Next to your happiness, Fanny, his has the first claim on me.


You are aware of my having no common interest in Crawford."


Fanny was too well aware of it to have anything to say; and they walked on together some fifty yards in mutual silence and abstraction.

Fanny was too well aware of it to say anything; and they walked on together in silence.


"I was very much pleased by her manner of speaking of it yesterday, particularly pleased, because I had not depended upon her seeing everything in so just a light.

"I was very much pleased by her manner of speaking of it yesterday, because I had not been certain of her seeing everything in so just a light.


I knew she was very fond of you; but yet I was afraid of her not estimating your worth to her brother quite as it deserved, and of her regretting that he had not rather fixed on some woman of distinction or fortune.

I knew she was very fond of you; but I was afraid of her not seeing your worth to her brother, and of her regretting that he had not fixed on some woman of fortune.


I was afraid of the bias of those worldly maxims, which she has been too much used to hear.


She spoke of you, Fanny, just as she ought.

But she spoke of you, Fanny, just as she ought.


She desires the connexion as warmly as your uncle or myself.


I should not have mentioned the subject, though very anxious to know her sentiments; but I had not been in the room five minutes before she began introducing it with all that openness of heart, and sweet peculiarity of manner, that spirit and ingenuousness which are so much a part of herself.

I had not been in the room five minutes before she introduced the subject with all that openness of heart and spirit which are so much a part of herself.


Mrs. Grant laughed at her for her rapidity."


"Yes, when I reached the house I found the two sisters together by themselves; and when once we had begun, we had not done with you, Fanny, till Crawford and Dr. Grant came in."

"Yes, I found the two sisters together."


"It is above a week since I saw Miss Crawford."


"Yes, she laments it; yet owns it may have been best.


You will see her, however, before she goes.


She is very angry with you, Fanny; you must be prepared for that.


She calls herself very angry, but you can imagine her anger.


It is the regret and disappointment of a sister, who thinks her brother has a right to everything he may wish for, at the first moment.

It is the disappointment of a sister, who thinks her brother has a right to everything he may wish for.


She is hurt, as you would be for William; but she loves and esteems you with all her heart."


"I knew she would be very angry with me."


"My dearest Fanny," cried Edmund, pressing her arm closer to him, "do not let the idea of her anger distress you.

"My dearest Fanny," cried Edmund, pressing her arm closer, "do not let the idea of her anger distress you.


It is anger to be talked of rather than felt.


Her heart is made for love and kindness, not for resentment.


I wish you could have overheard her tribute of praise; I wish you could have seen her countenance, when she said that you _should_ be Henry's wife.

I wish you could have heard her praise you; I wish you could have seen her face, when she said that you should be Henry's wife."


And I observed that she always spoke of you as 'Fanny,' which she was never used to do; and it had a sound of most sisterly cordiality."


"And Mrs. Grant, did she say-did she speak; was she there all the time?"

"And Mrs. Grant, did she speak; was she there all the time?"


"Yes, she was agreeing exactly with her sister.


The surprise of your refusal, Fanny, seems to have been unbounded.


That you could refuse such a man as Henry Crawford seems more than they can understand.


I said what I could for you; but in good truth, as they stated the case-you must prove yourself to be in your senses as soon as you can by a different conduct; nothing else will satisfy them.

I said what I could for you; but in good truth, you must prove yourself to be in your senses as soon as you can by a different conduct; nothing else will satisfy them.


"I _should_ have thought," said Fanny, after a pause of recollection and exertion, "that every woman must have felt the possibility of a man's not being approved, not being loved by some one of her sex at least, let him be ever so generally agreeable.

"I should have thought," said Fanny, after a pause of recollection and exertion, "that every woman must have felt the possibility of a man's not being loved by some one of her sex at least, let him be ever so generally agreeable.


Let him have all the perfections in the world, I think it ought not to be set down as certain that a man must be acceptable to every woman he may happen to like himself.


But, even supposing it is so, allowing Mr. Crawford to have all the claims which his sisters think he has, how was I to be prepared to meet him with any feeling answerable to his own?

But, even supposing it is so, how was I to be prepared to meet Mr Crawford with any feeling like his own?


I had not an idea that his behaviour to me before had any meaning; and surely I was not to be teaching myself to like him only because he was taking what seemed very idle notice of me.

I had no idea that his behaviour to me before had any meaning.


In my situation, it would have been the extreme of vanity to be forming expectations on Mr. Crawford.

In my situation, it would have been vanity to be forming expectations of Mr. Crawford.


I am sure his sisters, rating him as they do, must have thought it so, supposing he had meant nothing.


How, then, was I to be-to be in love with him the moment he said he was with me?

How, then, was I to be-to be in love with him, the moment he said he was with me?


How was I to have an attachment at his service, as soon as it was asked for?"


His sisters should consider me as well as him.


The higher his deserts, the more improper for me ever to have thought of him.


And, and-we think very differently of the nature of women, if they can imagine a woman so very soon capable of returning an affection as this seems to imply."


"My dear, dear Fanny, now I have the truth. I know this to be the truth; and most worthy of you are such feelings.

"My dear Fanny, now I have the truth; and most worthy of you are such feelings.


You have now given exactly the explanation which I ventured to make for you to your friend and Mrs. Grant, and they were both better satisfied, though your warm-hearted friend was still run away with a little by the enthusiasm of her fondness for Henry.

You have given exactly the explanation which I ventured to make for you to your friend and Mrs. Grant.


I told them that you were of all human creatures the one over whom habit had most power and novelty least; and that the very circumstance of the novelty of Crawford's addresses was against him. Their being so new and so recent was all in their disfavour; that you could tolerate nothing that you were not used to; and a great deal more to the same purpose, to give them a knowledge of your character.

I told them that you were, of all people, the one over whom habit had most power and novelty least; and that the very novelty of Crawford's addresses was against him: that you could tolerate nothing that you were not used to.


Miss Crawford made us laugh by her plans of encouragement for her brother.


She meant to urge him to persevere in the hope of being loved in time, and of having his addresses most kindly received at the end of about ten years' happy marriage."


Fanny could with difficulty give the smile that was here asked for.


She feared she had been doing wrong: saying too much, overacting the caution which she had been fancying necessary; in guarding against one evil, laying herself open to another; and to have Miss Crawford's liveliness repeated to her at such a moment, and on such a subject, was a bitter aggravation.

She feared she had been saying too much, and overacting the caution which she had been fancying necessary; and in guarding against one evil, was laying herself open to another. To have Miss Crawford's liveliness repeated to her at such a moment, and on such a subject, was a bitter aggravation.


Edmund saw weariness and distress in her face, and immediately resolved to forbear all farther discussion; and not even to mention the name of Crawford again, except as it might be connected with what _must_ be agreeable to her.

Edmund saw weariness and distress in her face, and immediately resolved to not mention the name of Crawford again, unless in connexion with what must be agreeable to her.


On this principle, he soon afterwards observed-"They go on Monday.


You are sure, therefore, of seeing your friend either to-morrow or Sunday.


They really go on Monday; and I was within a trifle of being persuaded to stay at Lessingby till that very day!

They really go on Monday; and I was almost persuaded to stay at Lessingby till that very day!


Those five or six days more at Lessingby might have been felt all my life."


I was most kindly pressed, and had nearly consented.


Had I received any letter from Mansfield, to tell me how you were all going on, I believe I should certainly have staid; but I knew nothing that had happened here for a fortnight, and felt that I had been away long enough."


"Yes; that is, it was the fault of my own mind if I did not. They were all very pleasant.


I took uneasiness with me, and there was no getting rid of it till I was in Mansfield again."


"The Miss Owens-you liked them, did not you?"


Pleasant, good-humoured, unaffected girls.


But I am spoilt, Fanny, for common female society.


Good-humoured, unaffected girls will not do for a man who has been used to sensible women.

Good-humoured, unaffected girls will not do for a man who has been used to intelligent women.


You and Miss Crawford have made me too nice."

You and Miss Crawford have made me too exacting."


Still, however, Fanny was oppressed and wearied; he saw it in her looks, it could not be talked away; and attempting it no more, he led her directly, with the kind authority of a privileged guardian, into the house.

Still, however, Fanny was oppressed and wearied; he saw it in her looks, it could not be talked away; and attempting it no more, he led her, with the kind authority of a guardian, into the house.


Fanny's consequence increased on the departure of her cousins.

Fanny's consequence increased on her cousins' departure.


Becoming, as she then did, the only young woman in the drawing-room, the only occupier of that interesting division of a family in which she had hitherto held so humble a third, it was impossible for her not to be more looked at, more thought of and attended to, than she had ever been before; and "Where is Fanny?"

As the only young woman in the drawing-room, she was more attended to than she had ever been before; and "Where is Fanny?"


became no uncommon question, even without her being wanted for any one's convenience.


Not only at home did her value increase, but at the Parsonage too.


In that house, which she had hardly entered twice a year since Mr. Norris's death, she became a welcome, an invited guest, and in the gloom and dirt of a November day, most acceptable to Mary Crawford.

There she became a welcome guest, and in the gloom and dirt of November, most acceptable to Mary Crawford.


Her visits there, beginning by chance, were continued by solicitation.


Mrs. Grant, really eager to get any change for her sister, could, by the easiest self-deceit, persuade herself that she was doing the kindest thing by Fanny, and giving her the most important opportunities of improvement in pressing her frequent calls.

Mrs. Grant, eager to get any change for her sister, persuaded herself that she was doing the kindest thing for Fanny, and giving her opportunities of improvement in frequently inviting her.


Fanny, having been sent into the village on some errand by her aunt Norris, was overtaken by a heavy shower close to the Parsonage; and being descried from one of the windows endeavouring to find shelter under the branches and lingering leaves of an oak just beyond their premises, was forced, though not without some modest reluctance on her part, to come in.

Fanny, having been sent into the village on some errand by her aunt Norris, was overtaken by a heavy shower close to the Parsonage; and being seen from one of the windows endeavouring to find shelter under an oak, was forced, with modest reluctance on her part, to come in.


