, and stand by me. " And off they 
 went,' to regain their former place. 
 John I'horpe, in the meanwhile, had 
 walked away ; and Cathcdine, ever 
 willing to give Mr, Tilney an oppor- 
 tunity of repeating the agreeable re- 
 quest which had already flattered her 
 once, made her way to !Mrs. Allen and 
 Mrs. Thorpe as fast as she could, in the 
 
 hope
 
 ( 121 ) 
 
 hope of fiilding him still with them-^ 
 a hope which, when it proved to be 
 fruitless, she felt to have been highly 
 unreasonable. " Well, my dear," said 
 Mrs. Thorpe, impatient for praise of 
 her son, '^ I hope you have had an 
 agreeable partner." 
 
 " Very agreeable, madam." 
 
 " I am glad of it. John has charm.- 
 hig spirits, has not her" 
 
 *' Did you meet Mr. Tilney, my 
 dear?" said Mrs. Allen. 
 
 " No, where is he?" 
 
 " He was with us just now, .and 
 said he was so tired of lounging about, 
 that he was resolved to go and dance; 
 so I thought perhaps he would ask 
 you, if he met with you." 
 
 " Where can he be?" said Catherine, 
 looking round; but she had not looked 
 
 VOL. !• Q round
 
 ( 122 ) 
 
 round long before she saw him leading 
 a young lady to the dance. 
 
 " Ah ! he has got a partner, I wish 
 he had asked you^' said Mrs. Allen; 
 and after a short silence, she added, 
 " he is a very agreeable young man." 
 
 " Indeed he is, Mrs. Allen," said 
 Mrs. Thorpe, smiling complacently; 
 " I must say it, though I <im his 
 mother, that there is not a more agree- 
 able young man in the world." 
 
 This inapplicable answer might have 
 been too much for the comprehension 
 of many; but it did not puzzle Mrs. 
 Allen, for after only a moment's con- 
 sideration, she said, in a whisper to 
 Catherine, "I dare say she thought I 
 was speaking of her son." 
 
 Catherine was disappointed and 
 vexed. She seemed to have missed by 
 
 so
 
 ( 12S ) 
 
 so littk tlie very object slie had had iii 
 vie^\'-; and this persuasion did not in- 
 cline her to a very gracious reply, when 
 John Thorpe came ap to her soon after- 
 waixls, and said, '' Well, Miss Morland, 
 I suppose you and I are to stand up 
 and jig it together again." 
 
 " Oh, no; I am much obHged to 
 you, our two dances are over; and, 
 besides, I am tired, and do not mean 
 to dance any more." 
 
 *' Do not you? — then let us walk 
 about and quiz people. Come along 
 with me, and I will shew you the four 
 greatest quizzers in the room; my two 
 younger sisters and their partners. I 
 have been laughing at them this half 
 hour." 
 
 Again Catherine excused herself; 
 
 and at last he walked oif to quiz his 
 
 G 2 sisters
 
 C 124 ) 
 
 sisters by himself. The rest of the 
 evening she found very dull ; Mr. Tilney 
 was drawn away from their party at 
 tea, to attend that of his partner; 
 Miss Tilney, though belonging to it, 
 did not sit near her, and James and 
 Isabella were so much engaged in con- 
 versing together, that the latter had no 
 leisure to bestow more on her friend 
 than one smile, one squeeze, and one 
 " dearest Catherine." 
 
 CHAP-
 
 ( 125 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The progress of Catherine's unhappi- 
 ness from the events of the evenhig, 
 was as follows. It appeared first in 
 a general dissatisfaction with every 
 body about her, while she remained in 
 the rooms, which speedily brought on 
 considerable weariness and a violent 
 desire to go home. This, on arriving 
 in Pulteney-street, took the direction 
 of extraordinary hunger, and when 
 that was appeased, changed into an 
 earnest longing to be in bed; such was 
 the extreme point of her distress ; for 
 when there she immediately fell into a 
 sound sleep which lasted nine hours, 
 and from which she awoke perfectly 
 c 3 yevived,
 
 ( U6 ) 
 
 revived, in excellent spirits, with fresh 
 hopes and fresli scliemes. The first 
 wish of her heart was to improve her 
 acquaintance with Miss Tihiey, and 
 almost her first resolution, to seek her 
 for that purpose, in the Pump-room at 
 noon. In the P u m p-room , one so aie wly 
 arrived in Badi must be met with, and' 
 that building she had already found so 
 favourable for the discov-ery of female 
 excellence, and the completion of fe- 
 male intimacy, so admirably adapted 
 for secret discourses and unlimited con- 
 fidence, that she was most reasonably 
 encouraged to expect another friend 
 from within its walls. Her plan for the 
 morning thus settled, she sat quietly 
 down to her book after breakfast, re- 
 solving to remain in the same place and 
 the same employment till the clock 
 
 struck
 
 ( 1527 ) 
 
 strucki one; and from habitude very 
 little incommoded by the remarks and 
 ejaculations of Mrs. Allen, whose va- 
 cancy of mind and incapacity for think- 
 ing were such, that as she never talked 
 a great deal, so she could never be 
 entirely silent; and, therefore, while 
 she sat at her work, if she lost her 
 needle or broke her thread, if she heard 
 a carriage in the street, or saw a speck 
 upoa her gown, she must observe it 
 aloud, whether there were any one at 
 leisure to answer her or not. At about 
 half past twelve, a remarkably loud rap 
 drew her in haste to the window, and 
 scarcely had she time to inform Cathe- 
 rine of there being two open carriages 
 at the door, in the first only a servant, 
 her brother driving Miss Thorpe in the 
 second, before John Thorpe came run- 
 G 4 ning
 
 ( 128 ) 
 
 ning up stairs, calling out, " Well, Miss 
 Morland, here I am. Have you been 
 waiting long? We could not come 
 before ; the old devil of a coachmaker 
 was such an eternity finding out a, 
 thing fit to be got into, and now it is 
 ten thousand to one, but they break 
 down before we are out of the street. 
 How do you do, Mrs. Allen? a famous 
 ball last night, Avas not it? Come, Miss 
 Morland, be quick, for the others are 
 in a confounded hurry to be oif. They 
 want to get their tumble over." 
 
 " What do you mean?" said Catherine, 
 " where are you all going to?" 
 
 " Going to ? why, you have not for- 
 got our engagement! Did not wc 
 a2:reetoorether to take a drive this mora- 
 ing? What a head you have! We are 
 going up Claverton Down." 
 
 " Some-
 
 ( no ) 
 
 *^ Something was said about it, I 
 remember," said Catherine, looking at 
 Mrs. Allen for her opinion ; " but really 
 I did not expect you." 
 
 " Not expect me ! that's a good one ! 
 And what a dust you would have made, 
 if I had not come." 
 
 Catherine's silent appeal to her friend, 
 meanwhile, was entirely thrown away, 
 for Mrs. Allen, not being at all in the 
 habit of conveying any expression her- 
 self by a look, was not aware of its 
 being ever intended by any body else; 
 and Catherine, whose desire of seeing 
 Miss Tilney again could at that mo- 
 ment bear a short delay in favour of a 
 drive, and who thought tliere could be 
 no impropriety in her going with Mr. 
 Thorpe, as Isabella was going at the 
 same time with James, was therefore 
 G 5 obliged
 
 ( 130 ) 
 
 obliged to speak plainer. " Well, 
 ma'am, what do you say to it? Can 
 you spare me for an hour or two? shall 
 I go?" 
 
 " Do just as you please, my dear," 
 replied Mrs. Allen, with the most placid 
 indifference. Catherine took the ad- 
 vice, and ran off to get ready. In a 
 very few minutes she re-appeared, 
 having scarcely allowed the two others 
 time enough to get through a few 
 short sentences in her praise, after 
 Thorpe had procured Mrs. Allen's ad- 
 miration of his gig; and then receiv- 
 ing her friend's parting good wishes, 
 they both hurried down stairs. " My 
 dearestcreature,''cried Isabella, to whom 
 the duty of friendship immediately call- 
 ed her before she could get into the 
 carriage, " you have been at least three 
 
 hour5>
 
 ( 131 ) 
 
 hours getting r^ady. I was afraid you 
 were ill. What a delightful ball we 
 had last night. I have a thousand 
 things to say to you ; but make haste 
 and get in, for I long to be off." 
 
 Catherine followed her orders and 
 turned away, but not too soon to hear 
 her friend exclaim aloud to James, 
 " What a sweet girl she is ! I quite 
 doat on her." 
 
 " You will not be frightened. Miss 
 Morland," said Thorpe, as he handed 
 her in, " if my horse should dance about 
 a little at first setting off. He will^ 
 most likely, give a plunge or two, and 
 perhaps take the rest for a minute; hut 
 he will soon know his master. He is 
 full of spirits, playful as can be, but 
 there is no vice in him." 
 
 Catherine did not think the portrait 
 G 6 a very
 
 ( 132 ) 
 
 a very inviting one, but it was too 
 late to retreat, and she was too young 
 to own herself frightened ; so, resign- 
 ing herself to her fate, and trusting to 
 the animal's boasted knowledge of its 
 owner, she sat peaceably down, and 
 saw Thorpe sit down by her. Every 
 thing being then arranged, the servant 
 who stood at the horse's head was bid 
 in an important voice " to let him go," 
 and off they went in the quietest man- 
 ner imaginable, without a plunge or a 
 caper, or any thing like one. Cathe- 
 rine, delighted at so happy an escape, 
 spoke her pleasure aloud with grateful 
 surprize; and her companion imme- 
 diately made the matter perfectly 
 simple by assuring her that it was 
 entirely owing to the peculiarly judi- 
 cious manner in which he had then 
 
 held
 
 ( 133 ) 
 
 held the reins, and the singular dis- 
 cernment and dexterity with which 
 he had directed his whip. Cathe- 
 rine, though she could not help won- 
 dering that with such perfect com- 
 mand of his horse, lie should think it 
 necessary to alarm her with a relation 
 of its tricks, congratulated herself sin- 
 cerely on heing under the care of so 
 excellent a coachman ; and perceiving 
 that the animal continued to go on in 
 the same quiet manner, without shew- 
 ing the smallest propensity towards 
 any unpleasant vivacity, and (con- 
 sidering its inevitable pace was ten 
 miles an hour) by no means alarmingly 
 fast, gave herself up to all the enjoy- 
 ment of air and exercise of the most 
 invigorating kind, in a fine mild day 
 of February, with the consciousness of 
 
 safetv.
 
 ( 134 ) 
 
 safety. A silence of several minutes 
 succeeded their first short dialogue ; — 
 it was broken by Thorpe's saying veiy 
 abruptly, " Old Allen is as rich as a 
 Jew — is not her" Catherine did not 
 understand him — and he repeated his 
 question, adding in explanation, " Old 
 Allen, the man you are with." 
 
 " Oh ! Mr, Allen, you mean. Yes, 
 I believe, he is very rich." 
 
 *' And no children at all ?" 
 
 " No — not any." 
 
 *' A famous thing for his next heirs. 
 He is your godfather, is not he ?" 
 
 " My godfather !— no." 
 
 *^ But you are always very much 
 with them." 
 
 *' Yes, very much." 
 
 *' Aye, that is what I meant, He 
 seems a good kind of old fellow 
 
 enough,
 
 ( 135 ) 
 
 enough, and has Uveil very well in 
 his time, 1 dare say ; he is not gouty 
 for nothing. Does he drink his ' bottle 
 a-day now r" 
 
 "His bottle a-day '.---no. Why 
 should you think of such a thing? 
 He is a very temperate man, and you 
 could not fancy him in liquor last 
 night?" 
 
 '' Lord help you ! — You women are 
 always thinking of men's being in 
 liquor. Why you do not suppose a 
 man is overset by a bottle? I am sure 
 of this — that if every body was to 
 drink their bottle a-day, there would 
 not be half the disorders in the world 
 there are now. It would be a famous 
 good thing for us all." 
 
 " I cannot believe it." 
 
 *^ Oh ! lord, it would be the saving 
 
 of
 
 ( 136 ) 
 
 of thousands. There is not the hun- 
 dredth part of the wine consumed in 
 this kingdom, that there ought to be. 
 Our foggy dimate wants help." 
 
 " And yet I have heard that there 
 is a great deal of wine drank in Ox- 
 ford." 
 
 " Oxford ! There is no drinking at 
 Oxford now, I assure you. Nobody 
 drinks there. You would hardly meet 
 with a man who goes beyond his four 
 pints at the utmost. Now, for instance, 
 it was reckoned a remarkable thing at 
 the last party in my rooms, that upon 
 an average we cleared about five pints 
 a head. It was looked upon as some- 
 thing out of the common way. Mine 
 is famous good stuff to be sure. You 
 would not often meet with any thing- 
 like it in Oxford — and that may ac- 
 count
 
 ( 137 ) 
 
 count for it. But this will just give 
 you a notion of the general rate of 
 drinking there." 
 
 " Yes, it does give a notion," said 
 Catherine, warmly, *' and that is, that 
 you all drink a great deal more wine 
 than I thought you did. However^ 
 I am sure James does not drink so 
 much. " 
 
 This declaration brought on a loud 
 and overpowering reply, of which no 
 part was very distinct, except the fre- 
 quent exclamations, amounting almost 
 to oaths, which adorned it, and Cathe- 
 rine was left, when it ended, with 
 rather a strengthened belief of there 
 being a great deal of wine drank in 
 Oxford, and the same happy con- 
 viction of her brother's comparative 
 sobriety. 
 
 Thorpe's
 
 ( 138 ) 
 
 5 Thorpe's ideas then all reverted to 
 the merits of his own equipage, and 
 she was called on to admire the spirit 
 and freedom with which his horse 
 moved along, and the ease which hia 
 pac^, as well as the excellence of the 
 springsy gave the motion of the car- 
 riag'C.. She followed him in all his 
 admiration as well as she could. To 
 go before, or beyond him was impos- 
 sible. His knowledge and her igno- 
 rance of the subject, his rapidity of 
 expression, and her diffidence of her- 
 self put that out of her power ; she 
 could strike out nothing new in com- 
 mendation, but she readily echoed 
 wliatever he chose to assert, and it 
 was finally settled between them wifli- 
 out any difficulty, that his equipage 
 was altogether the most complete of 
 
 it*
 
 ( 139 ) 
 
 its kind in England, his carriage the 
 neatest, his horse the best goer, and 
 himself the best coachniaii.— " You do 
 not really think, Mr. Thorpe," said 
 Catherine, venturing after some time 
 to consider the matter as entirely de- 
 cided, and to offer some little varia- 
 tion on the subject, " that James's 
 gig will break down?*' 
 
 "Break d^Wn ! Oh;! lord! Did 
 you ever see such a little tittuppy 
 tiling ill your life? There is not a 
 sound piece of iron about it. The 
 wheels have been fairly worn out 
 these ten yeai^ at least — and as for 
 the body ! Upon my soul, you might 
 shake it to pieces yourself with a 
 touch. It is the most devilish little 
 ricketty business I ever beheld! — 
 Thank God! we have got a better. 
 
 I would
 
 ( HO ) 
 
 I would not be bound to go two miles 
 in it for fifty thousand pounds." 
 :" Good heavens !" cried Catherine, 
 quite frightened, " then pray let us 
 turn back ; they will certainly meet 
 with an accident if we go on. Do let 
 us turn back, Mr. Thorpe ; stop and 
 speak to my brother, and tell him how 
 very unsafe it is." 
 
 ** Unsafe ! Oh, lord ! what is there 
 in that? they will only get a roll if it 
 does break down ; and there is plenty 
 of dirt, it will be excellent falling. 
 Oh, curse it! the carriage is safe 
 enough, if a man knows how to drive 
 it ; a thing of that sort in good hands 
 will last above twenty years after it is 
 fairly worn out. Lord bless you ! I would 
 undertake for five pounds to drive it 
 
 to
 
 ( 141 ) 
 
 to York and back again, without losing 
 a nail." 
 
 Catherine Ustened with astonish- 
 ment ; she knew not how to reconcile 
 two such very different accounts of the 
 same thing; for she had not been 
 brought up to understand the propen- 
 sities of a rattle, nor to^ know to how 
 many idle assertions and impudent 
 falsehoods the excess of vanity will 
 lead. Her own family were plain 
 matter-of-fact people, who seldom 
 aimed at wit of any kind ; her father, 
 at the utmost, being contented with a 
 pun, and her mother with a proverb ; 
 they were not in the habit therefore of 
 telling lies to increase their import- 
 ance, or of asserting at one moment 
 what they would contradict the next. 
 She reflected on the affair for some 
 
 time
 
 ( 142 ) 
 
 time in much perplexity, and xvas 
 more than once on the point of ro» 
 questing from Mr. Thoi*pe a clearer in- 
 sight into his real opinion on the sub- 
 ject ; but she checked herself, because 
 it appeared to her that he did not ex-^ 
 eel in giving those clearer insights, in 
 making those things plain which he 
 had before made ambiguous ; and, join-* 
 ing to this, the consideration, that he 
 would not really suffer his sister, and 
 his friend to be exposed to a danger 
 from which he might easily preserve 
 them, she concluded at last, that he 
 must know the carriage to \>e in tact 
 perfectly safe, and therefore would 
 alarm herself no longer. By him the 
 whole matter seemed entirely forgot- 
 ten ; and all the rest of his conversa- 
 tion, or rather talk, began and ended 
 
 with
 
 ( 143 ) 
 
 with iiimself and his own concerns. 
 He told her of horses which he had 
 J30uii:ht for a trifle and sold 'for in- 
 credible sums ; of racing matches, in 
 which his judgment had infallibly fore- 
 told the winner; of shooting parties, in 
 which he had killed more birds (though 
 without having one good shot) than 
 all his companions together ; and de- 
 scribed to her some famous day's sport, 
 with the fox-hounds, in which his 
 foresight and skill in directing the 
 •dogs iiad repaired the mistakes of the 
 most experienced huntsman, and in 
 which the boldness of his riding, though 
 it had never endangered his own life 
 for a moment, had been constantly 
 leading others into difficulties, which 
 he calmly concluded had broken the 
 necks of many. 
 
