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“
The
poor
beetle
,
which
we
tread
upon
,
“
In
corporal
sufferance
feels
a
pang
as
great
“
As
when
a
giant
dies
.
”
And
that
a
young
woman
in
love
always
looks
—
“
like
Patience
on
a
monument
“
Smiling
at
Grief
.
”
So
far
her
improvement
was
sufficient
—
and
in
many
other
points
she
came
on
exceedingly
well
;
for
though
she
could
not
write
sonnets
,
she
brought
herself
to
read
them
;
and
though
there
seemed
no
chance
of
her
throwing
a
whole
party
into
raptures
by
a
prelude
on
the
pianoforte
,
of
her
own
composition
,
she
could
listen
to
other
people
’
s
performance
with
very
little
fatigue
.
Her
greatest
deficiency
was
in
the
pencil
—
she
had
no
notion
of
drawing
—
not
enough
even
to
attempt
a
sketch
of
her
lover
’
s
profile
,
that
she
might
be
detected
in
the
design
.
There
she
fell
miserably
short
of
the
true
heroic
height
.
At
present
she
did
not
know
her
own
poverty
,
for
she
had
no
lover
to
portray
.
She
had
reached
the
age
of
seventeen
,
without
having
seen
one
amiable
youth
who
could
call
forth
her
sensibility
,
without
having
inspired
one
real
passion
,
and
without
having
excited
even
any
admiration
but
what
was
very
moderate
and
very
transient
.
This
was
strange
indeed
!
But
strange
things
may
be
generally
accounted
for
if
their
cause
be
fairly
searched
out
.
There
was
not
one
lord
in
the
neighbourhood
;
no
—
not
even
a
baronet
.
There
was
not
one
family
among
their
acquaintance
who
had
reared
and
supported
a
boy
accidentally
found
at
their
door
—
not
one
young
man
whose
origin
was
unknown
.
Her
father
had
no
ward
,
and
the
squire
of
the
parish
no
children
.
But
when
a
young
lady
is
to
be
a
heroine
,
the
perverseness
of
forty
surrounding
families
cannot
prevent
her
.
Something
must
and
will
happen
to
throw
a
hero
in
her
way
.
Mr