A civil servant she had withstood; but when Dr. Grant himself went out with an umbrella, there was nothing to be done but to be very much ashamed, and to get into the house as fast as possible; and to poor Miss Crawford, who had just been contemplating the dismal rain in a very desponding state of mind, sighing over the ruin of all her plan of exercise for that morning, and of every chance of seeing a single creature beyond themselves for the next twenty-four hours, the sound of a little bustle at the front door, and the sight of Miss Price dripping with wet in the vestibule, was delightful.

Dr. Grant himself went out with an umbrella; and to poor Miss Crawford, who had just been contemplating the dismal rain very despondently, the sound of a little bustle at the front door, and the sight of Miss Price dripping in the vestibule, was delightful.


The value of an event on a wet day in the country was most forcibly brought before her.

The value of an event on a wet day in the country was forcibly brought before her.


She was all alive again directly, and among the most active in being useful to Fanny, in detecting her to be wetter than she would at first allow, and providing her with dry clothes; and Fanny, after being obliged to submit to all this attention, and to being assisted and waited on by mistresses and maids, being also obliged, on returning downstairs, to be fixed in their drawing-room for an hour while the rain continued, the blessing of something fresh to see and think of was thus extended to Miss Crawford, and might carry on her spirits to the period of dressing and dinner.

She was alive again directly, and most active in being useful to Fanny and providing her with dry clothes. Since Fanny was obliged to stay for an hour while the rain continued, the blessing of something fresh to think of was extended.


The two sisters were so kind to her, and so pleasant, that Fanny might have enjoyed her visit could she have believed herself not in the way, and could she have foreseen that the weather would certainly clear at the end of the hour, and save her from the shame of having Dr. Grant's carriage and horses out to take her home, with which she was threatened.

The two sisters were so kind to her, that Fanny might have enjoyed her visit could she have believed herself not in the way, and could she have foreseen that the weather would certainly clear at the end of the hour, and save her from the shame of having Dr. Grant's carriage out to take her home.


As to anxiety for any alarm that her absence in such weather might occasion at home, she had nothing to suffer on that score; for as her being out was known only to her two aunts, she was perfectly aware that none would be felt, and that in whatever cottage aunt Norris might chuse to establish her during the rain, her being in such cottage would be indubitable to aunt Bertram.

As her being out was known only to her two aunts, she was perfectly aware that no alarm would be felt by anyone.


It was beginning to look brighter, when Fanny, observing a harp in the room, asked some questions about it, which soon led to an acknowledgment of her wishing very much to hear it, and a confession, which could hardly be believed, of her having never yet heard it since its being in Mansfield.

It was beginning to look brighter, when Fanny, observing a harp, asked some questions about it, and acknowledged that she wished very much to hear it, for she had never yet heard it since its being in Mansfield.


To Fanny herself it appeared a very simple and natural circumstance.


She had scarcely ever been at the Parsonage since the instrument's arrival, there had been no reason that she should; but Miss Crawford, calling to mind an early expressed wish on the subject, was concerned at her own neglect; and "Shall I play to you now?"

She had scarcely been at the Parsonage since the instrument's arrival; but Miss Crawford was concerned at her own neglect; and "Shall I play to you now?"


were questions immediately following with the readiest good-humour.


She played accordingly; happy to have a new listener, and a listener who seemed so much obliged, so full of wonder at the performance, and who shewed herself not wanting in taste.

She played accordingly; happy to have a new listener who seemed so full of wonder at the performance, and who showed herself not wanting in taste.


She played till Fanny's eyes, straying to the window on the weather's being evidently fair, spoke what she felt must be done.

She played till Fanny's eyes strayed to the window.


"Another quarter of an hour," said Miss Crawford, "and we shall see how it will be.

"Another quarter of an hour," said Miss Crawford.


Do not run away the first moment of its holding up.


"South or north, I know a black cloud when I see it; and you must not set forward while it is so threatening.

"I know a black cloud when I see it; and you must not set forward while it is so threatening.


And besides, I want to play something more to you-a very pretty piece-and your cousin Edmund's prime favourite.

And besides, I want to play you a very pretty piece-your cousin Edmund's favourite."


You must stay and hear your cousin's favourite."


Fanny felt that she must; and though she had not waited for that sentence to be thinking of Edmund, such a memento made her particularly awake to his idea, and she fancied him sitting in that room again and again, perhaps in the very spot where she sat now, listening with constant delight to the favourite air, played, as it appeared to her, with superior tone and expression; and though pleased with it herself, and glad to like whatever was liked by him, she was more sincerely impatient to go away at the conclusion of it than she had been before; and on this being evident, she was so kindly asked to call again, to take them in her walk whenever she could, to come and hear more of the harp, that she felt it necessary to be done, if no objection arose at home.

Fanny felt that she must hear it; she fancied him sitting in that room, perhaps in the very spot where she sat now, listening with delight to the favourite air, played with superior tone and expression. Though glad to like whatever was liked by him, at the end she was more sincerely impatient to go away. She was so kindly asked to call again, and hear more of the harp, that she felt it must be done.


Such was the origin of the sort of intimacy which took place between them within the first fortnight after the Miss Bertrams' going away-an intimacy resulting principally from Miss Crawford's desire of something new, and which had little reality in Fanny's feelings.

Such was the origin of the intimacy between them-an intimacy resulting chiefly from Miss Crawford's desire of something new, and which had little reality in Fanny's feelings.


Fanny went to her every two or three days: it seemed a kind of fascination: she could not be easy without going, and yet it was without loving her, without ever thinking like her, without any sense of obligation for being sought after now when nobody else was to be had; and deriving no higher pleasure from her conversation than occasional amusement, and _that_ often at the expense of her judgment, when it was raised by pleasantry on people or subjects which she wished to be respected.

Fanny went to her every two or three days: she could not be easy without going, and yet it was without loving her, or thinking like her; and deriving no higher pleasure from her conversation than occasional amusement, and that often at the expense of her judgment.


She went, however, and they sauntered about together many an half-hour in Mrs. Grant's shrubbery, the weather being unusually mild for the time of year, and venturing sometimes even to sit down on one of the benches now comparatively unsheltered, remaining there perhaps till, in the midst of some tender ejaculation of Fanny's on the sweets of so protracted an autumn, they were forced, by the sudden swell of a cold gust shaking down the last few yellow leaves about them, to jump up and walk for warmth.

She went, however, and they sauntered about together in Mrs. Grant's shrubbery, venturing sometimes to sit down on one of the benches, and remaining there, perhaps, till in the midst of some tender remark of Fanny's on the sweets of autumn, they were forced to jump up and walk for warmth.


"This is pretty, very pretty," said Fanny, looking around her as they were thus sitting together one day; "every time I come into this shrubbery I am more struck with its growth and beauty.

"This is very pretty," said Fanny, looking around her as they were sitting together one day; "every time I come into this shrubbery I am more struck with its beauty.


Three years ago, this was nothing but a rough hedgerow along the upper side of the field, never thought of as anything, or capable of becoming anything; and now it is converted into a walk, and it would be difficult to say whether most valuable as a convenience or an ornament; and perhaps, in another three years, we may be forgetting-almost forgetting what it was before.

Three years ago, this was nothing but a rough hedgerow, never thought of as capable of becoming anything; and now it is converted into a walk; and perhaps, in another three years, we may be forgetting what it was before.


How wonderful, how very wonderful the operations of time, and the changes of the human mind!"

How very wonderful the operations of time, and the changes of the human mind!


And following the latter train of thought, she soon afterwards added: "If any one faculty of our nature may be called _more_ wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory.

If any faculty of our nature may be called more wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory.


There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our intelligences.


The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient; at others, so bewildered and so weak; and at others again, so tyrannic, so beyond control!

It is sometimes so retentive, so obedient; at others, so weak; and at others again, so tyrannic, so beyond control!"


We are, to be sure, a miracle every way; but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly past finding out."


Miss Crawford, untouched and inattentive, had nothing to say; and Fanny, perceiving it, brought back her own mind to what she thought must interest.

Miss Crawford, untouched, had nothing to say; and Fanny returned to what she thought must interest.


"It may seem impertinent in _me_ to praise, but I must admire the taste Mrs. Grant has shewn in all this.

"I must admire the taste Mrs. Grant has shown in all this.


There is such a quiet simplicity in the plan of the walk!"


"Yes," replied Miss Crawford carelessly, "it does very well for a place of this sort.


One does not think of extent _here_; and between ourselves, till I came to Mansfield, I had not imagined a country parson ever aspired to a shrubbery, or anything of the kind."

Till I came to Mansfield, I had not imagined a country parson ever aspired to a shrubbery."


"I am so glad to see the evergreens thrive!"


"My uncle's gardener always says the soil here is better than his own, and so it appears from the growth of the laurels and evergreens in general.

"My uncle's gardener says the soil here is better than his own, and so it appears from the growth of the evergreens.


How beautiful, how welcome, how wonderful the evergreen!


When one thinks of it, how astonishing a variety of nature!


In some countries we know the tree that sheds its leaf is the variety, but that does not make it less amazing that the same soil and the same sun should nurture plants differing in the first rule and law of their existence.

In some countries we know the tree that sheds its leaf is the variety, but that does not make it less amazing that the same soil and sun should nurture plants so widely differing.


You will think me rhapsodising; but when I am out of doors, especially when I am sitting out of doors, I am very apt to get into this sort of wondering strain.

You will think me rhapsodising; but when I am out of doors, I am very apt to get into this sort of wondering strain.


One cannot fix one's eyes on the commonest natural production without finding food for a rambling fancy."

One cannot fix one's eyes on the commonest natural object without finding food for a rambling fancy."


"To say the truth," replied Miss Crawford, "I am something like the famous Doge at the court of Lewis XIV.; and may declare that I see no wonder in this shrubbery equal to seeing myself in it.