 Little
 
 { 144 ) 
 
 f Little as Catherine was in the habit 
 of judging for herself, and unfixed as 
 were her general notions of what men 
 ought to be, she could not entirely re- 
 press a doubt, while she bore with the 
 effusions of his endless conceit, of his' 
 being altogether completely agreeable. 
 It was a bold surmise, for he was Isa- 
 bella's brother ; and she had been as^ 
 sured by James, that his manners would 
 recommend him to all her sex ; but in 
 spite of this, the extreme weariness of 
 his company, which crept over l}cr be- 
 fore they had been out an hour, and 
 which continued unceasingly to in- 
 crease till they stopped in Pulteney- 
 street again, induced her, in some small^ 
 degree, to resist such high authorit>% 
 and to distrust his powers of giving 
 universal pleasure. 
 
 When
 
 ( 145 ) 
 
 When they arrived at Mrs. Allen's 
 door, the astonishment of Isabella was 
 hardly to be expressed, on finding that 
 it was too late in the day for them to 
 attend her friend into the house:— 
 " Past three o'clock !" it was incon* 
 ceivable, incredible, impossible ! and 
 she would neither believe her own 
 watch, nor her brother's, nor the ser- 
 vant's ; she would believe no assurance 
 of it founded on reason or reality, till 
 Morland produced his watch, and as- 
 certained the fact ; to have doubted a 
 moment longer then, would have been 
 equally inconceivable, incredible, and 
 impossible ; and she could only protest, 
 over and over again, that no two hours 
 and a half had ever gone oiF so swiftly 
 before, as Catherine was called on to 
 confirm; Catherine could not tell a 
 
 VOL. i» H falsehood
 
 ( 146 ) 
 
 falsehood even to please Isabella; but 
 the latter was spared the misery of her 
 friend's dissenting voice, by not wait- 
 ing for her answer. Her own feelings 
 entirely engrossed her ; her wretched- 
 ness was most acute on finding herself 
 obliged to go directly home. — It was 
 ages since she had had a moment's 
 conversation with her dearest Cathe- 
 rine ; and, though she had such thou- 
 sands of things to say to her, it ap- 
 peared as if they were never to be toge- 
 ther again ; so, with smiles of most ex- 
 quisite misery, and the laughing eye of 
 iitt-er despondency, \^e bade her friend 
 adieu and went on. 
 
 Catherine found Mi-s. Allen jusit re- 
 turned from all the busy idleness of the 
 morning, and was immediately greeted 
 with, " Well, my dear, here you are ;" 
 
 a truth
 
 ( 147 ) 
 
 a tiuth which she had no greater 
 incHnation than power to dispute; 
 " and I hope you have had a pleasant 
 airing ?" 
 
 ** Yes, ma'am, I thank you ; we 
 could not have had a nicer day." 
 
 " So Mrs. Thorpe said; she was 
 vastly pleased at your all going." 
 
 *' You have seen Mrs. Thorpe then?'' 
 
 " Yes, I went to the Pump-room as 
 soon as you were gone, and there 1 
 met her, and we had a great deal of 
 talk together. She says there was 
 hardly any veal to be got at market 
 this morning, it is so uncommonly 
 scarce." 
 
 " Did you see any body else of our 
 acquaintance ?" 
 
 " Yes ; we agreed to take a turn in 
 
 the Crescent, and there we met Mrs. 
 
 H 2 Hughes,
 
 ( 148 ) 
 
 Hughes, and Mr. and Miss Tilney 
 walking Avith her." 
 
 " Did you indeed? and did they 
 speak to you ?" 
 
 " Yes, we walked along the Cres- 
 cent together for half an hour. They 
 seem very agreeable people. Miss Til- 
 ney was in a very pretty spotted mus- 
 lin, and I fancy, by what I can learn, 
 that she always dresses very handsome- 
 ly. Mrs. Hughes talked to me a great 
 deal about the family." 
 
 " And what did she tell you of 
 them?" 
 
 " Oh! a vast deal indeed; she hardly 
 talked of any thing else." 
 
 " Did she tell you what part of 
 Gloucestershire they come from?*' 
 
 " Yes, she did ; but I cannot recol- 
 lect now. But they are very good 
 
 kind
 
 ( I4«^ ) 
 
 kind of people, and very rich. Mrs. 
 Tilney was a Miss Drummond, and 
 she and Mrs. Hughes were school-fel- 
 lows ; and Miss Drummond had a very 
 large fortune ; and, when she married, 
 her father gave her twenty thousand 
 pounds, and five hundred to buy wed- 
 ding-clothes. Mrs. Hughes saw all 
 the clothes after they came from the 
 warehouse." 
 
 " And are Mr. and Mrs. Tilney in 
 Bath.?" 
 
 " Yes, I fancy they are, but I am 
 not quite certain. Upon recollection, 
 however, I have a notion they are 
 both dead • at least the mother is ; yes, 
 I am sure Mrs. Tilney is dead, because 
 Mrs. Hughes told me there was a very 
 beautiful set of pearls that Mr. Drum- 
 mond gave his daughter on her wed- 
 II 3 ding-
 
 ( 1^0 ) 
 
 ding-day and that Miss Tilney has got 
 wow, for they were put by for her when 
 her mother died." 
 
 " And is Mr. Tilney, my partner, 
 the only son ?" 
 
 " I cannot be quite positive about 
 that, my dear ; I have some idea he is ; 
 but, however, he is a very fine young 
 man Mrs. Hughes says, and likely to 
 do very well." 
 
 Catherine inquired no further; she 
 had heard enough to feel that Mrs. Al- 
 len had no real intelligence to give, and 
 that she was most particularly unfor- 
 tunate herself in having missed such 
 a meeting with both brother and sis- 
 ter. Could she have foreseen such a 
 circumstance, nothing should have 
 persuaded her to go out with the 
 Others ; and, as it was, she could only 
 
 lament
 
 ( 151 ) 
 
 lament her ill-luck, and think over 
 what she had lost, till it was clear to 
 her, that the drive had by no means 
 been very pleasant and that John 
 Thorpe himself was quite disagreeable. 
 
 H 4 CHAP-
 
 ( 162 ) 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The Aliens, Thorpes, and Morlands, 
 all met in the evening at the theatre : 
 and, as Catherine and Isabella sat toge- 
 ther, there was then an opportunity for 
 the latter to utter some few of the 
 thousand thing's which had been 
 
 't) 
 
 many 
 
 collecting within her for communica- 
 tion, in the immeasurable length of 
 time which had divided them. — " Oh, 
 heavens ! my beloved Catherine, have 
 I got you at last ?" was her address on 
 Catherine's entering the box and sit- 
 ting by her. '^ Now, Mr. Morland," 
 for he was close to her on the other 
 6ide, " I shall not speak another word 
 to. you all the rest of the evening ; so I 
 
 charge
 
 ( 153 ) 
 
 charge you not to expect it. My 
 sweetest Catherine, how have you been 
 this long age ? but I need not ask you, 
 for you look delightfully. You really 
 have done your hair in a more hea- 
 venly style than ever : you mischie- 
 vous Qreature, do you want to attract 
 every body? I assure you, my bro- 
 ther is quite in 16 ve with you already ; 
 and as for Mr. Tilney — but that is a 
 settled thing — even your modesty can- 
 not doubt his attachment now; his 
 coming back to Bath makes it too 
 plain. Oh ! what would not I give to 
 sec him ! I really am quite wild with 
 impatience. My mother says he is the 
 most delightful young man in tlie 
 world ; she saw him this morning you 
 know : you must introduce him to me. 
 Is he in the house now ? — Look about 
 . . H 5 for
 
 ( 154 ) 
 
 for heaven's sake ! I assure you, I 
 can hardly exist till I see him." 
 
 *' No," said Catherine, " he is not 
 here ; I cannot see him any where.'* 
 
 " Oh, horrid ! am I never to be ac- 
 quainted with him ? How do you like 
 my gown? I think it does not look 
 amiss ; the sleeves were entirely my 
 Own thought. Do you know I get so 
 immoderately sick of Bath ; your bro- 
 ther and I were agreeing this morning 
 that, though it is vastly well to be here 
 for a few weeks, we would not live 
 here for millions. We soon found out 
 that our tastes were exactly alike in 
 preferring the country to every other 
 place ; really, our opinions were so 
 exactly the same, it was quite ridicu- 
 lous 1 There was not a single point in 
 which we differed ; I would not have 
 
 had
 
 ( 155 ) 
 
 had you by for the world; you are 
 such a sly thing, I am sure you would 
 have made some droll remark or other 
 about it.'' 
 
 " No, indeed I should not." 
 
 " Oh, yes you would indeed ; I 
 know you better than you know youi'- 
 self. You would have told us that 
 we seemed born for each other, or 
 some nonsense of that kind, which 
 would have distressed me beyond con- 
 ception ; my cheeks would have been 
 as red as your roses ; I would not have 
 had you by for the world." 
 
 " Indeed you do me injustice; I 
 would not have made so improper a 
 remark upon any account ; and be- 
 sides, I am sure it would never have 
 entered my head." 
 
 Isabella smiled incredulously, and 
 II 6 talked
 
 ( 156 ) 
 
 talked the rest of the evening to 
 James. 
 
 Catherine's resolution of endeavour- 
 ing to meet Miss Tilney again con- 
 tinued in full force the next morning ; 
 and till the usual moment of going to 
 the Pump-room, she felt some alarm 
 from the dread of a second prevention. 
 But nothing of that kind occurred, no 
 visitors appeared to delay them, and 
 they all three set oif in good time for 
 the Pump-room, where the ordinary 
 course of events and conversation took 
 place; Mr. Allen, after drinking his 
 glass of water, joined some gentlemen 
 to talk over the politics of the day and 
 compare the accounts of their news- 
 papers; and the ladies walked about 
 together, noticing every new face, and 
 almost every new bonnet in the room. 
 
 The
 
 ( 157 ) 
 
 The female part of the Thorpe family, 
 attended by James Morland, appeared 
 among the crowd m less than a quarter 
 of an hour, and Catherine immediately 
 took her usual place by the side of her 
 friend. James, who was now in con- 
 stant attendance, maintained a similar 
 position, and separating themselves 
 from the rest of their party, they 
 walked in that manner for some time, 
 till Catherine began to doubt the hap- 
 piness of a situation which confining 
 her entirely to her friend and brother, 
 gave her very little share in the notice 
 of cither. They were always engaged 
 in some sentimental discussion or lively 
 dispute, but their sentiment Avas con- 
 veyed in such whispering voices, and 
 their vivacity attended with so much 
 laughter, that though Catherine's sup- 
 porting
 
 ( 158 ) 
 
 porting opinion was not unfrequcntly 
 called for by one or the other, she was 
 never able to give any, from not hav- 
 ing heard a word of the subject. At 
 length however she was empowered to 
 disengage herself from her friend, by 
 the avowed necessity of speaking to 
 Miss Tilney, whom she most joyfully 
 saw just entering the room with Mrs. 
 Hughes, and whom she instantly 
 joined, with a firmer determination to 
 be acquainted, than she might have 
 had courage to command, had she not 
 been urged by the disappointment of 
 the day before. Miss Tilney met her 
 with great civility, returned her ad- 
 vances with equal good will, and they 
 continued talking together as long as 
 both parties remained in the room ; and 
 though in all probability not an obser- 
 vation
 
 ( 159 ) 
 
 vation was made, nor an expression 
 used by either which had not been 
 made and used some thousands of times 
 before, under that roof, in every Bath 
 season, yet the merit of their being 
 spoken with simphcity and truth, and 
 without personal conceit, might be 
 something uncommon. — 
 
 " How well your brother dances !" was 
 an artless exclamation of Catherine's 
 towards the close of their conversation, 
 which at once surprized and amused 
 her companion. 
 
 " Henry !"' she replied with a smile. 
 *^ Yes, he does dance very well." 
 
 " He must have thought it very 
 odd to hear me say I was engaged the 
 other evening, when he saw me sitting 
 down. But I really had been engaged 
 the whole day to Mr. Thorpe," Miss 
 
 Tilney
 
 ( 160 ) 
 
 Tilney could only lx)w. " You can- 
 not think," added Catherine after a 
 moment's silence, " how surprized I was 
 to see him again. I felt so sure of his 
 being quite gone away." 
 
 " When Henry had the pleasure of 
 seeing you before, he was in Bath but 
 for a couple of days. He came only 
 to engage lodgings for us." 
 
 " That never occurred to me ; and 
 of course, not seeing him any where, 
 I thought he must be gone. Was not 
 the young lady he danced with on 
 Monday a Miss Smith?" 
 
 " Yes, an acquaintance of Mrs. 
 Hughes." 
 
 " I dare say she was very glad to 
 dance. Do you think her pretty V 
 
 " Not very." 
 
 - He
 
 ( 161 ) 
 
 ^* He never comes to the Pump-rootB, 
 1 suppose?" 
 
 " Yes, sometimes; but he has rid 
 out this morning with my father." 
 
 Mrs. Hughes now joined them, and 
 asked Miss Tiiney if she was ready to 
 go. " I hope I shall have the pleasure 
 of seeing you again soon," said Ca- 
 therine. " Shall you be at the cotillion 
 ball to-morrow?" 
 
 " Perhaps we yes, I think we 
 
 certainly shall." 
 
 " I am glad of it, for we shall all 
 be there." — This civility was duly re- 
 turned; and they parted — on Miss 
 Tiiney 's side with some knowledge of 
 her new acquaintances feelings, and 
 on Catherine's, wdthout the smallest 
 consciousness of having explained 
 them. 
 
 She
 
 ( 162 ) 
 
 She went home very happy. The 
 morning had answered all her hopes, 
 and the evening of the following day 
 was now the object of expectation, 
 the future good. What gown and 
 what bead-dress she should wear on 
 the occasion became her chief con- 
 cern. She cannot be justified in it. 
 Dress is at all times a frivolous dis- 
 tinction, and excessive solicitude about 
 it often destroys its own aim. Cathe- 
 rine knew all this very well ; her great 
 aunt liad read her a lecture on the 
 subject only the Christmas before; 
 and yet she lay awake ten minutes on 
 Wednesday night debating between 
 her spotted and her tamboured muslin, 
 and nothing but the shortness of the 
 time prevented her buying a new one 
 for the evening. This would have 
 
 been
 
 ( 163 ) 
 
 been an error in judgnient, great 
 though not uncommon, from which 
 one of the other sex rather tlian her 
 own, a brother rather than a great 
 aunt might have v^med her, for man 
 only can be aware of the insensibility 
 of man towards a new gown. It 
 would be mortifying to the feelings 
 of many ladies, could they be made to 
 understand how little the heart of man 
 is affected by what is costly or new in 
 their attire ; how little it is biassed by 
 the texture of tlieir muslin, and liow 
 unsusceptible of peculiar tenderness 
 towards the spotted, the sprigged, the 
 mull or the jackonet. Woman is fine 
 for her own satisfaction alone. No 
 man will admire her the more, no 
 woman will like her the better for it. 
 Neatness and fashion are enough for 
 the former, and a something of shab- 
 
 biness
 
 ( 164 ) 
 
 biness or impropriety will be most 
 endearing to the latter. — But not one 
 of these grave reflections troubled the 
 tranquillity of Catherine. 
 
 She entered the rooms on Thurs- 
 day evening with feelings very dif- 
 ferent from what had attended her 
 thither the Monday before. She had 
 then been exulting in her engagement 
 to Thorpe, and was now chiefly anxi- 
 ous to avoid his sight, lest he should 
 engage her again; for though she 
 could not, dared not expect that Mr. 
 Tilney should ask her a third time to 
 dance, her wishes, hopes and plans all 
 centered in nothing less. Every young 
 lady may feel for my heroine in this 
 critical moment, for every young lady 
 has at some time or other known the 
 same agitation. All have been, or at 
 least all have believed themselves to be, 
 
 ia
 
 ( 165 ) 
 
 in danger from the pursuit of some one 
 whom they wished to avoid; and all 
 have been anxious for the attentions 
 of some one whom they wished to 
 please. As soon as they were joined 
 by the . Thorpes, Catherine's agony 
 began; she fidgetted about if John 
 Thorpe came towards her, hid herself 
 as much as possible from his view, and 
 when he spoke to her pretended not 
 to hear him. The cotilHons were 
 over, the country-dancing beginning, 
 and she saw nothing of the Tilneys. 
 " Do not be frightened, my dear Ca- 
 therine," whispered Isabella, " but I am 
 really going to dance with your bro- 
 ther again. 1 declare positively it is 
 quite shocking. I tell him he ought 
 to be ashamed of himself, but you 
 and John must keep us in counte- 
 nance.
 
