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

 From Pope, she learnt to censure those who 

 “bear about the mockery of woe.” 

 From Gray, that 

 “Many a flower is born to blush unseen, “And waste its fragrance on the desert air.” 

 From Thomson, that— 

 “It is a delightful task “To teach the young idea how to shoot.” 

 And from Shakespeare she gained a great store of information—amongst the rest, that— 

 “Trifles light as air, “Are, to the jealous, confirmation strong, “As proofs of Holy Writ.” 

 That 

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

 And that a young woman in love always looks— 

 “like Patience on a monument “Smiling at Grief.” 

 So far her improvement was sufficient—and in many other points she came on exceedingly well; for though she could not write sonnets, she brought herself to read them; and though there seemed no chance of her throwing a whole party into raptures by a prelude on the pianoforte, of her own composition, she could listen to other people’s 

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