"To say the truth," replied Miss Crawford, "Like the famous Doge at the court of Lewis XIV, I see no wonder in this shrubbery equal to seeing myself in it.


If anybody had told me a year ago that this place would be my home, that I should be spending month after month here, as I have done, I certainly should not have believed them.

If anybody had told me a year ago that this place would be my home, I should not have believed them.


I have now been here nearly five months; and, moreover, the quietest five months I ever passed."

I have now been here nearly five months; the quietest five months I ever passed."


"I should have thought so _theoretically_ myself, but," and her eyes brightened as she spoke, "take it all and all, I never spent so happy a summer.

"I should have thought so, but," and her eyes brightened, "all and all, I never spent so happy a summer.


But then," with a more thoughtful air and lowered voice, "there is no saying what it may lead to."

But then," more thoughtfully, "there is no saying what it may lead to."


Fanny's heart beat quick, and she felt quite unequal to surmising or soliciting anything more.

Fanny's heart beat quick, and she could not speak.


Miss Crawford, however, with renewed animation, soon went on-


"I am conscious of being far better reconciled to a country residence than I had ever expected to be.

"I am better reconciled to a country residence than I had ever expected to be.


I can even suppose it pleasant to spend _half_ the year in the country, under certain circumstances, very pleasant.

I can even suppose it pleasant to spend half the year in the country, under certain circumstances.


An elegant, moderate-sized house in the centre of family connexions; continual engagements among them; commanding the first society in the neighbourhood; looked up to, perhaps, as leading it even more than those of larger fortune, and turning from the cheerful round of such amusements to nothing worse than a _tte--tte_ with the person one feels most agreeable in the world.

An elegant house in the centre of family connexions; continual engagements; commanding the first society in the neighbourhood; and turning from the cheerful round of such amusements to a tte--tte with the person one feels most agreeable in the world.


There is nothing frightful in such a picture, is there, Miss Price?


One need not envy the new Mrs. Rushworth with such a home as _that_."

One need not envy the new Mrs. Rushworth with such a home as that."


"Come, come, it would be very un-handsome in us to be severe on Mrs. Rushworth, for I look forward to our owing her a great many gay, brilliant, happy hours. I expect we shall be all very much at Sotherton another year.

"I look forward to our owing her a great many brilliant, happy hours at Sotherton.


Such a match as Miss Bertram has made is a public blessing; for the first pleasures of Mr. Rushworth's wife must be to fill her house, and give the best balls in the country."

The first pleasures of Mr. Rushworth's wife must be to fill her house, and give the best balls in the country."


Fanny was silent, and Miss Crawford relapsed into thoughtfulness, till suddenly looking up at the end of a few minutes, she exclaimed, "Ah!

Fanny was silent, and Miss Crawford relapsed into thoughtfulness, till suddenly looking up, she exclaimed, "Ah!


It was not Mr. Rushworth, however, but Edmund, who then appeared walking towards them with Mrs. Grant.

It was not Mr. Rushworth, however, but Edmund, who appeared with Mrs. Grant.


"I am so glad your eldest cousin is gone, that he may be Mr. Bertram again.


There is something in the sound of Mr. _Edmund_ Bertram so formal, so pitiful, so younger-brother-like, that I detest it."

There is something in the sound of Mr. Edmund Bertram so pitiful, so younger-brother-like, that I detest it."


"To me, the sound of _Mr._ Bertram is so cold and nothing-meaning, so entirely without warmth or character!

"To me, the sound of Mr. Bertram is so cold and nothing-meaning!


It just stands for a gentleman, and that's all.


But there is nobleness in the name of Edmund.


It is a name of heroism and renown; of kings, princes, and knights; and seems to breathe the spirit of chivalry and warm affections."

It is a name of heroism and renown; and seems to breathe the spirit of chivalry and warm affections."


"I grant you the name is good in itself, and _Lord_ Edmund or _Sir_ Edmund sound delightfully; but sink it under the chill, the annihilation of a Mr., and Mr. Edmund is no more than Mr. John or Mr. Thomas.

"I grant you the name is good in itself, and Lord Edmund or Sir Edmund sound delightfully; but sink it under the annihilation of a Mr., and Mr. Edmund is no more than Mr. John or Mr. Thomas.


Well, shall we join and disappoint them of half their lecture upon sitting down out of doors at this time of year, by being up before they can begin?"


Edmund met them with particular pleasure.


It was the first time of his seeing them together since the beginning of that better acquaintance which he had been hearing of with great satisfaction.


A friendship between two so very dear to him was exactly what he could have wished: and to the credit of the lover's understanding, be it stated, that he did not by any means consider Fanny as the only, or even as the greater gainer by such a friendship.

A friendship between two so very dear to him was exactly what he could have wished: and to his credit, he did not consider Fanny as the only, or even as the greater gainer by such a friendship.


"Well," said Miss Crawford, "and do you not scold us for our imprudence? What do you think we have been sitting down for but to be talked to about it, and entreated and supplicated never to do so again?"

"Well," said Miss Crawford, "do you not scold us for our imprudence in sitting outside?"


"Perhaps I might have scolded," said Edmund, "if either of you had been sitting down alone; but while you do wrong together, I can overlook a great deal."

"Perhaps I might have scolded," said Edmund, "if either of you had been alone; but while you do wrong together, I can overlook a great deal."


"They cannot have been sitting long," cried Mrs. Grant, "for when I went up for my shawl I saw them from the staircase window, and then they were walking."

"They cannot have been sitting long," cried Mrs. Grant, "for when I saw them from the staircase window, they were walking."


"And really," added Edmund, "the day is so mild, that your sitting down for a few minutes can be hardly thought imprudent.

"And really," added Edmund, "the day is so mild, that your sitting down can be hardly thought imprudent."


Our weather must not always be judged by the calendar.


We may sometimes take greater liberties in November than in May."


"Upon my word," cried Miss Crawford, "you are two of the most disappointing and unfeeling kind friends I ever met with!

"Upon my word," cried Miss Crawford, "you are two of the most unfeeling kind friends I ever met with!


There is no giving you a moment's uneasiness.


You do not know how much we have been suffering, nor what chills we have felt!

You do not know what chills we have felt!


But I have long thought Mr. Bertram one of the worst subjects to work on, in any little manoeuvre against common sense, that a woman could be plagued with.


I had very little hope of _him_ from the first; but you, Mrs. Grant, my sister, my own sister, I think I had a right to alarm you a little."

I had very little hope of Mr Bertram from the first; but you, Mrs. Grant, my own sister, I think I had a right to alarm you a little."


"Do not flatter yourself, my dearest Mary. You have not the smallest chance of moving me.

"My dearest Mary, you have not the smallest chance of moving me.


I have my alarms, but they are quite in a different quarter; and if I could have altered the weather, you would have had a good sharp east wind blowing on you the whole time-for here are some of my plants which Robert _will_ leave out because the nights are so mild, and I know the end of it will be, that we shall have a sudden change of weather, a hard frost setting in all at once, taking everybody (at least Robert) by surprise, and I shall lose every one; and what is worse, cook has just been telling me that the turkey, which I particularly wished not to be dressed till Sunday, because I know how much more Dr. Grant would enjoy it on Sunday after the fatigues of the day, will not keep beyond to-morrow.

If I could have altered the weather, you would have had a good sharp east wind blowing on you-for here are some of my plants which Robert will leave out, and I know that we shall have a sudden hard frost setting in, and I shall lose every one; and what is worse, cook has just been telling me that the turkey, which I particularly wished not to be dressed till Sunday, will not keep beyond to-morrow.


These are something like grievances, and make me think the weather most unseasonably close."

These are grievances, and make me think the weather most unseasonably warm."


"The sweets of housekeeping in a country village!"


"Commend me to the nurseryman and the poulterer."


"My dear child, commend Dr. Grant to the deanery of Westminster or St. Paul's, and I should be as glad of your nurseryman and poulterer as you could be. But we have no such people in Mansfield. What would you have me do?"

"My dear child, what would you have me do?"


you can do nothing but what you do already: be plagued very often, and never lose your temper."


"Thank you; but there is no escaping these little vexations, Mary, live where we may; and when you are settled in town and I come to see you, I dare say I shall find you with yours, in spite of the nurseryman and the poulterer, perhaps on their very account.

"Thank you; but there is no escaping these little vexations, Mary, wherever we live; and when you are settled in town, I dare say I shall find you with yours."


Their remoteness and unpunctuality, or their exorbitant charges and frauds, will be drawing forth bitter lamentations."


"I mean to be too rich to lament or to feel anything of the sort.

"I mean to be too rich to feel anything of the sort.


A large income is the best recipe for happiness I ever heard of."


It certainly may secure all the myrtle and turkey part of it."


said Edmund, with a look which, to Fanny's eye, had a great deal of serious meaning.


"I cannot intend anything which it must be so completely beyond my power to command.

"I cannot intend anything which it is so completely beyond my power to command.


Miss Crawford may chuse her degree of wealth.

Miss Crawford may choose her degree of wealth.


She has only to fix on her number of thousands a year, and there can be no doubt of their coming.


"By moderation and economy, and bringing down your wants to your income, and all that.

"By moderation and economy, and all that.


I understand you-and a very proper plan it is for a person at your time of life, with such limited means and indifferent connexions. What can _you_ want but a decent maintenance? You have not much time before you; and your relations are in no situation to do anything for you, or to mortify you by the contrast of their own wealth and consequence.

And a very proper plan it is for a person at your time of life, with such limited means and poor connexions, with relations in no situation to do anything for you.


Be honest and poor, by all means-but I shall not envy you; I do not much think I shall even respect you.

Be honest and poor, by all means-but I shall not envy you.


I have a much greater respect for those that are honest and rich."


"Your degree of respect for honesty, rich or poor, is precisely what I have no manner of concern with.


Poverty is exactly what I have determined against.


Honesty, in the something between, in the middle state of worldly circumstances, is all that I am anxious for your not looking down on."

Honesty in the middle state, is all that I am anxious for your not looking down on."