 ( 166 ) 
 
 nance. Make haste, my dear creatmc, 
 and come to us. John is just walked 
 off, but he will be back in a moment.'' 
 Catherine had neither time nor in- 
 clination to answer. The others walked 
 away, John Thorpe was still in view, 
 and she gave herself up for lost. That 
 she might not appear, however, to 
 observe or expect him, she kept her 
 eyes intently fixed on her fan; and a 
 self-condemnation for her folly, in sup- 
 posing that among such a crowd they 
 should even meet with the Tilneys in 
 any reasonable time, had just passed 
 through her mind, when she suddenly 
 found herself addressed and again so- 
 licited to dance, by Mr. Tilney himself. 
 With what sparkling eyes and ready 
 motion she granted his request, and 
 with how pleasing a flutter of heart 
 
 she
 
 ( 167 ) 
 
 she went with him to the set, may be 
 easily imagined. To escape, and, as 
 slie beheved, so narrowly escape John 
 Thorpe, and to be asked, so imme- 
 diately on his joining her, asked by 
 Mr. Tihiey, as if he had sought her on 
 purpose ! — it did not appeal' to her that 
 life could supply any greater felicity. 
 
 Scarcely had they worked themselves 
 into the quiet possession of a place, 
 however, when her attention was claim- 
 ed by John Thorpe, who stood behind 
 her. " Heyday, Miss Mori and !" said 
 he, " what is the meaning of this ? — I 
 thought you and I were to dance to- 
 gether." 
 
 " I wonder you should think so, for 
 you never asked me." " That is a 
 good one, by Jove ! — I asked you as 
 soon as I came into the room, and I 
 
 was
 
 ( 168 ) 
 
 was just going to ask you again, but 
 when I turned round, you were gone ! 
 — this is a cursed shabby trick! I 
 only came for the sake of dancing with 
 yoUy and I firmly believe you were en- 
 gaged to me ever since Monday. Yes ; 
 I remember, I asked you while you 
 were waiting in the lobby fcr your 
 cloak. And here have I been telling 
 all my acquaintance that I was going 
 to dance with the prettiest girl in the 
 . room ; and when they see you standing 
 up with somebody else, they will quiz 
 me famously." 
 
 '' Oh, no; they will never think of 
 me^ after such a description as that." 
 
 " By heavens, if they do not, I will kick 
 them out of the room for blockheads. 
 What chap have you there ?" Catlierine 
 satisfied his curiosity. " Tilney," he 
 
 repeated,
 
 ( 169 ) 
 
 repeated, " Hum — I do not know him. 
 A good figure of a man; well put to- 
 s'dther. — Does he want a horse ? — Here 
 is a friend of mine, Sam Fletcher, has 
 got one to sell that would suit any 
 body. A famous clever animal for the 
 road — only forty guineas. I had fifty 
 minds to buy it myself, for it is one of 
 my maxims always to buy a good 
 horse when I meet with one ; but it 
 would not answer my purpose, it would 
 not do for the field. I would gi\'e any 
 money for a real good hunter. I have 
 three now, the best that ever were 
 back'd. I would not take eight hun- 
 dred guineas for them. Fletcher and 
 I mean to get a house in Leicestershire, 
 
 against the next season. It is so d — 
 
 uncomfortable, living at an inn." 
 This was the last sentence by which 
 VOL. I. I he
 
 ( 170 ) 
 
 h^ could weary Catherine's attention^ 
 for he was just then born off by the 
 resistless pressure of a long string of 
 passing ladies. Her partner now drew 
 near, and said, " That gentleman would 
 have put me out of patience, had he 
 staid with you half a minute longer. 
 He has no business to Avithdraw the 
 attention of nly partner from me. 
 We have entered into a contract of 
 nuitual agreeableness for the space of 
 an evening, and all our agreeableness 
 belongs solely to each other for that 
 time. Nobody can fasten themselves 
 on the notice of one, without injuring 
 the rights of the other. I consider a 
 country-dance as an emblem of mar- 
 riage. Fidelity and complaisance are- 
 Ihe principal duties of both ; and those 
 men who do not chuse to dance or 
 
 marry
 
 ( 171 ) 
 
 many themselves, have no business 
 with the partners or wives of their 
 neighbours." 
 
 " But they are such very different 
 things !— " 
 
 " — That you think they cannot be 
 compared together," 
 
 " To be sure not. People that marry 
 can never part, but must go and keep 
 liouse together. People that dance, 
 only stand opposite each other in a 
 long room for half an hour." 
 
 " And such is your definition of ma- 
 trimony and dancing. Taken in that 
 light certainly, their resemblance is 
 not striking ; but I think I could place 
 them in such a view. — You will allow, 
 tliat in both, man has the advantage 
 of choice, woman only the power of 
 refusal ; that in both, it is an engage- 
 I 2 mcnt
 
 ( 172 ) 
 
 ment between man and woman, fonned 
 for the ad^'antage of each; and that 
 when once entered into, they belong 
 exclusively to each other till the. mo- 
 ment of its dissolution ; that it is their 
 duty, each to endeavour to give the 
 other no cause for wishing that he or she 
 had bestowed themselves elsewhere, 
 and their best interest to keep their 
 own imaginations from wandering to- 
 wards the perfectiofts of their neigh- 
 bours, or fancying that they should 
 have been better off with any one else. 
 You will allow all this?" 
 
 " Yes, to be sure, as you state it, all 
 this sounds very well ; but still they 
 are so very different. — I cannot look 
 upon them at all in the same light, 
 nor think the same duties belong to 
 them." 
 
 - In
 
 ( 173 ) 
 
 *' In one respect, there certainly is a 
 difference. In marriage, the man is 
 supposed to provide for the support of 
 the woman ; the woman to make the 
 home agreeable to the man ; he is to 
 purvey, and she is to smile. But 
 in dancing, their duties are exactly 
 changed ; the agreeableness, the com- 
 pliance are expected from him, Avhile 
 she furnishes the fan and the lavender 
 water. That, I suppose, was the dif- 
 ference of duties which struck you, cs 
 rendering the conditions incapable of 
 comparison." 
 
 " No, indeed, I never thought of 
 t^at." 
 
 " Then I am quite at a loss. One 
 thing, however, I must observe. This 
 disposition on your side is rather alarm- 
 ing. You totally disallow any simila- 
 I 3 rity
 
 ( 174 ) 
 
 xity in the obligations ; and may I not 
 thence infer, that your notions of the 
 duties of the dancing state are not so 
 strict as your partner might wish? 
 Have I not reason to fear, that if the 
 gentleman who spoke to you just now 
 w^ere to return, or if any other gentle- 
 man were to address you, there would 
 be nothing to restrain you from con- 
 versing Avith him as long as you 
 ■chose r" 
 
 t«% " Mr. Thorpe is such a veiy particular 
 friend of my brother's, that if he talks 
 to me, I must talk to him again ; but 
 there are hardly three young men in 
 the room besides him, that I have any 
 acquaintance with." 
 
 •' And is that to be my only security ? 
 ■alas, alas!' 
 
 . " Nay, I am sure you cannot have 
 
 abetter;
 
 ( 175 ) 
 
 n better; for if I do not know any 
 body, it is impossible for me to talk 
 to them ; and, besides, I do not wafit 
 to talk to any body." 
 
 " Now you have given me a secu- 
 rity w^orth having ; and I shall proceed 
 with courage. Do you find Bath as 
 agreeable as when I had the honour of 
 making the inquiry before ?" 
 
 " Yes, quite — more so, indeed." 
 
 " More so ! — Take care, or you will 
 forget to be tired of it at the proper 
 time. — You ought to be tired at the 
 end of six weeks." 
 
 *' I do not think I should be tired, 
 if I were to stay here six months." 
 
 " Bath, compared with London, has 
 
 little variety, and so every body finds 
 
 out every year. * For six weeks, I 
 
 allow Bath is pleasant enough; but 
 
 1 4 beyond
 
 ( 176 ) 
 
 beyond that\, it is the most tiresome 
 place in the Avorld.* You would be 
 told so by people of all descriptions, 
 who come regularly every winter, 
 lengthen their six weeks into ten' or 
 twelve, and go away at last because 
 they -can afford to stay no longer." -/^ 
 " Well, other people must judge for 
 themselves, and those who go to Lon- 
 don may think nothing of Bath. But 
 I, who live in a small retired village in 
 the country, can never find greater 
 sameness in such a place as this, than 
 in my own home; for here are a 
 variety of amusements, a variety of 
 things to be seen and done all day 
 long, which I can know nothing of 
 there/' -- 
 
 ^* You are not fond of the country." 
 ** Yes, I am. I have always lived 
 . • there,
 
 ( ^77 ) 
 
 there, and always been very happy. 
 But certainly there is much more 
 sameness in a country life than in a 
 Bath life. One day in the country is 
 exactly Hke another." 
 
 " But then you spend your time 
 so much more rationally in the coun- 
 try." 
 
 "Do I?" 
 
 " Do you not ?" 
 
 ** I do not believe there is much 
 difference." . < 
 
 " Here you are in pursuit only of 
 amusement all day long." 
 
 " And so I am at home— only I do 
 not find so much of it. I walk about 
 here, and so I do there; — but here I 
 see a variety of people in every street, 
 and there I can only go and call on 
 Mrs. Allen." 
 
 1 6 Mr.
 
 ( 178 ) 
 
 ./.Mr. Tilney was very much amused. 
 'f< Only go and call on Mrs. Allen!" 
 he ]*epeated. *' What a picture of in- 
 tellectual poverty ! However, when 
 you sink into this abyss again, you 
 will have more to say. You will be 
 able to talk of Bath, and of all that 
 you did here." 
 
 " Oh ! yes. I shall never be in 
 want of something to talk of again to 
 Mrs. Allen, or any body else. I really 
 believe I shall always be talking of 
 Bath, when I am at home again — I do 
 like it so very much. If I could but 
 have papa and mamma, and the rest of 
 them here, I suppose I should be too 
 happy 1 James's coming (my eldest 
 brother) is quite delightful — and espe- 
 cially as it turns out, that the very 
 family w^e are just got so intimate with, 
 
 are
 
 ( 179 ) 
 
 are his intimate friends already. Oh ! 
 who can ever be tired of Bath ?" 
 
 *' Not those who bring such fresh 
 feeHngs of every sort to it; as you do. 
 But papas and mammas, and brothers 
 and intimate friends are a good deal 
 gone by, to most of the frequenters of 
 Bath — and the honest relish of balls 
 and plays, and ever^^-day sights, is 
 past with them." 
 
 Here their conversation closed ; the 
 demands of the dance becoming noM' 
 too importunate for a divided atten- 
 tion. 
 
 Soon after their reaching the bottom 
 of the set, Catherine perceived herself 
 to be earnestly regarded by a gentle- 
 man who stood among the lookers-on, 
 immetliately behind her partner. He 
 was a very handsome man, of a com- 
 i6 manding
 
 ( 180 ) 
 
 manding aspect, past the bloom, but 
 not past the vigour of hfe ; and with 
 his eye still directed towards her, she 
 saw him presently address Mr. Tilney 
 in a familiar whisper. Confused by 
 his notice, and blushing from the fear 
 of its being excited by something 
 wrong in her appearance, she turned 
 away her head. But while she did so, 
 the gentleman retreated, and her 
 partner coming nearer, said, " I see 
 that you guess what I have just been 
 asked. That gentleman knows your 
 name, and you have a right to know 
 his. It is General Tilne}^, my father." 
 Catherine's answer was only '' Oh!" 
 — but it was an *' Oh !' expressing 
 every thing needful ; attention to his 
 Avords, and perfect reliance on their 
 truth. With real interest and strong 
 
 adml-
 
 ( 181 ) 
 
 admiration did her eye now follow the 
 General, as he moved through the 
 crowd, and ^' How handsome a family 
 they are !'' was her secret remark. 
 
 In chatting with Miss Tilney be- 
 fore the evening concluded, a new 
 source of felicity arose to her. She had 
 never taken a country walk since her 
 arrival in Bath. Miss Tilney, to whom 
 all the commonly-frequented environs 
 were familiar, spoke of them in terms 
 which made her all eagerness to know 
 them too ; and on her openly fearing 
 that she might find nobody to go with 
 her, it was proposed by the brother 
 and sister that they should join in a 
 walk, some morning or other, *^ I 
 shall like it," she cried, " beyond any 
 thing in the world; and do not let us 
 put it off — let us go to-morrow." This 
 
 was
 
 ( 182 ) 
 
 was readily agreed to, with only a 
 proviso of jVIiss Tilncy's, that it did 
 not rain, whicli Catherine was sure it 
 A\ ould not. At twelve o'clock, they 
 were to call for her in Pulteney-street 
 • — and " remember — twelve oclock," 
 was her parting speech to her new 
 friend. Of her other, her older, her 
 more established friend, Isabella, of 
 Avhose fidelity and worth slie had en- 
 joyed a fortniglits experience, she 
 scarcely saw any thing during the 
 evening. Yet, though longing to 
 make her acquainted with her hap- 
 piness, she cheerfully submitted to the 
 wish of Mr. Allen, wliich took them 
 rather early away, and her spirits 
 danced within her, as she danced in 
 her chair all the May home. 
 
 CIIAP.
 
 ( 183 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The morrow brought a very sober 
 looking morning ; the sun making only 
 a few efforts to appear ; and Catherine 
 augured from it, every thing most 
 favourable to her wishes. A bright 
 morning so early in the year, she al- 
 lowed would generally turn to rain, 
 but a cloudy one foretold improvement 
 as the day advanced. She applied to 
 Mr. Allen for confirmation of her 
 hopes, but Mr. Allen not having his 
 own skies and barometer about him, 
 declined giving any absolute promise 
 of sunshine. She applied to Mrs. 
 Allen, and Mrs. Allen's opinion was 
 more positive. " She had no doubt 
 
 in
 
 ( 184 ) 
 
 in the world of its being a very fine 
 day, if the clouds would only go off, 
 and the sun keep out." 
 
 At about eleven o'clock however, a 
 few specks of small rain upon the win- 
 dows caught Catherine's watchful eye, 
 and " Oh ! dear, I do believe it will 
 be wet," broke from her in a most de- 
 sponding tone. 
 
 ** I thought how it would be," said 
 Mrs. Allen, 
 
 " No walk for me to-day," sighed 
 Catherine; — " but perhaps it may 
 come to nothing, or it may hold up 
 before twelve." 
 
 " Perhaps it may, but then, my 
 dear, it will be so dirty." 
 
 " Oh ! that will not signify ; I never 
 mind dirt.'* 
 
 " No," replied her friend very pla- 
 cidly,
 
 ( 185 ) 
 
 cidly, '* I know you never mind 
 dirt" 
 
 After a short pause, '^ It comes on 
 faster and faster !" said Catherine, as 
 she stood watching at a window. 
 
 " So it does indeed. If it keeps 
 raining, the streets will be very wet."' 
 
 " There are four umbrellas up al- 
 ready. How I hate the sight of an 
 umbrella ! " , 
 
 " They are disagreeable things to 
 carry. I would much rather take a 
 chair at any time. " 
 
 " It \yas such a nice looking morn- 
 ing ! I felt so convinced it would be 
 dry!" 
 
 *^ Any body would have thought so 
 indeed. . There will be very few 
 people in the Pump-room, if it rains 
 all the morning, I hope Mr. Allen 
 
 will
 
 ■( 186 } 
 
 will put on his great coat when he 
 goes, but I dare say he will not, for 
 he liad rather do any thing in the world 
 than walk out in a great coat; I 
 wonder he should dislike it, it must be 
 so comfortable." 
 
 The rain con tiilued — fast, though not 
 heavy. Catherine went every ^\e mi- 
 nutes to the clock, threatening on each 
 return that, if it still kept on raining 
 another five minutes, she would give 
 up the matter as hopeless. The clock 
 struck twelve, and it still rained. — 
 " You will not be able to go, my dear." 
 
 *^ I do not quite despair yet. I shall 
 not give it up till a quarter after 
 twelve. This is j ust the time of day for 
 it to clear up, and I do think it looks 
 a little lighter. There, it is twenty 
 minutes after, twelve, and now 1 shall 
 
 give
 
 ( 187 ) 
 
 give it up entirely. Oh ! that we had 
 such weather here as thev had at 
 Udolpho, or at least in Tuscany and 
 the South of France ! — the night that 
 poor St. Aubin died ! — such beautiful 
 weather !" 
 
 At half past twelve, when Cathe- 
 rine's, anxious attention to the weather 
 was over, and she could no longer 
 claim any merit from its amendment, 
 the sky began voluntarily to clear. A 
 gleam of sunshine took her quite by 
 ^surprize; she looked round; the clouds 
 w^ere parting, and she instantly re- 
 turned to the window to watch over 
 and encourage the happy appearance. 
 -Ten minutes more made it certain that 
 a bright afternoon would succeed, and 
 justified the opinion of Mrs. Allen, 
 who had " alwavs thous:ht it would 
 
 clear
 
 ( 188 ) 
 
 dear up." But whether Catherine 
 might still expect her friends, whether 
 there had not been too much rain for 
 Miss Tilney to venture, must yet be a 
 question. 
 
 It was too dirty for Mrs. Allen to 
 accompany her husband to the Pump- 
 room ; he accordingly set off by him- 
 self, and Catherine had barely watched 
 him down the street, when her notice 
 was claimed by the approach of the same 
 two open carriages, containing the same 
 three people that had surprized her so 
 much a few mornings back. 
 