"But I do look down upon it, if it might have been higher.


I must look down upon anything contented with obscurity when it might rise to distinction."


How may my honesty at least rise to any distinction?"

How may my honesty rise to any distinction?"


This was not so very easy a question to answer, and occasioned an "Oh!"


of some length from the fair lady before she could add, "You ought to be in parliament, or you should have gone into the army ten years ago."

from the lady before she could add, "You ought to be in parliament, or you should have gone into the army ten years ago."


"_That_ is not much to the purpose now; and as to my being in parliament, I believe I must wait till there is an especial assembly for the representation of younger sons who have little to live on.

"That is not much to the purpose now; and as to parliament, I must wait till there is an especial assembly for younger sons with little to live on.


No, Miss Crawford," he added, in a more serious tone, "there _are_ distinctions which I should be miserable if I thought myself without any chance-absolutely without chance or possibility of obtaining-but they are of a different character."

No, Miss Crawford," he added more seriously, "there are distinctions which I should be miserable if I thought I could never obtain-but they are of a different character."


A look of consciousness as he spoke, and what seemed a consciousness of manner on Miss Crawford's side as she made some laughing answer, was sorrowfull food for Fanny's observation; and finding herself quite unable to attend as she ought to Mrs. Grant, by whose side she was now following the others, she had nearly resolved on going home immediately, and only waited for courage to say so, when the sound of the great clock at Mansfield Park, striking three, made her feel that she had really been much longer absent than usual, and brought the previous self-inquiry of whether she should take leave or not just then, and how, to a very speedy issue.

A look of consciousness as he spoke, and a consciousness of manner on Miss Crawford's side as she made some laughing answer, was sorrowful for Fanny to observe.


With undoubting decision she directly began her adieus; and Edmund began at the same time to recollect that his mother had been inquiring for her, and that he had walked down to the Parsonage on purpose to bring her back.

She resolved on going home immediately, and began her adieus; on which Edmund recollected that his mother had been inquiring for her, and that he had walked down to the Parsonage to bring her back.


Fanny's hurry increased; and without in the least expecting Edmund's attendance, she would have hastened away alone; but the general pace was quickened, and they all accompanied her into the house, through which it was necessary to pass. Dr. Grant was in the vestibule, and as they stopt to speak to him she found, from Edmund's manner, that he _did_ mean to go with her.

Fanny would have hastened away alone; but she found that Edmund meant to go with her.


He too was taking leave. She could not but be thankful. In the moment of parting, Edmund was invited by Dr. Grant to eat his mutton with him the next day; and Fanny had barely time for an unpleasant feeling on the occasion, when Mrs. Grant, with sudden recollection, turned to her and asked for the pleasure of her company too.

He took his leave of Dr Grant, and was invited to eat with him the next day. Then Mrs. Grant turned to her and asked for the pleasure of her company too.


This was so new an attention, so perfectly new a circumstance in the events of Fanny's life, that she was all surprise and embarrassment; and while stammering out her great obligation, and her "but she did not suppose it would be in her power," was looking at Edmund for his opinion and help.

This was so perfectly new a circumstance in Fanny's life, that she was all embarrassment; and while stammering out "but she did not suppose it would be in her power," was looking at Edmund for his help.


But Edmund, delighted with her having such an happiness offered, and ascertaining with half a look, and half a sentence, that she had no objection but on her aunt's account, could not imagine that his mother would make any difficulty of sparing her, and therefore gave his decided open advice that the invitation should be accepted; and though Fanny would not venture, even on his encouragement, to such a flight of audacious independence, it was soon settled, that if nothing were heard to the contrary, Mrs. Grant might expect her.

But Edmund, delighted at the offer, could not imagine that his mother would make any difficulty, and therefore advised that the invitation should be accepted; and it was soon settled that Mrs. Grant might expect her.


"And you know what your dinner will be," said Mrs. Grant, smiling-"the turkey, and I assure you a very fine one; for, my dear," turning to her husband, "cook insists upon the turkey's being dressed to-morrow."

"And you know what your dinner will be," said Mrs. Grant, smiling-"the turkey, which cook insists upon being dressed to-morrow."


"Very well, very well," cried Dr. Grant, "all the better; I am glad to hear you have anything so good in the house.

"I am glad to hear it," cried Dr. Grant.


But Miss Price and Mr. Edmund Bertram, I dare say, would take their chance.


We none of us want to hear the bill of fare.


A friendly meeting, and not a fine dinner, is all we have in view.

"But a friendly meeting, and not a fine dinner, is all we have in view."


A turkey, or a goose, or a leg of mutton, or whatever you and your cook chuse to give us."


The two cousins walked home together; and, except in the immediate discussion of this engagement, which Edmund spoke of with the warmest satisfaction, as so particularly desirable for her in the intimacy which he saw with so much pleasure established, it was a silent walk; for having finished that subject, he grew thoughtful and indisposed for any other.

The two cousins walked home together; and, except in the discussion of this engagement, which Edmund spoke of with satisfaction, it was a silent walk; for having finished that subject, he grew thoughtful and indisposed for any other.


It was not in Miss Crawford's power to talk Fanny into any real forgetfulness of what had passed.

Miss Crawford could not make Fanny forget what had passed.


When the evening was over, she went to bed full of it, her nerves still agitated by the shock of such an attack from her cousin Tom, so public and so persevered in, and her spirits sinking under her aunt's unkind reflection and reproach.

She went to bed full of it, her nerves still agitated and her spirits sinking under her aunt's unkind reproach.


To be called into notice in such a manner, to hear that it was but the prelude to something so infinitely worse, to be told that she must do what was so impossible as to act; and then to have the charge of obstinacy and ingratitude follow it, enforced with such a hint at the dependence of her situation, had been too distressing at the time to make the remembrance when she was alone much less so, especially with the superadded dread of what the morrow might produce in continuation of the subject.

To be told that she must do what was so impossible as to act; and then to have the charge of obstinacy and ingratitude follow, had been distressing, especially with the added dread of what the morrow might produce.


Miss Crawford had protected her only for the time; and if she were applied to again among themselves with all the authoritative urgency that Tom and Maria were capable of, and Edmund perhaps away, what should she do?

Miss Crawford had protected her only for the time; and if she were applied to again, what should she do?


She fell asleep before she could answer the question, and found it quite as puzzling when she awoke the next morning.


The little white attic, which had continued her sleeping-room ever since her first entering the family, proving incompetent to suggest any reply, she had recourse, as soon as she was dressed, to another apartment more spacious and more meet for walking about in and thinking, and of which she had now for some time been almost equally mistress. It had been their school-room; so called till the Miss Bertrams would not allow it to be called so any longer, and inhabited as such to a later period.

The little white attic, where she had always slept, suggesting no reply, she went as soon as she was dressed to the old school-room.


There Miss Lee had lived, and there they had read and written, and talked and laughed, till within the last three years, when she had quitted them. The room had then become useless, and for some time was quite deserted, except by Fanny, when she visited her plants, or wanted one of the books, which she was still glad to keep there, from the deficiency of space and accommodation in her little chamber above: but gradually, as her value for the comforts of it increased, she had added to her possessions, and spent more of her time there; and having nothing to oppose her, had so naturally and so artlessly worked herself into it, that it was now generally admitted to be hers. The East room, as it had been called ever since Maria Bertram was sixteen, was now considered Fanny's, almost as decidedly as the white attic: the smallness of the one making the use of the other so evidently reasonable that the Miss Bertrams, with every superiority in their own apartments which their own sense of superiority could demand, were entirely approving it; and Mrs. Norris, having stipulated for there never being a fire in it on Fanny's account, was tolerably resigned to her having the use of what nobody else wanted, though the terms in which she sometimes spoke of the indulgence seemed to imply that it was the best room in the house.

When Miss Lee had quitted them, the room had become quite deserted, except by Fanny, who still kept her books there: gradually, she had added to her possessions, and spent more of her time there, and the East room was now considered hers. The Miss Bertrams, with every superiority in their own apartments, were entirely approving it; and Mrs. Norris, having stipulated that there should never be a fire in it on Fanny's account, was resigned to her having what nobody else wanted, though she sometimes spoke as if it was the best room in the house.


The aspect was so favourable that even without a fire it was habitable in many an early spring and late autumn morning to such a willing mind as Fanny's; and while there was a gleam of sunshine she hoped not to be driven from it entirely, even when winter came. The comfort of it in her hours of leisure was extreme.

Even without a fire, Fanny found great comfort there in her hours of leisure.


She could go there after anything unpleasant below, and find immediate consolation in some pursuit, or some train of thought at hand. Her plants, her books-of which she had been a collector from the first hour of her commanding a shilling-her writing-desk, and her works of charity and ingenuity, were all within her reach; or if indisposed for employment, if nothing but musing would do, she could scarcely see an object in that room which had not an interesting remembrance connected with it.

After anything unpleasant below, she could find immediate consolation in her plants, her books, her writing-desk, and her works of charity, all within her reach; or if nothing but musing would do, she could scarcely see an object in that room which had not an interesting remembrance connected with it.


Everything was a friend, or bore her thoughts to a friend; and though there had been sometimes much of suffering to her; though her motives had often been misunderstood, her feelings disregarded, and her comprehension undervalued; though she had known the pains of tyranny, of ridicule, and neglect, yet almost every recurrence of either had led to something consolatory: her aunt Bertram had spoken for her, or Miss Lee had been encouraging, or, what was yet more frequent or more dear, Edmund had been her champion and her friend: he had supported her cause or explained her meaning, he had told her not to cry, or had given her some proof of affection which made her tears delightful; and the whole was now so blended together, so harmonised by distance, that every former affliction had its charm.

Everything was a friend; and held a memory of how her aunt Bertram had spoken for her, or Miss Lee had been encouraging, or how Edmund had been her champion; he had supported her cause, he had told her not to cry, or had given her some proof of affection which made her tears delightful.


The room was most dear to her, and she would not have changed its furniture for the handsomest in the house, though what had been originally plain had suffered all the ill-usage of children; and its greatest elegancies and ornaments were a faded footstool of Julia's work, too ill done for the drawing-room, three transparencies, made in a rage for transparencies, for the three lower panes of one window, where Tintern Abbey held its station between a cave in Italy and a moonlight lake in Cumberland, a collection of family profiles, thought unworthy of being anywhere else, over the mantelpiece, and by their side, and pinned against the wall, a small sketch of a ship sent four years ago from the Mediterranean by William, with H.M.S.

The room was most dear to her, and she would not have changed its furniture for the handsomest in the house, though its greatest elegancies were a faded footstool of Julia's work, too ill done for the drawing-room, a collection of family profiles, thought unworthy of being anywhere else, and a small sketch of a ship sent four years ago from the Mediterranean by William, with H.M.S.


Antwerp at the bottom, in letters as tall as the mainmast.


To this nest of comforts Fanny now walked down to try its influence on an agitated, doubting spirit, to see if by looking at Edmund's profile she could catch any of his counsel, or by giving air to her geraniums she might inhale a breeze of mental strength herself. But she had more than fears of her own perseverance to remove: she had begun to feel undecided as to what she _ought_ _to_ _do_; and as she walked round the room her doubts were increasing.

But as Fanny walked round the room on this morning, her doubts were increasing.


Was she _right_ in refusing what was so warmly asked, so strongly wished for-what might be so essential to a scheme on which some of those to whom she owed the greatest complaisance had set their hearts?

Was she right in refusing what was so strongly wished for?


Was it not ill-nature, selfishness, and a fear of exposing herself?

Was it not selfishness, and a fear of exposing herself?


And would Edmund's judgment, would his persuasion of Sir Thomas's disapprobation of the whole, be enough to justify her in a determined denial in spite of all the rest?


It would be so horrible to her to act that she was inclined to suspect the truth and purity of her own scruples; and as she looked around her, the claims of her cousins to being obliged were strengthened by the sight of present upon present that she had received from them.

It would be so horrible to her to act that she was inclined to suspect the purity of her own scruples; and as she looked around, the claims of her cousins were strengthened by the sight of present upon present that she had received from them.


The table between the windows was covered with work-boxes and netting-boxes which had been given her at different times, principally by Tom; and she grew bewildered as to the amount of the debt which all these kind remembrances produced.

The table was covered with work-boxes which had been given her at different times, principally by Tom; and she grew bewildered.


A tap at the door roused her in the midst of this attempt to find her way to her duty, and her gentle "Come in" was answered by the appearance of one, before whom all her doubts were wont to be laid.

A tap at the door roused her, and her gentle "Come in" was answered by the appearance of one, before whom all her doubts were wont to be laid.


Her eyes brightened at the sight of Edmund.


"Can I speak with you, Fanny, for a few minutes?"


she cried, shrinking from such a compliment, highly as it gratified her.


This acting scheme gets worse and worse, you see.


They have chosen almost as bad a play as they could, and now, to complete the business, are going to ask the help of a young man very slightly known to any of us.

They have chosen almost as bad a play as they could, and now are going to ask the help of a young man very slightly known to us.


This is the end of all the privacy and propriety which was talked about at first.

This is the end of privacy and propriety.


I know no harm of Charles Maddox; but the excessive intimacy which must spring from his being admitted among us in this manner is highly objectionable, the _more_ than intimacy-the familiarity.

I know no harm of Charles Maddox; but the excessive intimacy which must spring from his joining us is highly objectionable.


I cannot think of it with any patience; and it does appear to me an evil of such magnitude as must, _if_ _possible_, be prevented.

It appears to me an evil that must, if possible, be prevented."


"There is but _one_ thing to be done, Fanny. I must take Anhalt myself.


I am well aware that nothing else will quiet Tom."


"It is not at all what I like," he continued. "No man can like being driven into the _appearance_ of such inconsistency. After being known to oppose the scheme from the beginning, there is absurdity in the face of my joining them _now_, when they are exceeding their first plan in every respect; but I can think of no other alternative.

"It is not what I like," he continued, "but I can think of no other alternative.


"No," said Fanny slowly, "not immediately, but-"


Perhaps you are not so much aware as I am of the mischief that _may_, of the unpleasantness that _must_ arise from a young man's being received in this manner: domesticated among us; authorised to come at all hours, and placed suddenly on a footing which must do away all restraints.

Perhaps you are not aware of the unpleasantness that must arise from a young man's being received in this manner.


To think only of the licence which every rehearsal must tend to create.

Think of the licence which every rehearsal must create.


Put yourself in Miss Crawford's place, Fanny.


Consider what it would be to act Amelia with a stranger.


She has a right to be felt for, because she evidently feels for herself.


I heard enough of what she said to you last night to understand her unwillingness to be acting with a stranger; and as she probably engaged in the part with different expectations-perhaps without considering the subject enough to know what was likely to be-it would be ungenerous, it would be really wrong to expose her to it.

I heard enough of what she said to you last night to understand her unwillingness to act with a stranger; and as she probably took the part with different expectations-it would be really wrong to expose her to it.


"I am sorry for Miss Crawford; but I am more sorry to see you drawn in to do what you had resolved against, and what you are known to think will be disagreeable to my uncle.

"I am sorry for Miss Crawford; but I am more sorry to see you drawn in to do what you had resolved against, and what you think will be disagreeable to my uncle.


It will be such a triumph to the others!"


"They will not have much cause of triumph when they see how infamously I act.


But, however, triumph there certainly will be, and I must brave it.


But if I can be the means of restraining the publicity of the business, of limiting the exhibition, of concentrating our folly, I shall be well repaid.

But if I can restrain the publicity of the business, and limit the exhibition, I shall be repaid.


As I am now, I have no influence, I can do nothing: I have offended them, and they will not hear me; but when I have put them in good-humour by this concession, I am not without hopes of persuading them to confine the representation within a much smaller circle than they are now in the high road for. This will be a material gain. My object is to confine it to Mrs. Rushworth and the Grants.

As I am now, I have no influence: but when I have put them in good-humour by this concession, I hope to persuade them to confine the play within a much smaller circle, to Mrs. Rushworth and the Grants.


Can you mention any other measure by which I have a chance of doing equal good?"


"If you are against me, I ought to distrust myself, and yet-But it is absolutely impossible to let Tom go on in this way, riding about the country in quest of anybody who can be persuaded to act-no matter whom: the look of a gentleman is to be enough.

"If you are against me, I ought to distrust myself, and yet I cannot let Tom go riding about the country in quest of anybody who can be persuaded to act.


I thought _you_ would have entered more into Miss Crawford's feelings."

I thought you would have entered more into Miss Crawford's feelings."


"It must be a great relief to her," said Fanny, trying for greater warmth of manner.


"She never appeared more amiable than in her behaviour to you last night."


It gave her a very strong claim on my goodwill."


"She _was_ very kind, indeed, and I am glad to have her spared"...

"She was very kind, indeed, and I am glad to have her spared..."


She could not finish the generous effusion. Her conscience stopt her in the middle, but Edmund was satisfied.

She could not finish, but Edmund was satisfied.


"I shall walk down immediately after breakfast," said he, "and am sure of giving pleasure there. And now, dear Fanny, I will not interrupt you any longer.

"Now, dear Fanny, I will not interrupt you any longer," said he.


But I could not be easy till I had spoken to you, and come to a decision.

"But I could not be easy till I had spoken to you.


Sleeping or waking, my head has been full of this matter all night.

My head has been full of this matter all night.


It is an evil, but I am certainly making it less than it might be.


If Tom is up, I shall go to him directly and get it over, and when we meet at breakfast we shall be all in high good-humour at the prospect of acting the fool together with such unanimity.

I shall go to Tom directly and get it over, and when we meet at breakfast we shall be all in high good-humour at the prospect of acting the fool together.


_You_, in the meanwhile, will be taking a trip into China, I suppose.

You, in the meanwhile, will be taking a trip into China, I suppose.


"-opening a volume on the table and then taking up some others.


"And here are Crabbe's Tales, and the Idler, at hand to relieve you, if you tire of your great book.

"And here are Crabbe's Tales, and the Idler, to relieve you, if you tire of your great book.


I admire your little establishment exceedingly; and as soon as I am gone, you will empty your head of all this nonsense of acting, and sit comfortably down to your table.

I admire your little establishment exceedingly; and as soon as I am gone, you will empty your head of all this nonsense, and sit comfortably down to your table."


He went; but there was no reading, no China, no composure for Fanny.


He had told her the most extraordinary, the most inconceivable, the most unwelcome news; and she could think of nothing else.

He had told her the most extraordinary, the most unwelcome news; and she could think of nothing else.


After all his objections-objections so just and so public!


After all that she had heard him say, and seen him look, and known him to be feeling.


She had seen her influence in every speech, and was miserable.


The doubts and alarms as to her own conduct, which had previously distressed her, and which had all slept while she listened to him, were become of little consequence now.

The doubts as to her own conduct, which had previously distressed her, were become of little consequence now.


Things should take their course; she cared not how it ended.


Her cousins might attack, but could hardly tease her. She was beyond their reach; and if at last obliged to yield-no matter-it was all misery now.

Her cousins might attack, but she was beyond their reach; and if at last obliged to yield-no matter-it was all misery now.


Fanny seemed nearer being right than Edmund had supposed.


The business of finding a play that would suit everybody proved to be no trifle; and the carpenter had received his orders and taken his measurements, had suggested and removed at least two sets of difficulties, and having made the necessity of an enlargement of plan and expense fully evident, was already at work, while a play was still to seek.

Finding a play that would suit everybody proved to be no trifle; and the carpenter had taken his measurements, and, with an enlargement of plan, was already at work, while a play was still to seek.


An enormous roll of green baize had arrived from Northampton, and been cut out by Mrs. Norris (with a saving by her good management of full three-quarters of a yard), and was actually forming into a curtain by the housemaids, and still the play was wanting; and as two or three days passed away in this manner, Edmund began almost to hope that none might ever be found.