 " Isabella, my brother, and Mr. 
 Thorpe, I declare ! They are coming 
 for me perhaps — but I shall not go— 
 I cannot go indeed, for you know 
 Miss Tilney may still call." Mrs. Al- 
 ien agreed to it. John Thorpe was 
 
 soon
 
 ( 189 ) 
 
 sbon with them, and his voice was 
 with them yet sooiler, for on the stairs 
 he was calling out to Miss Morland to 
 be quick. " Make haste ! make haste !* 
 as he threw open the dooi — " put on 
 your hat this moment — there is no 
 time to be lost — we are going to Bris- 
 tol.— How d'ye do, Mrs. Allen ?" 
 
 " To Bristol ! Is not that a great 
 way off? — But, however, I cannot go 
 with you to-day, because I am en- 
 gaged ; I expect some friends every 
 moment." This was of course vehe- 
 mently talked down as no reason at 
 all ; Mrs. Allen was called on to se- 
 cond him, and the two others walked 
 in, to give their assistance. " I\Iy 
 sweetest Catherine, is not this delight- 
 ful ? We shall have a most heavenly 
 drive. You are to thank your brother 
 
 and
 
 ( m ) 
 
 and me for tlie scheme ; it darted into 
 our heads at breakfast-time, I verily 
 believe at the same instant ; and we 
 should have been off two hours ago if 
 it had not been for this detestable 
 rain. But it does not signify, die 
 nights are moonlight, and we shall do 
 delightfully. Oh ! I am in such ex- 
 tasies at the thoughts of a little coun- 
 try air and quiet ! — so much better than 
 going to the Lower Rooms. We shall 
 drive directly to Clifton and dine there; 
 and, as soon as dinner is over, if there 
 is time for it, go on to Kings weston»" 
 
 *' I doubt our being able to do so 
 much," said Morland. 
 
 " You croaking fellow!"' cried 
 Thorpe, " we shall be able to do ten 
 times more. Kingsweston ! aye, and 
 Blaize Castle too, and any thing else 
 
 smile)
 
 ( 190 ) 
 
 we can hear of; but here is your sister 
 says she will not go.'* 
 
 " Blaize Castle !" cried Catherine ; 
 
 what is that ?" 
 
 *'The finest place in England — worth 
 going fifty miles at any time to see." 
 
 " What, is it really a castle^ an old 
 castle ?" 
 
 " The oldest in the kino-dom." 
 
 " But is it like what one reads of?" 
 
 ^^ Exactly — the very same." 
 
 " But now really — are there towers 
 and long galleries ?" 
 
 " By dozens." 
 
 " Then I should like to see it ; but 
 I cannot 1 cannot go." 
 
 *' Not go ! — my beloved creature, 
 what do you mean ?" 
 
 " I cannot go, because" — — (looking 
 down as she spoke, fearful of Isabella's 
 
 "I
 
 ( 192 ) 
 
 smile) " I expect Miss Tiliiey and her 
 brother to call on me to take a country 
 walk. They promised to come at 
 twelve, only it rained ; but now, as it 
 is so fine, I dare say they will be here 
 
 soon." 
 
 " Not they indeed," cried Thorpe; 
 " for, as we turned into Broad-street, 
 I saw them — docs he not drive a phae- 
 ton with bright chesnuts r" 
 
 " I do not know indeed." 
 
 " Yes, I know he does; I saw him. 
 You are talking of the man y-ou dancc<l 
 with last night, arc not you?" 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 '' Well, I saw him at that moment 
 turn up the Lansdown Road, — driving 
 a smart-looking girl." 
 
 ^' Did }'ou indeed?" 
 
 " Did upon my soul ; knew him 
 
 aii'ain
 
 ( 193 ) 
 
 again directly, and he seemed to have 
 got some very pretty cattle too." 
 
 " It is very odd ! but I suppose they 
 thought it would be too dirty for a 
 walk." 
 
 " And well they might, for I never 
 saw so much dirt in my life. Walk ! 
 you could no more walk than you 
 could fly ! it has not been so dirty the 
 whole winter; it is ancle-deep every 
 where." 
 
 Isabella corroborated it : — " ]\Iy 
 dearest Catherine, you cannot form an 
 idea of the dirt; come, you must go; 
 you cannot refuse going now." 
 
 " I should like to see the castle ; but 
 may we go all over it ? may we go up 
 every staircase, and into every suite of 
 rooms ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, every hole and corner."' 
 
 VOL. I. K " But
 
 ( 194 ) 
 
 " But then, — if they should only be 
 gone out for an hour till it is drier, 
 and call by and bye ?" 
 
 " Make yourself easy, there is no 
 danger of that, for I heard Tilney hal- 
 looing to a man who was just passing 
 by on horseback, that they were going 
 as far as Wick Rocks." 
 
 " Then I will. Shall I go, Mrs. 
 Allen?" 
 
 ^' Just as you please, my dear." 
 
 " yiis. Allen, you must persuade her 
 to go," was the general cry. Mrs. Al- 
 len was not inattentive to it: — "Well, 
 my dear," said she, " suppose you 
 go." — And in two minutes they were 
 off. 
 
 Catherine's feelings, as she got into 
 the carriage, were in a very unsettled 
 state ; divided between regret for the 
 
 loss
 
 ( 155 ) 
 
 loss of one great pleasure, and the 
 hope of soon enjoying another, almost 
 its equal in degree, however unlike in 
 kind. She could not think the Tilneys 
 had acted quite well by her, in so 
 readily giving up their engagement, 
 without sending her any message of 
 excuse. It was now but an hour later 
 than the time fixed on for the begin- 
 ning of their walk; and, in spite of 
 what she had heard of the prodigious 
 accumulation of dirt in the course of 
 that hour, she could not from her own 
 observation help thinking, that they 
 might have gone with very little in- 
 convenience. To feel herself slighted 
 by them was very painful. On the 
 other hand, the delight of exploring 
 an edifice like Udolpho, as her fancy 
 represented Blaize Castle to be, was 
 K S such
 
 ( 196 ) 
 
 such' a counterpoise of good, as might 
 console her for almost any thing. 
 
 They passed briskly down Pulteney- 
 street, and through Laura-place, with- 
 out the exchange of many words. 
 Thorpe talked to his horse, and she 
 meditated, by turns, on broken pro- 
 mises and broken arches, phaetons and 
 false hangings, Tilneys and trap-doors. 
 As they entered Argyle-buildings, how- 
 ever, she was roused by this address 
 from her companion, " Who is that 
 girl who looked at you so hard as she 
 went by?" 
 
 "Who?— where?" 
 
 ^' On the light-hand pavement — she 
 must be almost out of sight now." 
 Catherine looked round and saw Miss 
 Tilney leaning on her brother's arm, 
 walking slowly down the street. She 
 
 saw
 
 ( 197 ) 
 
 saw them both looking back at her. 
 '' Stop, stop, Mr. Thorpe, she impa- 
 tiently cried, it is Miss Tilney ; it is 
 indeed. — How could you tell me they 
 were gone ? — Stop, stop, I will get out 
 this moment and go to them*" But to 
 what purpose did she speak ? — Thorpe 
 only lashed his horse into a brisker 
 trot ; the Tilneys, who had soon ceased 
 to look after her, were in a moment 
 out of sight round the corner of Laura- 
 place, and in another moment she was 
 herself whisked into the Market-place. 
 Still, however, and during the length 
 of another street, she intreated him to 
 stop. " Pray, pray stop, Mr. Thorpe. 
 — I cannot go on. — I will not go on. — 
 I must go back to Miss Tilney." But 
 Mr. Thorpe only laughed, smacked 
 his whip, encouraged his horse, made 
 k3 odd
 
 ( 198 ) 
 
 odd noises, and drove on ; and Cathe- 
 rine, angry and vexed as she was, hav- 
 ing no power of getting away, was 
 obUged to give up the point and sub- 
 mit. Her reproaches, however, were 
 not spared. " How could you deceive 
 me so, Mr. Thorpe ? — How could you 
 say, that you saw them driving up 
 the Lansdown-road? — I would not have 
 had it happen so for the world. — They 
 must think it so strange ; so rude 
 of me ! to go by them, too, without 
 saying a word ! You do not know 
 liow vexed I am. — I shall have no 
 pleasure at Clifton, nor in any thing 
 else. I had rather, ten thousand times 
 rather get out now, and walk back to 
 them. How could you say, you saw 
 them driving out in a phaeton ?" Thoi-pe 
 defended himself very stoutly, declared 
 
 he
 
 he had never seen two men so much 
 ahke in his hfe, and would hardly gi\'e 
 up the point of its having been Tilney 
 himself. 
 
 Their drive, even when this subject 
 was over, was not likely to be very 
 agreeable. Catherine's complaisance 
 was no longer what it had been in 
 their former airing. She listened re- 
 luctantly, and her replies were short. 
 Blaize Castle remained her only com- 
 fort ; towards thaty she still looked at 
 intervals with pleasure ; though rather 
 than be disappointed of the promised 
 walk, and especially rather than be 
 thought ill of by the Tilney s, she 
 Avould willingly have given up all the 
 happiness which its walls could supply 
 — the happiness of a progress dirough 
 a long suite of lofty rooms, exhibiting 
 K 4 the
 
 ( 200 ) 
 
 the remains of magnificent furniture, 
 though now for many years deserted — 
 the happiness of being stopped in their 
 way along narrow, winding vaults, by 
 a low, grated door ; or even of having 
 their lamp, their only lamp, extinguish- 
 ed by a sudden gust of wind, and of 
 being left in total darkness. In the 
 meanwhile, they proceeded on their 
 journey without any mischance ; and 
 were within view of the town of 
 Keynsham, when a halloo from Mor- 
 land, who was behind them, made his 
 friend pull up, to know what was the 
 matter. The others then came close 
 enough for conversation, and Morland 
 said, " We had better go back, Thorpe ; 
 it is too late to go on to-day; your 
 sister thinks so as well as I. We have 
 been exactly an hour coming from 
 
 Pulteney-
 
 ( 201 ) 
 
 Pulteney-street, very little more than 
 seven miles ; and, I suppose, we have 
 at least eight more to go. It will never 
 do. We set out a great deal too late. 
 We had much better put it off till 
 another day, and turn round." 
 
 " It is all one tome," replied Thorpe 
 rather angrily; and instantly turning 
 his horse, they were on their way back 
 to Bath. 
 
 '• If your brother had not got such 
 
 a d beast to drive," said he soon 
 
 afterwards, '' we might have done it 
 very well. My horse would have trotted 
 to Clifton within the hour, if left to 
 himself, and I have almost broke mv 
 arm with pvilling him in to that cursed 
 broken-winded jade's pace. Morland 
 is a fool for not keeping a horse and 
 gig of his own." 
 
 K 5 " No,
 
 ( 202 ) 
 
 " No, he is not," said Catherine 
 warmly, " for I am sure he could not 
 afibrd it." 
 
 " And why cannot he afford it r" 
 '^ Because he has not money enough. " 
 '^ And whose fault is that ?" 
 " Nobody's, that I know of." Thorpe 
 then said something in the loud, inco- 
 herent way to which he had often re- 
 course, about its being a d — — thing 
 to be miserly ; and that if people who 
 rolled in money could not afford things, 
 he did not know who could ; which 
 Catherine did not even endeavour to 
 understand. Disappointed of what 
 was to have been the consolation for 
 her first disappointment, she was less 
 and less disposed either to be agree- 
 able herself, or to find her companion 
 so; and fhey returned to Pulteney- 
 
 etreet
 
 ( 203 ) 
 
 street without her speaking twenty 
 words. 
 
 As she entered the house, the foot- 
 man told her, that a gentleman and 
 lady had called and inquired for her a 
 few minutes after her setting off ; that, 
 when he told them she was gone out 
 with Mr. Thorpe, the lady had asked 
 whether any message had been left for 
 her; and on his saying no, had felt 
 for a card, but said she had none about 
 her, and went away. Pondering over 
 these heart-rending tidings, Catherine 
 walked slowly up stairs. At the head 
 of them she was met by Mr. Allen, 
 who, on hearing the reason of their 
 speedy return, said, " I am glad your 
 brother had so much sense ; I am glad 
 you aie come back. It was a strange, 
 wild scheme." 
 
 K 6 They
 
 ( 204 ) 
 
 They all spent the evening together 
 at Thorpe's. Catherine was disturbed 
 and out of spirits ; but Isabella seemed 
 to find a pool of commerce, in the 
 fate of which she shared, by private 
 partnership with Morland, a very good 
 equivalent for the quiet and country 
 air of an inn at Clifton. Her satis- 
 faction, too, in not being at the Lower 
 Rooms, was spoken more than once. 
 " How I pity the poor creatures that 
 are going there ! How glad I am that 
 I am not amongst them ! I wonder 
 whether it will be a full ball or not! 
 They have not begun dancing yet. I 
 would not be there for all the world. 
 It is so delio'htful to have an cvenino' 
 now and then to oneself. I dare say 
 it will not be a very good ball. I know 
 the Mitchells will not be there. I am 
 
 sure
 
 ( 205 ) 
 
 sure I pity every body that is. But I 
 dare say, Mr. Morland, you long to be 
 at it, do not you ? I am sure you do. 
 Well, pray do not let any body here 
 be a restraint on you. I dare say we 
 could do very well without you ; but 
 you men think yourselves of such con- 
 sequence." 
 
 Catherine could almost have accused 
 Isabella of being wanting in tender- 
 ness towards herself and her sorrows ; 
 so very little did they appear to dwell 
 on her mind, and so very inadequate 
 was the comfort she offered. " Do 
 not be so dull, my dearest creature," 
 she whispered. " You will quite break 
 my heart. It was amazingly shocking 
 to be sure ; but the Tilneys were en- 
 tirely to blame. Why were not they 
 more punctual ? It was dirty, indeed, 
 
 but
 
 ( 206 ) 
 
 but what did that signify ? I am sure 
 John and I should not have minded it. 
 I never mind going through any thing, 
 where a friend is concerned; that is 
 my disposition, and John is just the 
 same ; he has amazing strong feehngs. 
 Good heavens! Avhat a dehghtfulhand 
 y6u have got ! Kings, I vow ! I never 
 was so happy in my hfe ! I would 
 fifty times rather you should have them 
 than myself." 
 
 And now I may dismiss my heroine 
 to the sleepless couch, which is the 
 true heroine's portion; to a pillow 
 strewed with thorns and wet with tears. 
 And lucky may she think herself, if 
 she get another good night's rest in 
 the course of the next three months. 
 
 CHAP-
 
 ( 207 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Mrs. Allen," said Catherine the 
 next morning, " will there be any 
 harm in my calling on Miss Tilney to- 
 day ? I shall not be easy till I have 
 explained every thing." 
 
 " Go by all means, my dear ; only 
 put on a white gown; Miss Tilney 
 always wears white." 
 
 Catherine cheerfully complied ; and 
 being properly equipped, was more 
 impatient than ever to be at the Pump- 
 room, that she might inform herself of 
 General Tilney 's lodgings, for though 
 she believed they were in Milsom-street, 
 she was not certain of the house, and 
 JNIrs, Allen's wavering convictions only 
 
 made
 
 ( 208 ) 
 
 made it more doubtful. To Milsom- 
 street she was directed ; and having 
 made herself perfect in the number, 
 hastened away with eager steps and a 
 beating heart to pay her visit, explain 
 her conduct, and be forgiven ; tripping 
 lightly through the church-yard, and 
 resolutely turning away her eyes, that 
 she might not be obliged to see her 
 beloved Isabella and her dear fa- 
 mily, who, she had reason to believe, 
 were in a shop hard by. She reached 
 the house without any impediment, 
 looked at the number, knocked at the 
 door, and inquired for Miss Tilney. 
 The man believed Miss Tilney to be 
 at home, but was not quite certain. 
 Would she be pleased to send up her 
 name? She gave her card. In a few 
 minutes the servant returned, and with 
 
 a look
 
 ( 209 ) 
 
 a look which ctid not quite confirm his 
 words, said he had been mistaken, for 
 that Miss Tilney was walked out. 
 Catherine, with a blush of mortifica- 
 tion, left the house. She felt almost 
 persuaded that Miss Tilney was at 
 home, and too much offended to admit 
 her ; and as she retired down the street, 
 could not withhold one glance at the 
 drawing-room windows, in expectation 
 of seeing her there, but no one appear- 
 ed at them. At the bottom of the 
 street, however, she looked back again, 
 and then, not at a window, but issuing 
 from the door, she saw IMiss Tilney 
 herself. She was followed by a gen- 
 tleman, whom Catherine believed to 
 be her father, and they turned up to- 
 wards Edgar's-buildings. Catherine, 
 in deep mortification, proceeded on her 
 
 way.
 
 ( 210 ) 
 
 way. She could almost be angry her- 
 self at such angry incivility ; but she 
 checked the resentful sensation ; she 
 remembered her own ignorance. She 
 knew not how such an offence as her's 
 might be classed by the laws of world- 
 ly politeness, to what a degree of un- 
 forgivingness it might with propriety 
 lead, nor to what rigours of rudeness 
 in return it might justly make her 
 amenable. 
 
 Dejected and humbled, she had even 
 some thoughts of not going with the 
 others to the theatre that night ; but it 
 must be confessed that they were not of 
 long continuance : for she soon recol- 
 lected, in the first place, that she was 
 without any excuse for staying at 
 home ; and, in the second, that it was 
 a play she w^anted very much to see. 
 