An enormous roll of green baize had arrived from Northampton, and had been cut out by Mrs. Norris (with a saving by her good management of full three-quarters of a yard), and was being made into a curtain, and still the play was wanting. Edmund began almost to hope that none might ever be found.


There were, in fact, so many things to be attended to, so many people to be pleased, so many best characters required, and, above all, such a need that the play should be at once both tragedy and comedy, that there did seem as little chance of a decision as anything pursued by youth and zeal could hold out.

There were, in fact, so many people to be pleased, so many best characters required, and, above all, such a need that the play should be at once both tragedy and comedy, that there did seem little chance of a decision.


On the tragic side were the Miss Bertrams, Henry Crawford, and Mr. Yates; on the comic, Tom Bertram, not _quite_ alone, because it was evident that Mary Crawford's wishes, though politely kept back, inclined the same way: but his determinateness and his power seemed to make allies unnecessary; and, independent of this great irreconcilable difference, they wanted a piece containing very few characters in the whole, but every character first-rate, and three principal women.

On the tragic side were the Miss Bertrams, Henry Crawford, and Mr. Yates; on the comic, Tom Bertram, not quite alone, because Mary Crawford's wishes, though politely kept back, inclined the same way. They wanted a piece containing very few characters, but every character first-rate, and three principal women.


All the best plays were run over in vain.


Neither Hamlet, nor Macbeth, nor Othello, nor Douglas, nor The Gamester, presented anything that could satisfy even the tragedians; and The Rivals, The School for Scandal, Wheel of Fortune, Heir at Law, and a long et cetera, were successively dismissed with yet warmer objections.

Neither Hamlet, nor Macbeth, nor Othello presented anything that could satisfy even the tragedians; and The Rivals, The School for Scandal, and a long et cetera, were dismissed.


No piece could be proposed that did not supply somebody with a difficulty, and on one side or the other it was a continual repetition of, "Oh no, _that_ will never do!

No piece could be proposed that did not supply a difficulty. "Oh no, that will never do!


Not a tolerable woman's part in the play.


One could not expect anybody to take such a part.


Nothing but buffoonery from beginning to end.


_That_ might do, perhaps, but for the low parts.


If I _must_ give my opinion, I have always thought it the most insipid play in the English language.


_I_ do not wish to make objections; I shall be happy to be of any use, but I think we could not chuse worse."


Fanny looked on and listened, not unamused to observe the selfishness which, more or less disguised, seemed to govern them all, and wondering how it would end.

Fanny looked on, amused, and wondering how it would end.


For her own gratification she could have wished that something might be acted, for she had never seen even half a play, but everything of higher consequence was against it.

She could have wished that something might be acted, for she had never seen a play, but everything of higher consequence was against it.


"This will never do," said Tom Bertram at last.


No matter what, so that something is chosen.


A few characters too many must not frighten us.


If a part is insignificant, the greater our credit in making anything of it.


From this moment I make no difficulties.


I take any part you chuse to give me, so as it be comic.

I take any part you choose to give me, so as it be comic.


Let it but be comic, I condition for nothing more."


For about the fifth time he then proposed the Heir at Law, doubting only whether to prefer Lord Duberley or Dr. Pangloss for himself; and very earnestly, but very unsuccessfully, trying to persuade the others that there were some fine tragic parts in the rest of the Dramatis Person.

For about the fifth time he then proposed the Heir at Law, trying unsuccessfully to persuade the others that there were some fine tragic parts in it.


The pause which followed this fruitless effort was ended by the same speaker, who, taking up one of the many volumes of plays that lay on the table, and turning it over, suddenly exclaimed-"Lovers' Vows!

The pause which followed this fruitless effort was ended when Tom, taking up a volume from the table, suddenly exclaimed-"Lovers' Vows!


And why should not Lovers' Vows do for _us_ as well as for the Ravenshaws?

Why should not Lovers' Vows do for us as well as for the Ravenshaws?


How came it never to be thought of before?


It strikes me as if it would do exactly.


Here are two capital tragic parts for Yates and Crawford, and here is the rhyming Butler for me, if nobody else wants it; a trifling part, but the sort of thing I should not dislike, and, as I said before, I am determined to take anything and do my best.

Here are two capital tragic parts for Yates and Crawford, and here is the rhyming Butler for me, if nobody else wants it.


And as for the rest, they may be filled up by anybody.


Everybody was growing weary of indecision, and the first idea with everybody was, that nothing had been proposed before so likely to suit them all.

Everybody was growing weary of indecision.


Mr. Yates was particularly pleased: he had been sighing and longing to do the Baron at Ecclesford, had grudged every rant of Lord Ravenshaw's, and been forced to re-rant it all in his own room.

Mr. Yates was particularly pleased: he had been longing to do the Baron at Ecclesford, had grudged every rant of Lord Ravenshaw's, and been forced to re-rant it all in his own room.


The storm through Baron Wildenheim was the height of his theatrical ambition; and with the advantage of knowing half the scenes by heart already, he did now, with the greatest alacrity, offer his services for the part.

With the advantage of knowing half the scenes by heart already, he now offered his services for the part.


To do him justice, however, he did not resolve to appropriate it; for remembering that there was some very good ranting-ground in Frederick, he professed an equal willingness for that.

Then, remembering that there was some very good ranting-ground in Frederick, he professed an equal willingness for that.


Henry Crawford was ready to take either.


Whichever Mr. Yates did not chuse would perfectly satisfy him, and a short parley of compliment ensued.


Miss Bertram, feeling all the interest of an Agatha in the question, took on her to decide it, by observing to Mr. Yates that this was a point in which height and figure ought to be considered, and that _his_ being the tallest, seemed to fit him peculiarly for the Baron.

Miss Bertram, feeling the interest of an Agatha in the question, decided it by observing to Mr. Yates that his height seemed to fit him peculiarly for the Baron.


She was acknowledged to be quite right, and the two parts being accepted accordingly, she was certain of the proper Frederick.

She was acknowledged to be quite right, and was certain of the proper Frederick.


Three of the characters were now cast, besides Mr. Rushworth, who was always answered for by Maria as willing to do anything; when Julia, meaning, like her sister, to be Agatha, began to be scrupulous on Miss Crawford's account.

Three of the characters were now cast, besides Mr. Rushworth, who was answered for by Maria as willing to do anything; when Julia, meaning, like her sister, to be Agatha, began to be scrupulous on Miss Crawford's account.


"This is not behaving well by the absent," said she. "Here are not women enough.


"Amelia and Agatha may do for Maria and me, but here is nothing for your sister, Mr. Crawford."


Mr. Crawford desired _that_ might not be thought of: he was very sure his sister had no wish of acting but as she might be useful, and that she would not allow herself to be considered in the present case.

Mr. Crawford desired that might not be thought of: his sister wished only to be useful.


But this was immediately opposed by Tom Bertram, who asserted the part of Amelia to be in every respect the property of Miss Crawford, if she would accept it.

But Tom Bertram asserted the part of Amelia to be the property of Miss Crawford.


"It falls as naturally, as necessarily to her," said he, "as Agatha does to one or other of my sisters.

"It falls as naturally to her," said he, "as Agatha does to one or other of my sisters.


It can be no sacrifice on their side, for it is highly comic."


Each sister looked anxious; for each felt the best claim to Agatha, and was hoping to have it pressed on her by the rest.


Henry Crawford, who meanwhile had taken up the play, and with seeming carelessness was turning over the first act, soon settled the business.

Henry Crawford, who meanwhile had taken up the play, and with seeming carelessness was turning over the first act, settled the business.


"I must entreat Miss _Julia_ Bertram," said he, "not to engage in the part of Agatha, or it will be the ruin of all my solemnity.

"I must entreat Miss Julia Bertram," said he, "not to engage in the part of Agatha, or it will be the ruin of all my solemnity.


You must not, indeed you must not" (turning to her).


"I could not stand your countenance dressed up in woe and paleness.

"I could not stand your countenance dressed up in woe.


The many laughs we have had together would infallibly come across me, and Frederick and his knapsack would be obliged to run away."

The many laughs we have had together would infallibly come across me, and Frederick would be obliged to run away."


Pleasantly, courteously, it was spoken; but the manner was lost in the matter to Julia's feelings.

Pleasantly, courteously, it was spoken; but the manner was lost to Julia's feelings.


She saw a glance at Maria which confirmed the injury to herself: it was a scheme, a trick; she was slighted, Maria was preferred; the smile of triumph which Maria was trying to suppress shewed how well it was understood; and before Julia could command herself enough to speak, her brother gave his weight against her too, by saying, "Oh yes!

She saw a glance at Maria which confirmed the injury to herself: it was a trick; she was slighted, Maria was preferred; the smile of triumph which Maria was trying to suppress showed how well it was understood; and before Julia could command herself enough to speak, her brother said, "Oh yes!


Though Julia fancies she prefers tragedy, I would not trust her in it.


Her features are not tragic features, and she walks too quick, and speaks too quick, and would not keep her countenance.


She had better do the old countrywoman: the Cottager's wife; you had, indeed, Julia."


Cottager's wife is a very pretty part, I assure you.


The old lady relieves the high-flown benevolence of her husband with a good deal of spirit.


The most trivial, paltry, insignificant part; the merest commonplace; not a tolerable speech in the whole.


At Ecclesford the governess was to have done it.


We all agreed that it could not be offered to anybody else.


A little more justice, Mr. Manager, if you please."


You do not deserve the office, if you cannot appreciate the talents of your company a little better."


"Why, as to _that_, my good friend, till I and my company have really acted there must be some guesswork; but I mean no disparagement to Julia.


We cannot have two Agathas, and we must have one Cottager's wife; and I am sure I set her the example of moderation myself in being satisfied with the old Butler.

We cannot have two Agathas, and we must have one Cottager's wife.