 To
 
 ( 211 ) 
 
 To the theatre accordingly they all 
 went ; no Tilneys appeared to plague 
 or please her; she feared that, amongst 
 the many perfections of the family, a 
 fondness for plays was not to be ranked; 
 but perhaps it was because they were 
 habituated to the finer perfomiances of 
 the London stage, which she knew, on 
 Isabella's authority, rendered every 
 thing else of the kind " quite horrid." 
 She was not deceived in her own ex- 
 pectation of pleasure ; the comedy so 
 well suspended her care, that no one, 
 observing her during the first four 
 acts, would have supposed she had any 
 wretchedness about her. On the be- 
 ginning of the fifth, howevei', the sud- 
 den view of Mr. Henry Tilney and 
 his father, joining a party in the oppo- 
 site box, recalled her to anxiety and dis- 
 tress.
 
 ( 212 ) 
 
 tress. The stage could no longer ex- 
 cite genuine merriment — no longer 
 keep her whole attention. Every other 
 look upon an average was directed 
 towarde the opposite box ; and, for the 
 space of two entire scenes, did she 
 thus watch Henry Tilney, without 
 being once able to catch his eye. No 
 longer could he be suspected of indif- 
 ference for a play ; his notice was ne- 
 ver withdrawn from the stage during 
 two whole scenes. At length, how- 
 ever, he did look towards her, and he 
 bowed — but such a bow! no smile, 
 no continued observance attended it ; 
 his eyes were immediately returned to 
 their former direction. Catherine was 
 restlessly miserable ; she could almost 
 have run round to the box in which he 
 sat, and forced him to hear her expla- 
 nation.
 
 ( 21:5 ) 
 
 nation. Feelings rather natural than 
 heroic possessed her ; instead of consi- 
 dering her own dignity injured by 
 this ready condemnation — instead of 
 proudly resolving, in conscious inno- 
 cence, to shew her resentment towards 
 him who could harbour a doubt of it, to 
 leave to him all the trouble of seeking' 
 an explanation, and to enlighten him 
 on the past only by avoiding his sight, 
 or flirting with somebody else, she took 
 to herself all the shame of misconduct, 
 or at least of its appearance, and was 
 only eager for an opportunity of ex- 
 plaining its cause. 
 
 The play concluded — the curtain 
 fell — Henry Tilney was no longer to 
 be seen where he had hitherto sat, but 
 his father remained, and perhaps he 
 might be now coming round to their 
 
 box.
 
 ( 214 ) 
 
 box. She was right; in a few mi- 
 nutes he appeared, and, making his 
 way through the then thinning rows, 
 spoke with hke calm politeness to ]\Irs. 
 Allen and her friend. — Not with such 
 calmness was he answered by the lat- 
 ter : " Oh ! Mr. Tilney, I have been 
 quite wild to speak to yon, and make 
 my apologies. You must have thought 
 me so rude ; but indeed it was not my 
 own fault, — was it, Mrs. Allen? Did 
 not they tell me that Mr. Tilney and 
 his sister were gone out in a phaeton 
 together ? and then what could I do ? 
 But I had ten thousand times rather 
 have been with you ; now had not I, 
 Mrs. Allen?" 
 
 " My dear, you tumble my gown," 
 was Mrs. Allen's reply. 
 
 Her assurance, however, standing- 
 sole
 
 ( 215 ) 
 
 sole as it did, was not tliro\ni away ; 
 it brought a more cordial, more natural 
 smile into his countenance, and he re- 
 plied in a tone which retained only a 
 little affected reserve : — " We were 
 much obliged to you at any rate for 
 wishing us a pleasant walk after our 
 passing you in Argyle-street : you were 
 so kind as to look back on purpose.'' 
 
 " But indeed I did not wish you a 
 pleasant walk ; I nevxr thought of such 
 a thing ; but I begged Mr. Thorpe so 
 earnestly to stop ; I called out to him 
 as soon as ever I saw you ; now, Mrs. 
 
 Allen, did not Oh ! you were not 
 
 there ; but indeed I did ; and, if Mr. 
 Thorpe would only have stopped, I 
 would have jumped out and run after 
 you." 
 
 Is there a Henry in the world who 
 
 could
 
 ( 216 ) 
 
 could be insensible to such a declara- 
 tion ? Henry Tilney at least was not. 
 With a yet sweeter smile, he said every 
 thing that need be said of his sister's 
 concern, regret, and dependence on 
 Catherine's honour. — "Oh ! do not sa}' 
 Miss Tilney was not angry," cried Ca- 
 therine, " because I know she was ; 
 for she would not see me this morning 
 when I called ; I saw her walk out of 
 the house the next minute after my 
 leaving it ; I was hurt, but I was not 
 affronted. Perhaps you did not know 
 I had been there." 
 
 " I was not within at the time ; but 
 1 heard of it from Eleanor, and she 
 has been wishing ever since to see you, 
 to explain the reason of such incivi- 
 lity ; but perhaps I can do it as well. 
 It was nothing more than that my fa- 
 ther
 
 ( ^17 ) 
 
 ther they were just preparing to 
 
 walk out, and he being hurried for 
 time, and not caring to have it put off, 
 made a point of her being denied. 
 That was all, I do assure you. She was 
 very much vexed, and meant to make 
 her apology as soon as possible." 
 
 Catherine's mind was greatly eased 
 by this information, yet a something 
 of solicitude remained, from which 
 sprang the following question, tho- 
 roughly artless in itself, though rather 
 distressing to the gentleman : — " But, 
 Mr. Tilney, why were you less gene- 
 rous than your sister? If she felt 
 such confidence in my good intentions, 
 and could suppose it to be only a' mis- 
 take, why should you be so ready to 
 take offence ?" 
 
 " Me !— I take offence !^' 
 
 VOL. I. L *^ Nav,
 
 C 218 ) 
 
 " Nay, I am sure by your look, 
 when you came into the box, you 
 were angry." 
 
 " I angry ! I could have no right." 
 
 " Well, nobody would have thought 
 you had no right who saw your face." 
 He replied by asking her to make 
 room for him, and talking of the play. 
 
 He remained with them some time, 
 and was only too agreeable for Cathe- 
 rine to be contented when he went 
 away. Before they parted, however, 
 it was agreed that the projected walk 
 should be taken as soon as possible ; 
 and, setting aside the misery of his 
 quitting their box, she was, upon the 
 whole,* left one of the happiest crea- 
 tures in the world. 
 
 While talking to each other, she had 
 observed with some surpiize, that John 
 
 Thorpe,
 
 ( 21^ ) 
 
 Tliorpe, who was never in the same 
 part of the house for ten minutes to- 
 gether, was engaged in conversation 
 with General Tihiey; and she felt 
 something more than surprize, when 
 «he thought she could perceive herself 
 the object of their attention and dis' 
 course. What could they have to say 
 of her? She feared General Tilney 
 did not like her appearance : she found 
 it was implied in his preventing her 
 admittance to his daughter, rather than 
 postpone his own walk a few minutes, 
 " How came Mr. Thorpe to know 
 your father ?" was her anxious inquiry, 
 as she pointed them out to her compa- 
 nion. He knew nothing about it; 
 but his father, like every military man, 
 had a very large acquaintance. 
 
 When the entertainment was over, 
 L 2 Thorpe
 
 ( 220 ) 
 
 Thorpe came to assist them In getting 
 out. Catherine was the immediate 
 object of liis gallantry; and, while 
 they waited in the lobby for a chair, 
 he prevented the inquiry which had 
 travelled from her heart almost to the 
 tip of her tongue, by asking, in a 
 consequential manner, whether she 
 had seen him talking with General 
 Tilney : — *' He is a fine old fellow, 
 upon my soul ! — stout, active — looks 
 as young as his son. I have a great 
 regard for him, I assure you : a gentle- 
 man-like, good sort of fellow as ever 
 lived.' 
 
 " But how came you to know him?" 
 " Know him ! — There are few peo- 
 ple much about town that I do not 
 know. I have met him for ever at 
 the Bedford; and I knew his face again 
 
 to-day
 
 C 221 ) 
 
 to-day the moment he came into the 
 bil Hard-room. One of the best players 
 we have, by the bye ; and we had a 
 Uttle touch together, thougli I was al- 
 most afraid of him at iirst : the odds 
 were five to four against me ; and, if I 
 liad not made one of the cleanest 
 strokes that perhaps ever was made 
 m this world 1 took his ball ex- 
 actly but I could not make you 
 
 understand it Vv^ithout a table ; — how- 
 ever I did beat him. A very fine fel- 
 low ; as rich as a Jew. I should like 
 to dine with him ; I dare say he gives 
 famous dinners. But what do you 
 think we have been talking of ?^ — You. 
 Yes, by heavens ! — and the G eneral 
 thinks you the finest girl in Bath." 
 *^ Oh ! nonsense ! how can you say 
 
 so?" 
 
 '^ And what do you think I said?" 
 L 3 (lowering
 
 ( uc^ ) 
 
 (lowering his voice) ** Well done. 
 General, said I, I am rjuitc of your 
 iniml. * 
 
 Here Catherine,, who was mueli less 
 Ratified by bis admiration than by 
 (jeneral Tilney's, ^vas not sorr)' to be 
 called away by Mr. Allen. Thorpe, 
 however, would see her to her chair, 
 and, till slie entered it, continued 
 the same kind of delicate flattery, in 
 spite of her entreating him to have 
 done. 
 
 That General Tilney, instead of 
 dislikinc:, should admire her, was Tery 
 deliirhtful ; and she iovfullv thoncjht, 
 that there was not one of the family 
 whom slie need now fear to meet. — 
 The eveniuLV had done more, much 
 more, for her, than could have beeu 
 expected. 
 
 CHAP-
 
 { 223 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thurs- 
 day, Friday and Saturday have now 
 passed in review before the reader; the 
 events of each day, its hopes and fears, 
 mortifications and pleasures have been 
 separately stated, and the pangs of 
 Sunday only now remain to be de- 
 scribed, and close the week. The 
 Clifton scheme had been deferred, not 
 relinquished, and on the afternoon's 
 Crescent of this day, it was brought 
 forward again. In a private consul- 
 tation between Isabella and James, the 
 foimer of whom had particularly set 
 her heart upon going, and the latter 
 no less anxiously placed his upon 
 L 4 pleasing
 
 ( 224 ) 
 
 pleasing her, it was agreed that, pro- 
 vided the weather were fair, the party 
 should take place on the following 
 morning ; and they were to set off 
 very early, in order to be at home in 
 good time. The affair thus determin- 
 ed, and Thorpe's approbation secured, 
 Catherine only remained to be apprized 
 of it. She had left them for a few 
 minutes to speak to Miss Tilney. In 
 that interval the plan was completed, 
 and as soon as she came again, her 
 agreement was demanded ; but instead 
 of the gay acquiescence expected by 
 Isabella, Catherine looked grave, was 
 very sorry, but could not go. The 
 engagement which ought to have kept 
 her from joining in the former attempt, 
 would make it impossible for her to 
 accompany them now. Slie had that. 
 
 moment
 
 ( 225 ) 
 
 moment settled with Miss Tilney to 
 take their promised walk to-morrow ; 
 it was quite determined, and she would 
 not, upon any account, retract. But 
 that she must and should retract, was 
 instantly the eager cry of hoth the 
 Thorpes ; they must go to Clifton to- 
 morrow, they would not go without 
 her, it would be nothing to put oif a 
 mere walk for one day longer, and 
 they would not hear of a refusal. 
 Catherine was distressed, but not sub- 
 dued. " Do not urge me, Isabella. 
 I am engaged to Miss Tihiey. I cannot 
 go." This availed nothing. The same 
 arguments assailed her again ; she 
 must go, she should go, and they 
 would not hear of a refusal. ^' It would 
 be so easy to tell Miss Tilney that you 
 had just been reminded of a prior en- 
 L 5 gagement,
 
 ( 226 ) 
 
 gagement, and must only beg to put 
 off the walk till Tuesday." 
 
 " No, it would not be easy. I could 
 not do it. ,There has been no prior 
 engagement." But Isabella became 
 only more and more urgent; calling 
 on her in the most affectionate manner ; 
 addressing her by the most endearing 
 names. She was sure her dearest, 
 sweetest Catherine would not seriously 
 refuse such a trifling request to a friend 
 who loved her so dearly. She knew 
 her beloved Catherine to have so feel- 
 ing a heart, so sweet a temper, to be 
 so easily persuaded by those she loved. 
 But all in vain ; Catherine felt herself 
 to be in the right, and though pained 
 by such tender, such flattering suppli- 
 cation, could not allow it to influence 
 her. Isabella then tried another me- 
 thod.
 
 ( 227 ) 
 
 thod. She reproached her with having 
 more alFeetion for Miss Tihiey, though 
 she had known her so Uttle a while, 
 than for her best and oldest friends; 
 with being grown cold and indifferent, 
 in short, towards herself. " I cannot 
 help being jealous, Catherine, when I 
 see myself slighted for strangers, I, 
 who love you so excessively! When 
 once my affections are placed, it is not 
 in the power of any thing to change 
 them. But I believe my feelings are 
 stronger than any body's ; I am sure 
 they are too strong for my own peace ; 
 and to see myself supplanted in your 
 friendship by strangers, does cut me to 
 the quick, I own. These Tilneys seem 
 to swallow up every thing else." 
 
 Catherine thought this reproach 
 
 equally strange and unkind. Was it 
 
 L 6 the
 
 ( 228 ) 
 
 the part of a friend thus to expose 
 her feelings to the notice of others ? 
 Isabella appeared to her ungenerous 
 and selfish, regardless of eveiy thing 
 but her own gratification. These pain- 
 ful ideas crossed her mind, though she 
 said nothing. Isabella, in the mean- 
 while, had applied her handkerchief 
 to her eyes; and Morland, miserable 
 at such a sight, could not help saying, 
 " Nay, Catherine. I think you cannot 
 stand out any longer now. The sacri- 
 fice is not much ; and to oblige such a 
 friend — I shall think you quite unkind, 
 if you still refuse." 
 
 This was the first time of her bro- 
 ther's openly siding against her, and 
 anxious to avoid his displeasure, she 
 proposed a compromise. If they would 
 only put oflP their scheme till Tuesday, 
 
 which
 
 ( 229 ) 
 
 which they miglit easily do, as it de- 
 pended only on themselves, she could 
 go with them, and every body might 
 then be satisfied. But " No, no, no !" 
 was the immediate answer; "that 
 could not be, for Thorpe did not know 
 that he mio-ht not 2:0 to town on Tues- 
 day." Catherine was sorry, but could 
 do no more ; and a short silence ensued, 
 which was broken by Isabella ; who in 
 a voice of cold resentment said, " Very 
 well, then there is an end of the party. 
 If Catherine does not go, I cannot. I 
 cannot be the only woman. I would 
 not, upon any account in the world, do 
 so improper a thing." 
 
 " Catherine, you mustgo," said James. 
 
 " But why cannot Mr. Thorpe drive 
 one of his other sisters? I dare say 
 either of them would like to go." 
 
 " Thank
 
 ( 230 ) 
 
 " Thank ye," cried Thorpe, " but I 
 did not come to Bath to drive my sisters 
 about, and look hke a fool. No, if 
 
 you do not go, d me if I do. I 
 
 only go for the sake of driving you." 
 
 " That is a compliment which gives 
 me no pleasure." But her words were 
 lost on Thorpe, who had turned abrupt- 
 ly away. 
 
 The three others still continued to- 
 gether, walking in a most uncomfort- 
 able manner to poor Catherine ; some- 
 times not a word was said, sometimes 
 she was again attacked with supplica- 
 tions or reproaches, and her arm was 
 still linked within Isabella's, though 
 their hearts were at war. At one mo- 
 ment she was softened, at another 
 irritated ; always distressed, but always 
 steady. 
 
 " I did
 
 ( 231 ) 
 
 " I did not think you had been 
 so obstinate, Catherine," said James ; 
 " you were not used to be so hard to 
 persuade ; you once were the kindest, 
 best-tempered of my sisters." 
 
 " I hope I am not less so now," she 
 repUed, very feehngly ; " but indeed 
 I cannot go. If I am wrong, I am do- 
 ing what I beheve to be right." 
 
 " I suspect," said Isabella, in a low 
 voice, " there is no great struggle." 
 
 Catherine's heart swelled ; she drew 
 away her arm, and Isabella made no 
 opposition. Thus passed a long ten 
 minutes, till they were again joined by 
 Thorpe, Avho coming to them with 
 a gayer look, said, " Well, I have set- 
 tled the matter, and now we may all 
 go to-morrow with a safe conscience. 
 I have been to Miss Tilney, and made 
 
 vour excuses." 
 
 You
 
 ( 23^ ) 
 
 ^' You have not !" cried Catherine." 
 
 *^ I have, upon my soul. Left her 
 this moment. Told her you had sent 
 me to say, that having just recollected 
 a prior engagement of going to Clif- 
 ton with us to-morrow, you could not 
 have the pleasure of walking with her 
 till Tuesday. She said very well, Tues- 
 day was just as convenient to her; so 
 there is an end of all our difficulties.— 
 A pretty good thought of mine — hey ?" 
 
 Isabella's countenance Avas once 
 more all smiles and good-humour, and 
 James too looked happy again. 
 
 " A most heavenly thought indeed ! 
 Now, my sweet Catherine, all our dis- 
 tresses are over; you are honourably 
 acquitted, and we shall have a most 
 delightful party." 
 
 " This will not do," said Catherine ; 
 " I cannot submit to this. I must run 
 
 after
 
 ( 233 ) 
 
 after Miss Tilney directly and set hei' 
 right." 
 