If the part is trifling she will have more credit in making something of it; and if she is so desperately bent against everything humorous, let her take Cottager's speeches instead of Cottager's wife's, and so change the parts all through; _he_ is solemn and pathetic enough, I am sure.

If the part is trifling she will have credit in making something of it."


It could make no difference in the play, and as for Cottager himself, when he has got his wife's speeches, _I_ would undertake him with all my heart."


"With all your partiality for Cottager's wife," said Henry Crawford, "it will be impossible to make anything of it fit for your sister, and we must not suffer her good-nature to be imposed on.

"We must not let her good-nature be imposed on," said Henry Crawford.


We must not _allow_ her to accept the part.

"We must not allow her to accept the part.


She must not be left to her own complaisance.


Amelia is a character more difficult to be well represented than even Agatha.

Amelia is a character more difficult to act well than even Agatha.


I consider Amelia is the most difficult character in the whole piece.


It requires great powers, great nicety, to give her playfulness and simplicity without extravagance.

It requires great powers to give her playfulness and simplicity without extravagance.


I have seen good actresses fail in the part.


Simplicity, indeed, is beyond the reach of almost every actress by profession.


It requires a delicacy of feeling which they have not.


It requires a gentlewoman-a Julia Bertram.


turning to her with a look of anxious entreaty, which softened her a little; but while she hesitated what to say, her brother again interposed with Miss Crawford's better claim.

turning to her with a look of anxious entreaty, which softened her a little; but while she hesitated, her brother again interposed.


Amelia should be a small, light, girlish, skipping figure.


It is fit for Miss Crawford, and Miss Crawford only."


She looks the part, and I am persuaded will do it admirably."


Without attending to this, Henry Crawford continued his supplication.


"You must oblige us," said he, "indeed you must.


When you have studied the character, I am sure you will feel it suit you.

"When you have studied the character, I am sure you will feel it will suit you.


Tragedy may be your choice, but it will certainly appear that comedy chuses _you_.

Tragedy may be your choice, but it will certainly appear that comedy chooses you.


You will be to visit me in prison with a basket of provisions; you will not refuse to visit me in prison?


I think I see you coming in with your basket."


Julia wavered; but was he only trying to soothe and pacify her, and make her overlook the previous affront?

Julia wavered; but was he only trying to pacify her, and make her overlook the previous affront?


He was, perhaps, but at treacherous play with her.

He was, perhaps, at treacherous play with her.


She looked suspiciously at her sister; Maria's countenance was to decide it: if she were vexed and alarmed-but Maria looked all serenity and satisfaction, and Julia well knew that on this ground Maria could not be happy but at her expense.

She looked suspiciously at her sister; Maria's face was to decide it: if she were vexed and alarmed-but Maria looked all serenity and satisfaction.


With hasty indignation, therefore, and a tremulous voice, she said to him, "You do not seem afraid of not keeping your countenance when I come in with a basket of provisions-though one might have supposed-but it is only as Agatha that I was to be so overpowering!"

With hasty indignation, therefore, she said to him, "You do not seem afraid of not keeping your countenance when I come in with a basket of provisions-though one might have supposed-but it is only as Agatha that I was to be so overpowering!"


She stopped-Henry Crawford looked rather foolish, and as if he did not know what to say.

She stopped-Henry Crawford looked rather foolish.


"Do not be afraid of _my_ wanting the character," cried Julia, with angry quickness: "I am _not_ to be Agatha, and I am sure I will do nothing else; and as to Amelia, it is of all parts in the world the most disgusting to me. I quite detest her.

"Do not be afraid of my wanting the character," cried Julia, with angry quickness: "I am not to be Agatha, and I will do nothing else; and as to Amelia, I quite detest her.


An odious, little, pert, unnatural, impudent girl.

An odious, little, pert, unnatural girl.


I have always protested against comedy, and this is comedy in its worst form."


And so saying, she walked hastily out of the room, leaving awkward feelings to more than one, but exciting small compassion in any except Fanny, who had been a quiet auditor of the whole, and who could not think of her as under the agitations of _jealousy_ without great pity.

So saying, she walked hastily out of the room, exciting small compassion in any except Fanny, who pitied her jealousy.


A short silence succeeded her leaving them; but her brother soon returned to business and Lovers' Vows, and was eagerly looking over the play, with Mr. Yates's help, to ascertain what scenery would be necessary-while Maria and Henry Crawford conversed together in an under-voice, and the declaration with which she began of, "I am sure I would give up the part to Julia most willingly, but that though I shall probably do it very ill, I feel persuaded _she_ would do it worse," was doubtless receiving all the compliments it called for.

A short silence followed; but her brother soon returned to business, and was eagerly looking over the play to ascertain what scenery would be necessary-while Maria and Henry Crawford conversed together in an under-voice. "I would give up the part to Julia most willingly," said Maria, "but though I shall probably do it very ill, I feel persuaded she would do it worse."


When this had lasted some time, the division of the party was completed by Tom Bertram and Mr. Yates walking off together to consult farther in the room now beginning to be called _the_ _Theatre_, and Miss Bertram's resolving to go down to the Parsonage herself with the offer of Amelia to Miss Crawford; and Fanny remained alone.

Tom Bertram and Mr. Yates walked off to consult in the room now beginning to be called the Theatre; Miss Bertram resolved to go down to the Parsonage with the offer of Amelia to Miss Crawford; and Fanny remained alone.


The first use she made of her solitude was to take up the volume which had been left on the table, and begin to acquaint herself with the play of which she had heard so much.

She took up the volume which had been left on the table, and begin to read the play.


Her curiosity was all awake, and she ran through it with an eagerness which was suspended only by intervals of astonishment, that it could be chosen in the present instance, that it could be proposed and accepted in a private theatre!

Her curiosity was awake, and she ran through it with an eagerness which was suspended only by astonishment that it could be proposed and accepted in a private theatre!


Agatha and Amelia appeared to her in their different ways so totally improper for home representation-the situation of one, and the language of the other, so unfit to be expressed by any woman of modesty, that she could hardly suppose her cousins could be aware of what they were engaging in; and longed to have them roused as soon as possible by the remonstrance which Edmund would certainly make.

Agatha and Amelia appeared to be so totally improper-the situation of one, and the language of the other, so unfit for any modest woman, that she could hardly suppose her cousins could be aware of what they were engaging in. She longed to have them roused as soon as possible by the remonstrance which Edmund would certainly make.


Could Sir Thomas have seen all his niece's feelings, when she wrote her first letter to her aunt, he would not have despaired; for though a good night's rest, a pleasant morning, the hope of soon seeing William again, and the comparatively quiet state of the house, from Tom and Charles being gone to school, Sam on some project of his own, and her father on his usual lounges, enabled her to express herself cheerfully on the subject of home, there were still, to her own perfect consciousness, many drawbacks suppressed.

Could Sir Thomas have seen his niece's feelings, he would not have despaired; for despite a good night's rest, the hope of soon seeing William again, and the comparatively quiet state of the house, from Tom and Charles being gone to school, home still held many drawbacks.


Could he have seen only half that she felt before the end of a week, he would have thought Mr. Crawford sure of her, and been delighted with his own sagacity.

Could he have seen only half that she felt before the end of a week, he would have been delighted with his own sagacity.


Before the week ended, it was all disappointment.


The Thrush had had her orders, the wind had changed, and he was sailed within four days from their reaching Portsmouth; and during those days she had seen him only twice, in a short and hurried way, when he had come ashore on duty.

The Thrush had had her orders, and sailed within four days; and during those days she had seen him only twice, in a hurried way.


There had been no free conversation, no walk on the ramparts, no visit to the dockyard, no acquaintance with the Thrush, nothing of all that they had planned and depended on.

There had been no free conversation, no walk on the ramparts, no visit to the dockyard, nothing of all that they had planned.


Everything in that quarter failed her, except William's affection.

Everything failed, except William's affection.


His last thought on leaving home was for her. He stepped back again to the door to say, "Take care of Fanny, mother.

His last words on leaving home were: "Take care of Fanny, mother.


She is tender, and not used to rough it like the rest of us."


William was gone: and the home he had left her in was, Fanny could not conceal it from herself, in almost every respect the very reverse of what she could have wished.

William was gone: and her home was the very reverse of what she could have wished.


It was the abode of noise, disorder, and impropriety.


Nobody was in their right place, nothing was done as it ought to be.


She could not respect her parents as she had hoped.


On her father, her confidence had not been sanguine, but he was more negligent of his family, his habits were worse, and his manners coarser, than she had been prepared for.

Her father was more negligent of his family, his habits were worse, and his manners coarser, than she had been prepared for.


He did not want abilities but he had no curiosity, and no information beyond his profession; he read only the newspaper and the navy-list; he talked only of the dockyard, the harbour, Spithead, and the Motherbank; he swore and he drank, he was dirty and gross.

He did not lack abilities, but he had no curiosity; he read only the newspaper and the navy-list; he swore and he drank, he was dirty and gross.


She had never been able to recall anything approaching to tenderness in his former treatment of herself. There had remained only a general impression of roughness and loudness; and now he scarcely ever noticed her, but to make her the object of a coarse joke.

She had never been able to recall anything approaching to tenderness in his former treatment of herself; and now he scarcely ever noticed her, but to make her the object of a coarse joke.


Her disappointment in her mother was greater: _there_ she had hoped much, and found almost nothing.

Her disappointment in her mother was greater: there she had hoped much, and found almost nothing.


Every flattering scheme of being of consequence to her soon fell to the ground.


Mrs. Price was not unkind; but, instead of gaining on her affection and confidence, and becoming more and more dear, her daughter never met with greater kindness from her than on the first day of her arrival.

Mrs. Price was not unkind; but her daughter never met with greater kindness from her than on the day of her arrival.


The instinct of nature was soon satisfied, and Mrs. Price's attachment had no other source.


Her heart and her time were already quite full; she had neither leisure nor affection to bestow on Fanny.

Her heart and her time were already full; she had neither leisure nor affection to bestow on Fanny.


Her daughters never had been much to her.