 Isabella, however, caught hold of 
 one hand ; Thorpe of the other ; and 
 remonstrances poured in from all three. 
 Even James was quite angry. When 
 every thing was settled, when Miss 
 Tilney herself said that Tuesday would 
 suit her as well, it was quite ridiculous, 
 quite absurd to make any further ob- 
 jection. 
 
 " I do not care. Mr. Thorpe had no 
 business to invent any such message. 
 If I had thought it right to put it off, 
 I could have spoken to Miss Tilney my- 
 self. This is only doing it in a ruder 
 way ; and how do I know that Mr. 
 
 Thorpe has he may be mistaken 
 
 again perhaps ; he led me into one act 
 of rudeness by his mistake on Friday. 
 
 Let
 
 ( 254 ) 
 
 Let me go, Mr. Thorpe ; Isabella, do 
 not hold me." 
 
 Thorpe told her it would be in vain 
 to go after the Tilneys; they were 
 turning the corner into Brock-street, 
 when he had overtaken them, and were 
 at home by this time. 
 
 ** Then I will go after them," said 
 Catherine; "wherever they are I will 
 go after them. It does not signify 
 talking. If I could not be persuaded 
 into doing what I thought wrong, I 
 never will be tricked into it." And 
 with these words she broke away and 
 hurried off. Thorpe would have darted 
 after her, but Morland withheld him. 
 *^ Let her go, let her go, if she will go. 
 She is as obstinate as " 
 
 Thorpe never finished the simile, for 
 it could hardly have been a proper one. 
 
 Away
 
 ( 235 ) 
 
 Away walked Catherine in great 
 agitation, as fast as the crowd would 
 permit her, fearful of being pursued, 
 yet determin€d to persevere. As she 
 walked, she reflected on what had 
 passed. It was painful to her to dis- 
 appoint and displease them, particu- 
 larly to displease her brother; but she 
 could not repent her resistance. Set- 
 ting her own inclination apart, to have 
 failed a second time in her engagement 
 to Miss Tilney, to have retracted at 
 promise voluntarily made only five 
 minutes before, and on a false pretence 
 too, must have been wrong. She had 
 not been withstanding them on selfish 
 principles alone, she had not consulted 
 merely her own gratification; tliai 
 might have been ensured in some de- 
 gree by the excursion itself, by seeing 
 
 Blaize
 
 ( 236 ) 
 
 Blaize Castle ; no, she had attended ta 
 what was due to others, and to her 
 own character m their opinion. Her 
 conviction of beino- rio-ht however was 
 not enough to restore her composure, 
 till she had spoken to Miss Tilney she 
 could not be at ease ; and quickening 
 her pace when she got clear of the 
 Crescent, she almost ran over the rC' 
 maining ground till she gained the top 
 of Milsom-street. So rapid had been 
 her movements, that in spite of the 
 Tilneys' advantage in the outset, they 
 were but just turning into their lodg- 
 ings as she came within view of them ; 
 and the servant still remaining at the 
 open door, she used only the ceremony 
 of saying that she must speak with 
 Miss Tilney that moment, and hurry- 
 ing by him proceeded up stairs. Then, 
 
 opening
 
 ( 237 ) 
 
 opening the first door before her, which 
 happened to be the right, she im- 
 mediately found herself in the draw- 
 ing-room with General Tilney, his 
 son and daughter. Her explanation, 
 defective only in bein^ — from her ir- 
 ritation of nerves and shortness of 
 breath — no explanation at all, wsls in- 
 stantly given. " I am come in a great 
 hurry — It was all a mistake — I never 
 promised to go — I told them from the 
 first I could not go. — I ran away in a 
 great hurry to explain it. — I did not 
 care what you thought of me. — I would 
 not stay for the servant." 
 
 The business however, though not 
 perfectly elucidated by this speech, 
 soon ceased to be a puzzle. Catherine 
 found that John Thorpe had given the 
 message ; and Miss Tilney had no 
 
 scruple
 
 ( 238 ) 
 
 scruple in owning herself greatly sur- 
 prized by it. But whether her brother 
 had still exceeded her in resentment, 
 Catherine, though she instinctively 
 addressed herself as much to one as to 
 the other in her vindication, had no 
 means of knowing. Whatever might 
 have been felt before her arrival, her 
 eager declarations immediately made 
 every look and sentence as friendly as 
 she could desire. 
 
 The affair thus happily settled, she 
 was introduced by Miss Tilney to her 
 father, and received by him with such 
 ready, such solicitous politeness as 
 recalled Thorpe's information to her 
 mind, and made her think with plea- 
 sure that he might be sometimes de- 
 pended on. To such anxious attention 
 was the general's civility carried, that 
 
 not
 
 ( 239 ) 
 
 not aware of her extraordinary swift- 
 ness in entering the house, he was 
 quite angry with the servant whose 
 neglect had reduced her to open the 
 door of the apartment herself. " What 
 did William mean hy it? He should 
 make a point of inquiring into the 
 matter.*' And if Catherine had not 
 most warmly asserted his innocence, it 
 seemed likely that William would lose 
 the favour of his master for ever, if 
 not his place, hy her rapidity. 
 
 After sitting with them a quarter of 
 an hour, she rose to take leave, and 
 was then most agreeably surprized by 
 General Tilney's asking her if she 
 would do his dauo-hter the honour of 
 dining and spending the rest of the 
 day with her. Miss Tilncy added her 
 own wishes. Catherine was greatly 
 
 obliged ;
 
 ( 240 ) 
 
 obliged ; but it was quite out of her 
 power. Mr. and Mrs. Allen would 
 expect her back every moment. The 
 general declared he could say no more; 
 the claims of Mr. and Mrs. Allen were 
 not to be superseded; but on some 
 other day he trusted, when longer 
 notice could be given, they would not 
 refuse to spare her to her friend. " Oh, 
 no ; Catherine was sure they would not 
 have the least objection, and she should 
 have great pleasure in coming." The 
 general attended her himself to the 
 street-door, saying every thing gallant 
 as they went down stairs, admiring 
 the elasticity of her walk, which cor- 
 responded exactly with the spirit of 
 her dancing, and making her one of 
 the most graceful bows she had ever 
 beheld, when they parted. 
 
 Catherine,
 
 ( 241 ) 
 
 Catherine, delighted by all that had 
 passed, proceeded gaily to Pulteney- 
 street; walking, as she concluded, 
 with great elasticity, though she had 
 never thought of it before. She reach- 
 ed home without seeing any thing 
 more of the offended party ; and now 
 that she had been triumphant through- 
 out, had carried her point and was 
 secure of her walk, she began (as the 
 flutter of her spirits subsided) to doubt 
 whether she had been perfectly right. 
 A sacrifice was always noble ; and if 
 she had given way to their entreaties, 
 she should have been spared the dis- 
 tressing idea of a friend displeased, a 
 brother angry, and a scheme of great 
 happiness to both destroyed, perhaps 
 through her means. To ease her mind, 
 and ascertain by the opinion of an un- 
 
 voL. I. M prejudiced
 
 ( U2 ) 
 
 prejudiced person what her own conduct 
 had really heen, she took occasion to 
 mention before Mr. Allen the half-* 
 settled scheme of her brother and the 
 Thorpes for the following day. Mr. 
 Allen caught at it directly. " Well," 
 said he, " and do you think of going 
 too ?" 
 
 '^ No ; I had just engaged myself 
 to walk with Miss Tilney before they 
 told me of it; and therefore you know 
 I could not go with them, could I?"' 
 
 " No, certainly not; and I am glad 
 you do not think of it. These schemes 
 are not at all the thing. Young men 
 and women driving about the country 
 in open carriages ! Now and then it is 
 very well ; but going to inns and pub- 
 lic places together! It is not right; 
 and I wonder Mrs. Thorpe should allow 
 
 it.
 
 ( 243 ) 
 
 it. I am glad you do not think of 
 going ; I am sure Mrs. Morland would 
 not be pleased. Mrs. Allen, are not 
 you of my way of thinking ? Do not 
 you think these kind of projects ob- 
 jectionable ?" 
 
 " Yes, very much so indeed. Open 
 carriages are nasty things. A clean 
 gown is not five minutes wear in them. 
 You are splashed getting in and getting 
 out; and the wind takes your hair and 
 your bonnet in every direction. I hate 
 an open carriage myself." 
 
 " I know you do; but that is not 
 the question. Do not you think it has 
 an odd appeamnce, if young ladies are 
 frequently driven about in them by 
 young men, to whoui they arc not 
 even related?" 
 
 *' Yes, my dear, a very odd ap- 
 M 2 pearance
 
 ( 244 ) 
 
 pearance indeed. I cannot bear to 
 see it." 
 
 " Dear madam," cried Catherine, 
 " then why did not you tell me so 
 before ? I am sure if I had known it 
 to be improper, I would not have gone 
 with Mr. Thorpe at all ; but I always 
 hoped you would tell me, if you thought 
 I was doing wrong." 
 
 " And so I should, my dear, you may 
 depend on it ; for as I told Mrs. Mor- 
 land at parting, I would always do the 
 best for you in my power. But one 
 must not be over particular. Young 
 people will be young people, as your 
 good mother says herself. You know 
 I wanted you, when we first came, not 
 to buy that sprigged muslin, but you 
 would. Young people do not like to 
 be always thwarted. " 
 
 " But
 
 ( 245 ) 
 
 " But this was something of real 
 consequence ; and I do not think you 
 would have found me hard to per- 
 suade." 
 
 " As far as it has gone hitherto, 
 there is no harm done," said Mr. Allen; 
 **and I would only advise you, my 
 dear, not to go out with Mr. Thorpe 
 any more." 
 
 ** That is just what 1 was going to 
 say," added his wife. 
 
 Catherine, relieved for herself, felt 
 uneasy for Isabella; and after a mo- 
 ment's thought, asked Mr. Allen whe- 
 ther it would not be both proper and 
 kind in her to write to Miss Thorpe, 
 and explain the indecorum of which 
 she must be as insensible as herself; 
 for she considered that Isabella might 
 M 3 other-
 
 ( 246 ) 
 
 otherwise perhaps be going to CHfton 
 the next day, in spite of what had 
 passed. Mr, Allen however discouraged 
 her from doing any such thing. "You 
 had better leave her alone, my dear, 
 she is old enough to know what she is 
 about; and if not, has a mother to, ad- 
 vise her. Mrs. Thorpe is too indulgent 
 beyond a doubt; but however you had 
 better not interfere. She and your 
 brother chuse to go, and you will be 
 only getting ill-will." 
 
 Catherine submitted ; and though 
 sorry to think that Isabella should be 
 doing wrong, felt greatly relieved by 
 Mr. Allen's approbation of her o^vn 
 conduct, and truly rejoiced to be pre- 
 served by his advice from the danger of 
 falling into such an error herself. Her 
 
 escape
 
 ( 247 ) 
 
 escape from being one of the party to 
 Clifton was now an escape indeed ; for 
 what would the Tilneys have thought 
 of her, if she had broken her promise 
 to them in order to do what was wrong 
 in itself? if she had been guilty of one 
 breach of propriety, only to enable 
 her to be guilty of another? 
 
 M 4 CFIAP-
 
 ( 248 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The next morning was fair, and Ca- 
 therine almost expected another at* 
 tack from the assembled party. With 
 Mr. Allen to support her, she felt no 
 dread of the event: but she would 
 gladly be spared a contest, where vie* 
 tory itself was painful ; and was heartily 
 rejoiced therefore at neither seeing nor 
 hearing any thing of them. The Til- 
 neys called for her at the appointed 
 time ; and no new difficulty arising, no 
 sudden recollection, no unexpected 
 summons, no impertinent intrusion to 
 disconcert their measures, my heroine 
 was most unnaturally able to fulfil her 
 engagement, though it was made with 
 
 the
 
 ( 249 ) 
 
 the hero himself. They determined 
 on walking round Beechen Cliif, that 
 noble hill, whose beautiful verdure and 
 hanging coppice render it so striking 
 an object from almost every opening 
 in Bath. 
 
 " I never look at it," said Catherine, 
 as they walked along the side of the 
 river, " without thinking of the south 
 of France." 
 
 " You have been abroad then?" said 
 Henry, a little surprized. 
 
 " Oh ! no, I only mean what I have 
 read about. It always puts me in 
 mind of the country that Emily and 
 her father travelled through, in the 
 * Mysteries of Udolplijo.' But you never 
 read novels, I dare say ?'* 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 " Because they are not clever 
 M 5 enough
 
 ( 250 ) 
 
 enoagli for you — gentlemen read better 
 books." 
 
 '^ The person, be it gentleman or 
 lady, who has not pleasure in a good 
 novel, mu&t be intolerably stupid. I 
 have read all Mrs. Radcliile's w orks, 
 and most of them with great pleasure. 
 The Mysteries of Udolpho, when I 
 had once begun it, I could not lay 
 down again ; — ^I remember finishing it 
 in two days — my hair standing on end 
 the whole time." 
 
 *' Yes," added Miss Tilney, " and I 
 remember that you undertook to read 
 it aloud to me, and that when I was 
 called away for only five minutes to 
 answer a note, instead of waiting for 
 me, you took the volume into the 
 Hermitage-walk, and I was obliged to 
 stay till you had finished "it." 
 
 '' Thank
 
 ( 251 ) 
 
 " Thank you, Eleanor ; — a most 
 honourable testimony. You see, Miss 
 Morland, the mjustice of your suspi- 
 cions. Here was I, in my eagerness 
 to get on, refusing to wait only five 
 minutes for my sister; breaking the 
 promise I had made of reading it 
 aloud, and keeping her in suspense at a 
 most interesting part, by running away 
 with the volume, which, you are to 
 observe, was her own, particularly her 
 own. I am proud w^hen I reflect on 
 it, and I think it must establish me in 
 your good opinion." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it indeed, 
 and now I shall never be ashamed of 
 liking Udolpho myself. But I really 
 thought before, young men despised 
 novels amazingly." 
 
 " It is amazingly; it may well sug- 
 M 6 gest
 
 ( 252 ) 
 
 gest amazement if they do — for they 
 read nearly as many as women. I 
 myself have read hundreds and hun- 
 dreds. Do not imagine that you can 
 cope with me in a knowledge of Ju- 
 lias and Louisas. If we proceed to 
 particulars, and engage in the never- 
 ceasing inquiiy of ' Have you read 
 this ?' and ' Have you read that r' I 
 shall soon leave you as far behind me 
 as — ^what shall I say ? — I want an ap- 
 propriate simile \ — as far as your friend 
 Emily herself left poor Valancourt 
 when she went with her aunt into 
 Italy. Consider how many years I 
 have had the start of you. I had 
 entered on my studies at Oxford, 
 while you were a good little girl 
 working your sampler at home!" 
 " Not very good I am afraid. But 
 
 now
 
 ( Q53 ) 
 
 now really, do not you think Udolpho 
 the nicest book in the world r" 
 
 *' The nicest ; — by which I suppose 
 you mean the neatest. That must 
 depend upon the binding." 
 
 *' Henry," said ]\Iiss Tilney, " you 
 are very impertinent. Miss Morland, 
 he is treating you exactly as he does 
 his sister. He is for ever finding fault 
 with me, for some incorrectness of 
 language, and now he is taking the 
 same liberty with you. The word 
 ' nicest,' as you used it, did not suit 
 him ; and you had better change it as 
 soon as' you can, or we shall be over- 
 powered with Johnson and Blair all 
 .the rest of the way." 
 
 '' I am sure," cried Catherine, " I 
 did not mean to say any thing wrong ; 
 
 but
 
 ( 254 ) 
 
 but it is a nice book, and why siiouM 
 not I call it so ?' 
 
 ^' Very true," said Henry, " and 
 this is a very nice day, and we are 
 taking a very nice walk, and you are 
 two very nice young ladies. Oh ! it is 
 a very nice word indeed ! — it does for 
 every thing. Originally perhaps it 
 was applied only to express neatness, 
 propriety, delicacy, or refinement ; — 
 people were nice in their dress, in their- 
 sentiments, or their choice. But now 
 every commendation on every subject 
 is comprised in that one word." 
 
 " While, in fact," cried his sister, 
 " it ought only to be applied to you, 
 without any commendation at all. 
 You are more nice than wise. Come, 
 Miss Morland, let us leave him to 
 meditate over our faults in the utmost 
 
 pro-
 
 ( 255 ) 
 
 propriety of diction, while we praise 
 Udolplio in whatever terms we Hke 
 best. It is a most interesting work. 
 You are fond of that kind of reading?" 
 " To say the truth, I do not much 
 hke any other." 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " That is, I can read poetry and 
 plays, and things of that sort, and 
 do not dislike travels. But history, 
 real solemn history, I cannot be inte- 
 rested in. Can you?'' 
 
 " Yes, I am fond of history." 
 " I wish I were too. 1 read it a 
 little as a dutv, but it tells me nothing; 
 that does not either vex or weary me. 
 The quarrels of popes and kings, with 
 wars or pestilences, in every page; the 
 men all so good for nothing, and 
 hardly any women at all — it is very 
 
 tire-
 
 ( 256 ) 
 
 tiresome : and yet I often think it 
 odd that it should be so dull, for a 
 great deal of it must be invention. 
 The speeches that are put into the 
 heroes' mouths, their thoughts and de- 
 signs — the chief of all this must be 
 invention, and invention is what de- 
 lights me in other books." 
 