She was fond of her sons, especially of William, but Betsey was the first of her girls whom she had ever much regarded.

She was fond of her sons, especially William, but Betsey was the first of her girls whom she had ever much regarded.


To her she was most injudiciously indulgent.


William was her pride; Betsey her darling; and John, Richard, Sam, Tom, and Charles occupied all the rest of her maternal solicitude, alternately her worries and her comforts.

William was her pride; Betsey her darling; and John, Richard, Sam, Tom, and Charles occupied all the rest of her maternal solicitude.


These shared her heart: her time was given chiefly to her house and her servants.


Her days were spent in a kind of slow bustle; all was busy without getting on, always behindhand and lamenting it, without altering her ways; wishing to be an economist, without contrivance or regularity; dissatisfied with her servants, without skill to make them better, and whether helping, or reprimanding, or indulging them, without any power of engaging their respect.

Her days were spent in a kind of slow bustle; she was busy without getting on; and dissatisfied with her servants, without skill to make them better, or any power of engaging their respect.


Of her two sisters, Mrs. Price very much more resembled Lady Bertram than Mrs. Norris.

Mrs. Price resembled Lady Bertram more than Mrs. Norris.


She was a manager by necessity, without any of Mrs. Norris's inclination for it, or any of her activity.

She was a manager by necessity, without any of Mrs. Norris's inclination for it.


Her disposition was naturally easy and indolent, like Lady Bertram's; and a situation of similar affluence and do-nothingness would have been much more suited to her capacity than the exertions and self-denials of the one which her imprudent marriage had placed her in. She might have made just as good a woman of consequence as Lady Bertram, but Mrs. Norris would have been a more respectable mother of nine children on a small income.

She was naturally indolent, like Lady Bertram; and Mrs. Norris would have been a more respectable mother of nine children on a small income.


Much of all this Fanny could not but be sensible of.


She might scruple to make use of the words, but she must and did feel that her mother was a partial, ill-judging parent, a dawdle, a slattern, who neither taught nor restrained her children, whose house was the scene of mismanagement and discomfort from beginning to end, and who had no talent, no conversation, no affection towards herself; no curiosity to know her better, no desire of her friendship, and no inclination for her company that could lessen her sense of such feelings.

She might scruple to use the words, but she must feel that her mother was an ill-judging parent, a slattern, who neither taught nor restrained her children, whose house was the scene of mismanagement from beginning to end, and who had no talent, no conversation, no affection towards herself; and no curiosity to know her better.


Fanny was very anxious to be useful, and not to appear above her home, or in any way disqualified or disinclined, by her foreign education, from contributing her help to its comforts, and therefore set about working for Sam immediately; and by working early and late, with perseverance and great despatch, did so much that the boy was shipped off at last, with more than half his linen ready.

Fanny was very anxious to be useful, and not to appear above her home, and therefore set about working for Sam immediately; and by sewing early and late, did so much that the boy was shipped off at last with more than half his linen ready.


She had great pleasure in feeling her usefulness, but could not conceive how they would have managed without her.


Sam, loud and overbearing as he was, she rather regretted when he went, for he was clever and intelligent, and glad to be employed in any errand in the town; and though spurning the remonstrances of Susan, given as they were, though very reasonable in themselves, with ill-timed and powerless warmth, was beginning to be influenced by Fanny's services and gentle persuasions; and she found that the best of the three younger ones was gone in him: Tom and Charles being at least as many years as they were his juniors distant from that age of feeling and reason, which might suggest the expediency of making friends, and of endeavouring to be less disagreeable.

Sam, loud and overbearing as he was, she rather regretted when he went, for he was clever and intelligent, and glad to be employed in errands; and though spurning the ill-timed though reasonable remonstrances of Susan, he was beginning to be influenced by Fanny's gentle persuasions.


Their sister soon despaired of making the smallest impression on _them_; they were quite untameable by any means of address which she had spirits or time to attempt.

She despaired of making the smallest impression on Tom or Charles; they were quite untameable.


Every afternoon brought a return of their riotous games all over the house; and she very early learned to sigh at the approach of Saturday's constant half-holiday.

Every afternoon brought a return of their riotous games all over the house; and she learned to sigh at the approach of Saturday's constant half-holiday.


Betsey, too, a spoiled child, trained up to think the alphabet her greatest enemy, left to be with the servants at her pleasure, and then encouraged to report any evil of them, she was almost as ready to despair of being able to love or assist; and of Susan's temper she had many doubts.

Betsey, too, a spoiled child, trained up to think the alphabet her greatest enemy, left with the servants, and then encouraged to report any evil of them, she was almost as ready to despair of; and of Susan's temper she had many doubts.


Her continual disagreements with her mother, her rash squabbles with Tom and Charles, and petulance with Betsey, were at least so distressing to Fanny that, though admitting they were by no means without provocation, she feared the disposition that could push them to such length must be far from amiable, and from affording any repose to herself.

Susan's continual disagreements with her mother, her squabbles with Tom and Charles, and petulance with Betsey, were so distressing to Fanny that she feared Susan's disposition must be far from amiable.


Such was the home which was to put Mansfield out of her head, and teach her to think of her cousin Edmund with moderated feelings.

Such was the home which was to put Mansfield out of her head.


On the contrary, she could think of nothing but Mansfield, its beloved inmates, its happy ways.


Everything where she now was in full contrast to it.


The elegance, propriety, regularity, harmony, and perhaps, above all, the peace and tranquillity of Mansfield, were brought to her remembrance every hour of the day, by the prevalence of everything opposite to them _here_.

The elegance, propriety, harmony, and above all, the peace and tranquillity of Mansfield, were brought to her remembrance every hour, by the prevalence of everything opposite to them here.


The living in incessant noise was, to a frame and temper delicate and nervous like Fanny's, an evil which no superadded elegance or harmony could have entirely atoned for. It was the greatest misery of all.

The incessant noise was, to a delicate temper like Fanny's, the greatest misery of all.


At Mansfield, no sounds of contention, no raised voice, no abrupt bursts, no tread of violence, was ever heard; all proceeded in a regular course of cheerful orderliness; everybody had their due importance; everybody's feelings were consulted.

At Mansfield, no raised voice, no tread of violence, was ever heard; everybody's feelings were consulted.


If tenderness could be ever supposed wanting, good sense and good breeding supplied its place; and as to the little irritations sometimes introduced by aunt Norris, they were short, they were trifling, they were as a drop of water to the ocean, compared with the ceaseless tumult of her present abode.

If tenderness could be ever supposed wanting, good breeding supplied its place; and as to the little irritations of aunt Norris, they were trifling, compared with the ceaseless tumult of her present home.


Here everybody was noisy, every voice was loud (excepting, perhaps, her mother's, which resembled the soft monotony of Lady Bertram's, only worn into fretfulness).

Here everybody was noisy, every voice was loud (excepting, perhaps, her mother's).


Whatever was wanted was hallooed for, and the servants hallooed out their excuses from the kitchen.


The doors were in constant banging, the stairs were never at rest, nothing was done without a clatter, nobody sat still, and nobody could command attention when they spoke.


In a review of the two houses, as they appeared to her before the end of a week, Fanny was tempted to apply to them Dr. Johnson's celebrated judgment as to matrimony and celibacy, and say, that though Mansfield Park might have some pains, Portsmouth could have no pleasures.

At the end of a week, Fanny was tempted to say, that though Mansfield Park might have some pains, Portsmouth could have no pleasures.


Miss Crawford accepted the part very readily; and soon after Miss Bertram's return from the Parsonage, Mr. Rushworth arrived, and another character was consequently cast.

Miss Crawford accepted the part readily; and when Mr. Rushworth arrived, another character was cast.


He had the offer of Count Cassel and Anhalt, and at first did not know which to chuse, and wanted Miss Bertram to direct him; but upon being made to understand the different style of the characters, and which was which, and recollecting that he had once seen the play in London, and had thought Anhalt a very stupid fellow, he soon decided for the Count.

He had the offer of Count Cassel and Anhalt, and at first did not know which to choose, but recollecting that he had once seen the play, and had thought Anhalt a very stupid fellow, he decided on the Count.


Miss Bertram approved the decision, for the less he had to learn the better; and though she could not sympathise in his wish that the Count and Agatha might be to act together, nor wait very patiently while he was slowly turning over the leaves with the hope of still discovering such a scene, she very kindly took his part in hand, and curtailed every speech that admitted being shortened; besides pointing out the necessity of his being very much dressed, and chusing his colours.

Miss Bertram approved, for the less he had to learn the better. Though she could not sympathise in his wish that the Count and Agatha act together, nor wait very patiently while he was slowly turning over the leaves with the hope of discovering such a scene, she very kindly took his part in hand, and curtailed every speech that admitted being shortened; besides pointing out the necessity of his being finely dressed.


Mr. Rushworth liked the idea of his finery very well, though affecting to despise it; and was too much engaged with what his own appearance would be to think of the others, or draw any of those conclusions, or feel any of that displeasure which Maria had been half prepared for.

Mr. Rushworth liked the idea of his finery very well, though pretending to despise it; and was too engaged with his own appearance to feel any of the displeasure which Maria had been prepared for.


Thus much was settled before Edmund, who had been out all the morning, knew anything of the matter; but when he entered the drawing-room before dinner, the buzz of discussion was high between Tom, Maria, and Mr. Yates; and Mr. Rushworth stepped forward with great alacrity to tell him the agreeable news.

Thus much was settled before Edmund, who was out all morning, knew anything of it; but when he entered the drawing-room, the buzz of discussion was high, and Mr. Rushworth stepped forward with alacrity to tell him the agreeable news.


"It is to be Lovers' Vows; and I am to be Count Cassel, and am to come in first with a blue dress and a pink satin cloak, and afterwards am to have another fine fancy suit, by way of a shooting-dress.

"It is to be Lovers' Vows; and I am to be Count Cassel, and am to come in first with a pink satin cloak, and afterwards am to have another fancy suit, by way of a shooting-dress.