 '' Historians, you think," said Miss 
 Tilney, " are not happy in their 
 flights of fancy. They display imagi- 
 nation without raising interest. I am 
 fond of history — and am very well 
 contented to take the false with the 
 true. In the principal facts they have 
 sources of intelligence in former his- 
 tories and records, which may be as 
 much depended on, 1 conclude, as 
 any thing that does not actually pass 
 under one's own observation ; and as 
 
 for
 
 ( ^57 ) 
 
 for the little embcllisliments you speak 
 of, they are embellishments, and I 
 like them as such. If a speech be well 
 drawn up, I read it with pleasure, by 
 whomsoever it may be made — and 
 probably with much greater, if the 
 production of Mr. Hume or Mr. Ro* 
 bertson, than if the genuine words of 
 Caractacus, Agricola, or Alfred the 
 Great." 
 
 " You are fond of history ! — and so 
 are Mr. Allen and my father ; and I 
 have two brothers who do not dislike 
 it. So many instances within my 
 small circle of friends is remarkable ! 
 At this rate, I shall not pity the 
 writers of history any longer. If 
 people like to read their books, it is 
 all very well, but to be at so much 
 trouble in filling great volumes, which, 
 
 as
 
 ( 258 ) 
 
 as I used to think, nobody would wil- 
 lingly ever look into, to be lalx)uring 
 only for the torment of little boys and 
 girls, always struck me as a hard fate; 
 and though I know it is all very right 
 and necessary, I have often wondered 
 at the person's courage that could sit 
 down on purpose to do it." 
 
 *' That little boys and girls should 
 be tormented," said Henry, " is what 
 no one at all acquainted with human 
 nature in a civilized state can deny; 
 but in belialf of our most distinguished 
 historians, I must observe, that they 
 might well be offended at being sup- 
 posed to have no higher aim; and that 
 by their method and style, they are 
 perfectly well qualitied to tomient 
 readers of the most advanced reason 
 and mature time of life. I use the 
 
 verb
 
 ( 259 ) 
 
 veib ' to torment,' as 1 observed to be 
 your own method, instead of ^ to in- 
 struct,' supposing tliem to be now ad- 
 mitted as synonimous." 
 
 " You think me foohsh to call in- 
 struction a torment, but if you had 
 been as much used as myself to hear 
 poor little children first learning their 
 letters and then learning to spell, if 
 if you had ever seen how stupid they 
 can be for a whole morning together, 
 and how tired my poor mother is at 
 the end of it, as I am in the habit of 
 seeing almost every day of my life at 
 home, you w^ould allow that to torment 
 and to instruct might sometimes be 
 used as synonimous words." 
 
 '' Very probably. But historians 
 are not accountable for the difficulty 
 of learning to read ; and even you 
 
 yourself,
 
 ( 250 ) 
 
 yourself, who do not altogether seem 
 particularly friendly to very severe, 
 very intense application, may perhaps 
 be brought to acknowledge that it is 
 very well worth while to be tormented 
 for two or three years of one's life, for 
 the sake of being able to read all the 
 rest of it. Consider — if reading had 
 not been taught, Mrs. RadclifFe would 
 have written in vain — or perhaps 
 might not have written at all." 
 
 Catherine assented — and a very 
 warm panegyric from her on that 
 lady's merits, closed the subject. — 
 The Tilneys were soon engaged in 
 another on which she had nothing to 
 say. They were viewing the country 
 with the eyes of persons accustomed 
 to drawing, and decided on its capa- 
 bility of being formed into pictures, 
 
 with
 
 ( 261 ) 
 
 with all the eagerness of real taste. 
 Here Catherine was quite lost. She 
 knew nothing of drawing — nothing of 
 taste : — and she listened to them with 
 an attention which hrought her little 
 profit, for they talked in phrases which 
 conveyed scarcely any idea to her. 
 The little which she could understand 
 however appeared to contradict the 
 very few notions she had entertained 
 on the matter hefore. It seemed as if 
 a good view were no longer to be 
 taken from the top of an high hill, 
 and that a clear blue sky was no 
 longer a proof of a fine day. She was 
 heartily ashamed of her ignorance. 
 A misplaced shame. Where people 
 Avish to attach, they should always be 
 ignorant. To come with a well-in- 
 formed mind, is to come with an in- 
 ability
 
 ( 262 ) 
 
 ability of administering to the vanity 
 of others, which a sensible person 
 would always wish to avoid. A wo- 
 man especially, if she have the mis- 
 fortune of knowing any thing, should 
 conceal it as well as she can. 
 
 The advantages of natural folly in a 
 beautiful girl have been already set 
 forth by the capital pen of a sister 
 author ; — and to her treatment of 
 the subject I will only add in justice 
 to men, that though to the larger and 
 more trifling part of the sex, imbecility 
 in females is a great enhancement of 
 their personal charms, there is a por- 
 tion of them too reasonable and too 
 well informed themselves to desire any 
 thing more in woman than ignorance. 
 But Catherine did not know her own 
 advantages — did not know that a 
 
 good-
 
 ( ^63 ) 
 
 good-looking girl, with an affectionate 
 heart and a very ignorant mind, can- 
 not fail of attracting a clever young 
 manj unless circumstances are parti- 
 cularly untoward. In the present in- 
 stance, she confessed and lamented 
 her want of knowledge ; declared that 
 she would give any thing in the world 
 to be able to draw; and a lecture on 
 the picturesque immediately followed, 
 in which his instructions were so clear 
 that she soon began to see beauty in 
 every thing admired by him, and her 
 attention was so earnest, that he be- 
 came perfectly satisfied of her having a 
 g-reat deal of natural taste. He talked 
 of fore-grounds, distances, and second 
 distances — side-screens and perspec- 
 tives — lights and shades ; — and Cathe- 
 rine was so hopeful a scholar, that when 
 
 they
 
 ( 264 ) 
 
 they gained the top of Beechen CUiF, 
 she vohmtarily rejected the whole 
 city of Bath, as unworthy to make 
 part of a landscape. Delighted with 
 her progress, and fearful of wearying 
 her with too much wisdom at once, 
 Henry suffered the subject to decline, 
 and by an easy transition from a piece 
 of rocky fragment and the withered 
 oak which he had placed near its 
 summit, to oaks in general, to forests, 
 the inclosure of tliem, waste lands, 
 crown lands and government, he 
 shortly found himself arrived at po- 
 litics ; and from politics, it was an 
 easy step to silence. The general 
 pause which succeeded his short dis- 
 quisition on the state of the nation, 
 was put an end to by Catherine, who, 
 in rather a solemn tone of voice, ut- 
 tered
 
 ( 26^ ) 
 
 tered these words, " I have heard 
 that something very shocking indeed, 
 will soon come out in London." 
 
 ]\Iiss Tilney, to whom this was 
 chiefly addressed, was startled, and 
 hastily replied, " Indeed ! — and of 
 what nature ?" 
 
 '' That I do not know, nor who is 
 the author. I have only heard that 
 it is to he more horrible than any 
 thing, we have met with yet." 
 
 " Good heaven! — Where could you 
 hear of such a thing ?" 
 
 " A particular friend of mine had 
 an account of it in a letter from Lon- 
 don yesterday. It is to be uncom- 
 monly dreadful. I shall expect mur- 
 der and every thing of the kind." 
 
 " You speak with astonishing com- 
 posure ! But I hope your friend's ac- 
 
 voL. I. N counts
 
 ( 266 ) 
 
 counts have been exaggerated ; — and 
 if such a design is known beforehand, 
 proper measures will undoubtedly be 
 taken by government to prevent its 
 coming to eifect. " 
 
 " Government," said Henry, endea- 
 vouring not to smile, " neither desires 
 nor dares to interfere in such mat- 
 ters. There must be murder; and 
 government cares not how much." 
 
 The ladies stared. He laughed, 
 and added, " Come, shall I make you 
 understand each other, or leave you to 
 puzzle out an explanation as you can? 
 No — I will be noble. I will prove 
 myself a man, no less by the genero- 
 sity of my soul than the clearness of 
 my head. I have no patience with 
 such of my sex as disdain to let them- 
 selves sometimes down to the com- 
 prehension
 
 ( 267 ) 
 
 prehension of yours. Perhaps the 
 abihties of women are neither sound 
 nor acute — neither vigorous nor keen. 
 Perhaps they may want observation, 
 discernment, judgment, fire, genius, 
 and wit." 
 
 " Miss Morland, do not mind what 
 he says; — but have the goodness to 
 satisfy me as to this dreadful riot." 
 
 " Riot!— what riot?" 
 
 " ^ly dear Eleanor, the riot is only 
 in your own brain. The confusion 
 there is scandalous. Miss Morland 
 has been talking of nothing more 
 dreadful than a new publication which 
 is shortly to come out, in three duo- 
 decimo volumes, two hundred and 
 seventy-six pages in each, with a fron- 
 tispiece to the first, of two tombstones 
 and a lantern — do you understand ? — - 
 N 12 And
 
 ( 2G8 ) 
 
 And you, Miss Morland — my stupid sis- 
 ter has mistaken all your clearest expres- 
 sions. You talked of expected horrors 
 in London — and instead of instantly 
 conceiving, as any rational creature 
 would have done, that such words could 
 relate only to a circulating library, she 
 immediately pictured to herself a mob 
 of three thousand men assemblino; in 
 St. George's Fields ; the Bank at- 
 tacked, tlie Tower threatened, the 
 streets of London flowing with blood, 
 a detachment of the 12th Light Dra- 
 goons, (the hopes of the nation,) called 
 lip from Northampton to quell the in- 
 surgents, and the gallant Capt. Frede- 
 rick Tiiney, in tlie moment of charg- 
 ing at the head of his troop, knocked 
 off his horse by a brickbat from an 
 upper window. Forgive her stupidity.
 
 ( 269 ) • 
 
 Tlie fears of the sister have added to 
 the weakness of the woman ; but she 
 is by no means a simpleton in general." 
 
 Catherine looked grave. " And 
 now, Henry," said Miss Tilney, " that 
 you have made us understand each 
 other, you may as well make Miss 
 Morland understand yourself — unless 
 you mean to have her think you in- 
 tolerably rude to your sister, and a 
 great brute in your opinion of women 
 in general. Miss Morland is not 
 used to your odd ways." 
 '''*' I shall be most happy to make her 
 better acquainted with them." 
 
 " No doubt ; — but that is no expla- 
 nation of the present." 
 ' <' What am I to do ?" 
 
 '■' You khow what you ought to do. 
 
 Clear your character handsomel}' be- 
 
 N 3 fore
 
 ( 270 ) 
 
 fore her. Tell licr that you think 
 very higlily of tlie understanding of 
 women." 
 
 " Miss Morland, I think very highly 
 of the understanding of all the women 
 in the world — especially of those — 
 whoever they may be — with whom I 
 happen to be in company." 
 
 " That is not enough. Be more 
 serious." 
 
 " Miss Morland, no one can think 
 more highly of the understanding of 
 women than I do. In my opinion, 
 nature has given them so much, that 
 they never find it necessary to use 
 more than half." 
 
 " We shall get nothing more serious 
 from him now, Miss Morland. He is not 
 in a sober mood. But I do assure you 
 that he must be entirely misunderstood, 
 
 if
 
 ( 271 ) 
 
 if he can ever appear to say an unjust 
 thing of any woman at all, or an un- 
 kmd one of me." 
 
 It was no effort to Catherine to be- 
 lieve that Henry Tilney could never be 
 wrong. His manner might sometimes 
 surprize, but his meaning must always 
 be just : — and what she did not under- 
 stand, she was almost as ready to ad- 
 mire, as what she did. The whole 
 walk was delightful, and though it 
 ended too soon, its conclusion was 
 delightful too ; — ^lier friends attended 
 her into the house, and Miss Tilney, 
 before they parted, addressing herself 
 with respectful form, as much to Mrs. 
 Allen as to Catherine, petitioned ' for 
 the pleasure of her company to dinner 
 on the day after the next No diffi- 
 culty was made on Mrs. Allen's side — 
 N 4 and
 
 ( 272 ) 
 
 and the only difficulty on Catherine's 
 was in concealing the excess of her 
 pleasure. 
 
 The morning had passed away so 
 charmingly as to banish all her friend- 
 ship and natural affection ; for no 
 thought of Isabella or James had 
 crossed her during their walk. Whea 
 the Tilneys were gone, she became 
 amiable again, but she was amiable 
 for some time to little effect ; Mrs. Al- 
 len had no intelligence to give that 
 could relieve her anxiety, she had 
 heard nothing of any of them. To- 
 wards the end of the morning how- 
 ever, Catherine having occasion for 
 some indispensable yard of ribbon 
 which must be bought without a mo- 
 ment's delay, walked out into the 
 town, and in Bond-street overtook the 
 
 second
 
 ( ^73 ) 
 
 second Miss Thorpe, as she was loiter- 
 ing towards Edgar's Buildhigs between 
 two of the sweetest girls in the world, 
 who had been her dear friends all the 
 morning. From her, she soon learned 
 that the part}- to Clifton had taken 
 place. " They set off at eight this 
 morning," said Miss Anne, " and I 
 am sure I do not envy them their 
 drive. I think you and I are v^ry 
 well off to be out of the scrape. — 
 It must be the dullest thing in the 
 Avorld, for there is not a soul at 
 Clifton at this time of year. Belle 
 went with your brother, and John 
 drove Maria." 
 
 Catherine spoke the pleasure she 
 really felt on hearing this part of the 
 arrangement. 
 
 "• Oh ! yes," rejoined tlie other, 
 N 5 " Maria
 
 ( 274 ) 
 
 " Maria is gone. She was quite wild 
 to go. She thought it would be some- 
 thing very fine. I cannot say I ad- 
 mire her taste ; and for my part I was 
 determined from the first not to go, 
 if they pressed me ever so much." 
 
 Catherine, a little doubtful of this, 
 could not help answering, *' I wish 
 you could have gone too. It is a pity 
 you could not all go." 
 
 " Thank you ; but it is quite a 
 matter of indiiference to me. Indeed, 
 I would not have gone on any ac- 
 count. I was saying so to Emily and 
 Sophia when you overtook us," 
 
 Catherine was still unconvinced; 
 but glad that Anne should have the 
 friendship of an Emily and a Sophia 
 to console her, she bade her adieu 
 without much uneasiness, and returned 
 
 home.
 
 ( "^^^ ) 
 
 home, pleased that the party had not 
 been prevented by her refusing to join 
 it, and very heartily wishing that it 
 might be too pleasant to allow either 
 James or Isabella to resent her re- 
 sistance any longer.. 
 
 N CHAP-
 
 ( 276 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Early the next clay, a note from Isa- 
 bella', speaking peace and tenderness 
 in every line, and entreating the im- 
 mediate presence of her friend on a 
 matter of the utmost importance, has- 
 tened Catherine, in the happiest state 
 of confidence and curiosity, to Edgar's 
 Buildings. — The two youngest Miss 
 Thorpes were by themselves in the 
 parlour ; and, on Anne's quitting it 
 to call her sister, Catherine took the 
 opportunity of asking the other for 
 some particulars of their yesterday's 
 party. ]\Iaria desired no greatci' plea- 
 sure than to speak of it : and Cathe- 
 rine inmiediately learnt th.at it had 
 
 been
 
 ( 277 ) 
 
 been altogether the most delightful 
 scheme in the ^vol•l(:l ; that nobody 
 could imagine how charming it had 
 been, and that it had been more de- 
 lightful than any body could conceive. 
 Such was the infomiation of the first 
 five minutes ; the second unfolded 
 thus much in detail, — that they had 
 driven directly to the York Hotel, ate 
 some soup, and bespoke an early din- 
 ner, walked down to the Pump-room, 
 tasted the water, and laid out some 
 shillings in purses and spars ; tlience 
 adjoined to eat ice at a pastry-cook's, 
 and hurrying back to the Hotel, swal- 
 lowed their dinner in haste, to prevent 
 being in the dark ; and then had a de- 
 lightful drive back, only the moon was 
 not up, and it rained a little, and Mr. 
 Morland's horse was so tired he could 
 hardly get it along. 
 
 Catherine
 
 ( 278 ) 
 
 Catlierine listened with heartfelt sa- 
 tisfaction. It appeared that Blaize 
 Castle had never been thought of; 
 and, as for all the rest, there was no- 
 thing to regret for hajf an instant.— 
 Maria'& intelligence concluded with a 
 tender effusion of pity for her sister 
 Anne, whom she represented as insup- 
 portably cross, from being excluded 
 the party. 
 
 " She will never forgive me, I am 
 sure ; but, you know, how could I help 
 it ? John would have me go, for he 
 vowed he would not drive her^ because 
 she had such thick ancles. I dare say 
 she will not be in good humour again 
 this month; but I am determined I will 
 not be cross ; it is not a little matter 
 that puts me out of temper." 
 
 Isabella now entered the room with 
 so eager a step, and a look of such 
 
 happy
 
 ( 279 ) 
 
 happy importance, as engaged all her 
 friends notice. Maria was without 
 ceremony sent away, and Isahella, em- 
 bracing Catherine, thus began : — 
 ^' Yes, my dear Catherine, it is so in- 
 deed ; your penetration has not de- 
 ceived you. — Oh! that arch eye of 
 yours ! — It sees through every thing." 
 
 Catherine rephed only by a look of 
 wondering ignorance. 
 
 " Nay, my beloved, sweetest friend," 
 continued the other, '^ compose your- 
 self.— I am amazingly agitated, as you 
 perceive. Let us sit down and talk in 
 comfort. Well, and so you guessed it 
 the moment you had my note? — Sly 
 creature! — Oh! my dear Catherine, 
 you alone who know my heart can 
 judge of my present happiness. Your 
 brother is the most charming of men. 
 
 I only
 
 ( 280 ) 
 
 I only wish I were more worthy of him. 
 — But what will your excellent father 
 and mother say ? — Oh ! heavens ! when 
 I think of them I am so agitated T' r 
 
 Catherine's understanding began to 
 awake : an idea of the truth suddenly 
 darted into lier mind; and, with the 
 natural blush of so new an emotion, 
 she cried out, '^ Good heaven! — my 
 dear Isabella, what do vou mean? 
 Can you — can you really be in love 
 with James ?" 
 
 This bold surmise, however, she soon 
 learnt comprehended but half the 
 fact. The anxious affection, which 
 she was accused of having continually 
 watched in Isabella's every look and 
 action, had, in the course of their yes- 
 terday's party, received the delightful 
 confession of an equal love. Her heart 
 
 and
 
 ( 281 ) 
 
 and faith were alike engaged to James. 
 — Never had Catherine hstened to any 
 thing so full of interest, wonder, and 
 joy. Her brother and her friend en- 
 gaged ! — New to such circumstances^ 
 the importance of it appeared unspeak^ 
 ably great, and she' contemplated it as 
 one of those grand events, of which 
 the ordinary course of life can hardly 
 afford a return. The strength of het 
 feelings she could not express ; the na* 
 ture of them, however, contented her 
 friend. The happiness lof having such 
 a sister was their first eff^iision, and tlKi 
 fair ladies mingled in embraces and 
 tears of joy. 
 
 Delighting, however, as Catherine 
 sincerely did in the jjrospect of the 
 connexion, it must be acknowledged 
 that Isabella far surpassed her in ten- 
 der
 
 ( 282 ) 
 
 der antieipations. — " You will be so 
 infinitely dearer to nie, my Catherine, 
 than either Anne or INIaria: I feel that 
 I shall be so much more attached to 
 my dear Morland's family than to my 
 own." 
 
 This was a pitch of friendship be- 
 yond Catherine. 
 
 " You are so like your dear brother," 
 continued Isabella, " that I quite 
 doated on you the first moment I saw 
 you. But so it always is with me ; 
 the first moment settles every thing. 
 The very first day that INIorland came 
 to us last Christmas — the veiy first 
 moment I beheld him — my heart was 
 irrecoverably gone. I remember I 
 wore my yelldw gown, with my hair 
 done up in ^braids; and when I came 
 into the drawiug-room, and John in- 
 
 tFoduced
 
 ( 283 ) 
 
 troduced him, I thought I never saw 
 any body so handsome before." 
 
 Here Catherine secretly acknow- 
 ledged the power of love ; for, though 
 exceedingly fond of her brother, and 
 partial to all his endowments, she had 
 never in her life thought him hand- 
 some. 
 
 " I remember too, Miss Andrews 
 drank tea with us that evening, and 
 wore her puce-coloured sarsenet ; and 
 she looked so heavenly, that I thought 
 your brother must certainly fall in love 
 with her ; I could not sleep a wink all 
 night for thinking of it. Oh ! Cathe- 
 rine, the many sleepless nights I have 
 had on your brother's account !— I 
 would not have you suffer half what I 
 have done ! I am grown wretchedly 
 thin I knorw ; but I will not pain you 
 
 by
 
 ( 284 ) 
 
 by describing my anxiety ; you have 
 seen enough of it. I feel that Ihave 
 betrayed myself perpetually ; — so un- 
 guarded in speaking of my partiality 
 for the church ! — But my secret I was 
 always sure would be safe with you'" 
 Catherine felt that nothing could 
 have been safer ; but ashamed of an ig- 
 norance little expected, she dared no 
 longer contest the point, nor refuse to 
 Imve been as full of arch penetration 
 and affectionate sympathy as Isabella 
 chose to consider her. Her brother sh^ 
 found was preparing to set-off with all 
 «peed to Fullerton, to make kiiown his 
 situation and ask consent ; and here 
 was a source of some real agitation to 
 the mind of Isabella. Catherine en- 
 deavoured to persuade lier, as she was 
 herself persuaded, that her fiither and 
 
 mother
 
 ( 285 ) 
 
 mother would never oppose their son's 
 wishes. — " It is impossible," said she, 
 " for parents to be more kind, or more 
 desirous of their children's happiness ; 
 I have no doubt of their consenting 
 immediately." 
 
 '' Morland says exactly the same," 
 replied Isabella ; '* and yet I dare not 
 expect it; my fortune will be so small; 
 they never can consent to it. A'our 
 brother, who might marry any body !" 
 
 Here Catherine again discerned the 
 force of love. * 
 
 '' Indeed, Isabella, you are too hum- 
 ble. — The difference of fortune can ])C 
 nothing to signify." 
 
 ^' Oh ! my sweet Catherine, mT/oin" 
 generous heart I know it would signify 
 nothing ; but we must not expect such 
 disinterestedness in many. As for my^ 
 self, I am sure I only wish our situa- 
 tions
 
 ( 286 ) 
 
 tions were reversed. Had I the com- 
 mand of millions, were I mistress of 
 the whole world, your brother would 
 be my only choice." 
 
 This charming sentiment, recom- 
 mended as much by sense as novelty, 
 gave Catherine a most pleasing re- 
 membrance of all the heroines of her 
 acquaintance ; and she thought her 
 friend never looked more lovely than 
 in uttering the grand iclea. — " I am 
 sui'e they will coilsent," was her fre- 
 quent declaration ; " I am sure they 
 will be delighted with you." 
 
 " For my own part," said Isabella, 
 " my wishes are so moderate, that the 
 smallest income in nature would be 
 enough for me. Where people are really 
 attached, poverty itself is wealth : gran- 
 deur I detest: I would not settle in 
 London for the universe. A cottage 
 
 in
 
 ( ^^7 ) 
 
 in some rejtired village would be ex- 
 tasy. There are some charming little 
 villas about Richmond." 
 
 '^ Richmond !" cried Catherine. — 
 '* You must settle near Fullerton. 
 You must be near us." 
 
 " I am sure I shall be miserable if 
 we do not. If I can but be near you, 
 I shall be satisfied. But this is idle 
 talking ! I will not allow myself to 
 think of such things, till we have your 
 father's answer. Morland says that 
 by sending it to-night to Salisbury, we 
 may have it to-morrow. — To-morrow? 
 — I know I shall never have courage to 
 open the letter. 1 know it will be the 
 death of me.'' 
 
 A reverie succeeded this convic- 
 tion — and when Isabella spoke again, 
 it was to resolve on the quality of hej- 
 wedding-gown. 
 
 Their
 
 ( 288 ' ) 
 
 Their conference was put an end to 
 by the anxious young lover himself, 
 who came to breathe his parting sigh 
 before he set off for Wiltshire. Cathe- 
 rine wished to congratulate him, but 
 knew not what to say, and her elo- 
 quence was only in her eyes. From 
 them how.ever the eight parts of 
 speech shone ^ out most expressively, 
 and James could combine them with 
 ease. Impatient for the realization 
 of all that he hoped at home, his adieus 
 were not long ; and they, would have 
 been yet shorter, had he not been fre- 
 quently detained by the urgent en- 
 treaties of his fair one that he would 
 go-. Twice was he called almost from 
 the door by her eagerness to have him 
 gone. " Indeed, Morland, I must 
 drive vou awav. Consider how far 
 
 you
 
 ( ^S9 ) 
 
 you have to ride. I cannot bear to 
 «ce you linger so. For Heaven's sake, 
 waste no more time. There, go, go — - 
 I insist on it." .>....u 
 
 The two friends, with Ti^^rts now 
 more united than ever, were inseparable 
 tor the day; and in schemes of sisterly 
 happiness the hours flew along. Mrs. 
 Thorpe and her son, who were ac- 
 quainted with every thing, and who 
 seemed only to want JNIr. Morland's 
 consent, to consider Isabella's engage- 
 ment as the most fortunate circum- 
 stance imaginable for their family, 
 were allowed to join their counsels, 
 and add their quota of significant 
 looks and mysterious expressions to 
 fill up the measure of curiosity to be 
 raised in the unprivileged younger 
 sisters. To Catherine's simple feel- 
 
 VOL. I. o in OS.
 
 ( 290 ) 
 
 ings, this odd sort of reserve seemed 
 neither kindly meant, nor consistently 
 supported; arid its. uukindness she 
 would hardly have forhoni pointing 
 out, had its inconsistency heen less 
 their friend ;— but Anne and Maria 
 soon set her heart at ease by the saga- 
 city of their ^' I know what ;'- and the 
 evening was spent in a sort of war of wit, 
 a display of family ingenuity ; on one 
 side in the mystery of an affected 
 secret, on the other of undefined dis- 
 covery ^ all equally acute. 
 
 Catherine was witli her friend again 
 the next day, endeavouring to support 
 her spirits, and while away the many 
 .tedious hours before the delivery of 
 the letters; a needful exertion, for as 
 the time of reasonable expectation 
 drew near, Isabella became more and 
 
 more
 
 ( 291 ) 
 
 more dcspoiulino-, and l)eforc the letter 
 arrived, had worked herself into a state 
 of real distress. But when it did come, 
 where could distress he found? " 1 
 have had no difficulty in gaining the 
 consent of my kind parents, and am 
 promised that every thing in their 
 power shall be done to forward my 
 happiness," were the first three lines, 
 and in one moment all was joyful secu- 
 rity. The brightest glow was instantly 
 spread over Isabella's features, all care 
 and anxiety seemed removed, her spirits 
 became almost too high for controul, 
 and she called herself without scruple 
 the happiest of mortals. 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe, with tears of joy, em- 
 braced her daughter, her son, her vi- 
 sitor, and could have embraced half 
 thie inhabitants of Bath with satisfac- 
 o 2 tion.
 
 ( 292 ) 
 
 tion. Her heart was overflowing with 
 tenderness. It was " dear John/' and 
 '^ dear Catherine" at every word ; — 
 '* dear Anne and dear Maria" must im- 
 mediately be made sliarers in their fe- 
 ticity ; and two " dears" at once before 
 the name of Isabella were not more 
 than that beloved child had now well 
 earned. John himself was no skulker 
 in joy. He not only bestowed on iNIr. 
 Morland the high commendation of 
 being one of the finest fellows in the 
 world, but swore off many sentences in 
 his praise. 
 
 The letter, ^^ hence sprang all tiii$ 
 felicity, was short, containing little 
 more than this assurance of success ; 
 and every particular was deferred till 
 James could write again. But for par- 
 ticulars Isabella could well afford to 
 
 wait.
 
 ( 293 ) 
 
 wait. Tlic needful was comprised in 
 a\Ir. Morland's promise ; his honour was 
 pledged to make every thing- easy ; and 
 by what means their income was to 
 be formed, wliether hmded property 
 were to be resigned, or funded money 
 made ovei*, was a matter in which her 
 disinterested spirit took no concern. 
 She knew enough to feel secure of an 
 honourable and speedy establishment, 
 and her imagination took a rapid flight 
 over its attendant felicities. She saw 
 herself at the end of a few weeks, the 
 gaze and admiration of every new ac- 
 quaintance at FuUerton, the envy of 
 every valued old friend in Putney, 
 with a carriage at her command, a new 
 name on lier tickets, and a brilliant 
 exhibition of hoop rings on her finger. 
 Wlicn the contents of the letter were 
 ^iscertained, John Thorpe, who had only 
 o 3 waited
 
 ( 294 ) 
 
 waited its arrival to begin hi» joumer 
 to London, prepared to setoff. "Well, 
 Miss Morland," said he, on finding lier 
 alone in the parlour, *' I am come to 
 bid you good bye." Catherine wished 
 him a good journey* Without appear- 
 ing to hear her, he walked to the win- 
 dow, iidgcttcd about, hunnned a tune, 
 aiKl seemed wholly self-occupied. 
 
 '* Shall not you be late at Devizes r"^* 
 said Catherine. He made no answer ; 
 but after a minute's silence burst out 
 with, '' A famous good thing this mar- 
 rying scheme, upon my soul ! A clever 
 fancy of Morland's and Belle's. What 
 do you think of it, Miss Morland? / 
 say it is no bad notion." 
 
 " I am sure 1 think it a very good 
 one. " 
 
 *^ I)o you ? — that's honest, by heavens ! 
 I am glad you are no enemy to matri- 
 mony
 
 ( 295 ) 
 
 niony however. Did you ever hear 
 the old song, ' Going to one wedding 
 brings on another?' I kay, you will 
 come to Belle's wedding, I hope." 
 
 " Yes; I have promised your sister 
 to be with her, if possible. " 
 
 " And then you know" — twisting 
 himself about and forcing a foolish 
 laugh — '^ I say, then you know, we 
 may try the truth of this same old 
 song." 
 
 *' j\Iay we ? — but I never sing. Well, 
 1 wish you a good journey. I dine 
 with Miss Tilney to-day, and must now 
 be going home.'' 
 
 '' Nay, but there is no such con- 
 founded hurry. — Who knows when we 
 may be together again? — Not but that 
 I shall be down again by the end of a 
 fortnight, and a devilish long fortnight 
 it will appear to me.7 
 
 ^* ^riicn
 
 ( ^96 ) 
 
 " Theft why do you stay away so 
 long r'" replied Catherine — finding that 
 lie waited for ah answer. 
 
 ^' That is kind of you, however — 
 kind and good-natured. — I shall not 
 forget it in a hurry. — But you have 
 more good-nature and all that, than 
 any body living I believe. A monstrous 
 deal of good-nature, and it is not only 
 good-nature, but you have so mueh, 
 so much of every thino* ; and then vou 
 have such — upon my soul I do not 
 kiaov/ any body like you.*' 
 
 ''Oh! dear, there are a great many 
 people like me, I dare say, only a great 
 deal better. Good morning to you." 
 
 '' But I say, Miss Morland, I shall 
 come and pay my respects at Fullerton 
 before it is long, if not disagreeable." 
 
 *' Pray do. — IMy father and mother 
 will be very glad to see you." 
 
 '' And
 
 ( ^91 ) 
 
 ''And I hope — I hope, Miss IMorlandy 
 you will not be sorry to see me." 
 
 " Oh! dear, not at all. There are 
 very few people I am sorry to see. 
 Company is always cheerful/' 
 
 " That is just my way of thinking. 
 Give me but a little cheerful company, 
 let me only have the company of the 
 people I love, let me only be where I 
 like and with whom I like, and the 
 devil take the rest, say I. — And I am 
 heartily glad to hear you say the same. 
 But I have a notion, ]\Iiss Morland, 
 you and I think pretty much alike 
 upon most matters." aj 
 
 '' Perhaps we may ; but it is more 
 than I ever thought of. And as to 
 most matters, to say the truth, there 
 are not many that I know my own 
 mmd about." 
 
 " By Jove, no more do I. It is not 
 
 mv
 
 ( 298 ) 
 
 my way to botlier my brains with What 
 docs not concern me. My notion of 
 things is simple enough. Let me only 
 have the girl I like, say I, with a com- 
 fortable house over my head, and what 
 care t for all the rest? ' Fortune is no- 
 thing. I am sure of a good income of 
 my own; and if she had not a penny, 
 Avhy so much the better." 
 '}^h Very true.- ^T^' think like you 
 there. If there is a good fortune on 
 one side, there can be no! occasion for 
 any on the other. No matter which 
 has it, so that there is enough. I hate 
 the idea of one great fortune looking 
 out for another. And to marry for 
 money I think the wickedest thing in 
 existence. — ^Good day. — We shall be 
 very glad to see you at Fullerton, 
 whenever it is convenient." And away 
 she went. It was not lit the power of 
 
 all
 
 ( 299 ) 
 
 all his gnllantry to detain her longer. 
 With such news to communicate, and 
 such a visit to prepare for, her depar- 
 ture was not to be delayed by any 
 thing in his nature to urge; and she 
 hurried away, leaving him to the 
 undivided consciousness of his own 
 happy address, and her explicit en- 
 couragement. 
 
 Tlie agitation which she had herself 
 experienced on first learning her bro- 
 ther's engagemiirut, made her expect to 
 raise no inconsiderable emotion in Mi". 
 and Mrs. Allen, by the communica- 
 tion of the wonderful event, ilow 
 great was her disappointment! The 
 important affair, wdiich many w^ords of 
 preparation ushered in, had been fore- 
 seen by them both ever since her bro- 
 ther's arrival ; and all that they felt on 
 the occasion was comprehended in a 
 
 wish
 
 ( 300 ) 
 
 wish lor the young people's happiness, 
 witli a remark, on the gentleman's side, 
 in favour of Isabella's beauty, and on 
 the lady's, of her great good luck. 
 It was to Catherine the most surprizing 
 insensibility. The disclosure however 
 of the great i^ecret of James's going to 
 FuUerton the day before, did raise 
 some emotion in Mrs. Allen. She could 
 not listen to that with perfect calm- 
 ness ; but repeatedly regretted the ne- 
 cessity of its concealment, wished she 
 could have known his intention, wish- 
 ed she could have seen him before lie 
 went, as she should certainly have 
 troubled him with her best regards to 
 his father and mother, and her kind 
 compliments to all the Skinners. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Loudon: Printed by C. Rowortfi, 
 Bell-yard, Temple-bar.