LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
 AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 ><823 
 Au7in 
 1814 
 
 Vol 
 
 RAREOG 
 
Digitized by tlie Internet Arcliive 
 
 in 2010 witli funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/mansfieldparknov01aust 
 
MANSFIEJLD PARK 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " SENSE AND SENSIBILITY," 
 AKD " PRIDE AND PREJUDICE." 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 JLcrilion : 
 
 PRINTED FOR T. EGERTON, 
 MILITARY LIBRARY, WHITEHALL, 
 
 1814. 
 
V. / 
 
 MANSFIELD FAEK. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 About thirty years ago, Miss Maria 
 Ward, of Huntingdon, with only seven 
 thousand pounds, had the good luck to 
 captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mans- 
 field Park, in the county of Northamp- 
 ton, and to be thereby raised to the 
 rank of a baronet's lady, with all the 
 comforts and consequences of an hand- 
 some house and large income. All 
 Huntingdon exclaimed on the greatness 
 of the match, and her uncle, the lawyer, 
 himself, allowed her to be at least three 
 thousand pounds short of any equitable 
 claim to it. She had two sisters to be 
 benefited by her elevation, and such of 
 their acquaintance as thought Miss Ward 
 VOL. I. B and 
 
( 2 ) 
 
 and Miss Frances quite as handsome as 
 Miss Maria, did not scruple to predict 
 their marrying with almost equal ad- 
 vantage. But there certainly are not 
 so many men of large fortune in the 
 world, as there are pretty women to 
 deserve them. Miss Ward, at the end 
 of half a dozen years, found herself 
 obliged to be attached to the Rev. Mr. 
 Norris, a friend of her brother-in-law, 
 with scarcely any private fortune, and 
 Miss Frances fared yet worse. Miss 
 Ward's match, indeed, when it came to 
 the point, was not contemptible. Sir 
 Thomas being happily able to give his 
 friend an income in the living of Mans- 
 field, and Mr. and Mrs. Norris began 
 their career of conjugal felicity with 
 very little less than a thousand a year. 
 But Miss Frances married, in the com- 
 mon phrase, to disoblige her family, 
 and by fixing on a Lieutenant of Marines, 
 without education, fortune, or connec- 
 tions, did it very thoroughly. She 
 could hardly have made a more unto- 
 ward 
 
C s ) 
 
 ward choice. Sir Thomas Bertram had 
 interest, which, from principle as well as 
 pride, from a general wish of doing 
 right, and a desire of seeing all that 
 were connected with him in situations 
 of respectability, he would have been 
 glad to exert for the advantage of Lady 
 Bertram's sister ; but her husband's pro- 
 fession was such as no interest could 
 reach ; and before he had time to 
 devise any other method of assisting 
 them, an absolute breach between the 
 sisters had taken place. It was the 
 natural result of the conduct of each 
 party, and such as a very imprudent 
 marriage almost always produces. To 
 save herself from useless remonstrance, 
 Mrs. Price never wrote to her family on 
 the subject till actually miarried. Lady 
 Bertram, who was a woman of very 
 tranquil feelings, and a temper remark- 
 ably easy and indolent, would have con- 
 tented herself with merely giving up her 
 lister, and thinking no more of the 
 matter $ but Mrs. Norris had a spirit of 
 B 2 activity. 
 
( 4 ) 
 
 rictivity, which could not be satisfied till 
 she had written a long and angry letter 
 to Fanny, to point out the folly of her 
 conduct, and threaten her with all its 
 possible ill consequences. Mrs. Price 
 in her turn was injured and angry ; and 
 an answer w^hich comprehended each 
 sister in its bitterness, and bestowed 
 such very disrespectful reflections on 
 the pride of Sir Thomas, as Mrs. 
 Norris could not possibly keep to her- 
 self, put an end to all intercourse 
 between them for a considerable period. 
 Their homes were so distant, and the 
 circles in which they moved so ciistinct, 
 as almost to preclude the means of ever 
 hearing of each other's existence during 
 the eleven following years, or at least 
 to make it very wonderful to Sir 
 Thomas, that Mrs. Norris should ever 
 have it in her power to tell them, as 
 she now and then did in an angry 
 voice, that Fanny had got another 
 child. By the end of eleven years Mrs. 
 Price could no longer afford to cherish 
 
 pride 
 
( 5 ) 
 
 pride or resentment, or to lose one con- 
 nection that might possibly assist her. 
 A large and still increasing family, an 
 husband disabled for active service, but 
 not the less equal to company and good 
 liquor, and a very small iacome to supply 
 their wants, made her eager to regain 
 the friends she had so carelessly sacrific* 
 ed J and she addressed Lady Bertram in 
 a letter which spoke so much contrition 
 and despondence, such a superfluity of 
 children, and such a want of almost 
 every thing else, as could not but dispose 
 them all to a reconciliation. She was 
 preparing for her ninth lying-in, and 
 after bewailing the circumstance, and 
 imploring their countenance as sponsors 
 to the expected child, she could not 
 conceal how important she felt they 
 might be to the future maintenance of 
 the eight already in being. Her eldest 
 was a boy of ten years old, a fine spirit- 
 ed fellow who longed to be out in the 
 world ; but what could she do ? Was 
 there any chance of his being hereafter 
 
 useful 
 
( 6 ) 
 
 useful to Sir Thomas in the concerns of 
 his West Indian property ? No situation 
 would be beneath him — or what did 
 Sir Thomas think of Woolwich ? or 
 how could a boy be sent out to the 
 East ? 
 
 The letter was not unproductive. It 
 re-established peace and kindness. Sir 
 Thomas sent friendly advice and pro- 
 fessions. Lady Bertram dispatched money 
 and baby-linen, and Mrs. Norris wrote 
 the letters. 
 
 Such were its immediate effects, and 
 within a twelve month a more impor- 
 tant advantage to Mrs. Price resulted 
 from it. Mrs. Norris was often observ- 
 ing to the others, that she could not 
 get her poor sister and her family out of 
 her head, and that much as they had all 
 done for her, she seemed to be wanting 
 to do more : and at length she could 
 not but own it to be her wish, that 
 poor Mrs. Price should be relieved from 
 the charge and expence of one child 
 entirely out of her great number. 
 
 " What 
 
( 7 ) 
 
 " What if they were among them to 
 undertake the care of her eldest daugh- 
 ter, a girl now nine years old, of an 
 age to require more attention than her 
 poor mother could possibly give ? The 
 trouble and expense of it to them, 
 would be nothing compared with the 
 benevolence of the action." Lady 
 Bertram agreed with her instantly. " I 
 think we cannot do better," said she, 
 " let us send for the child." 
 
 Sir Thomas could not give so instan- 
 taneous and unqualified a consent. He 
 debated and hesitated ; — it was a se- 
 rious charge ; — a girl so brought up 
 must be adequately provided for, or 
 there would be cruelty instead of kind- 
 ness in taking her from her family. 
 He thought of his own four children — 
 of liis two sons — of cousins in love, 
 &c. ; — but no sooner had he deliberately 
 begun to state his objections, than Mrs. 
 Norris interrupted him with a reply to 
 them all whether stated or not. 
 
 " My dear Sir Thomas, I perfectly 
 
 comprehend 
 
( s ) 
 
 comprehend you , and do justice to the 
 generosity and delicacy of your notions, 
 which indeed are quite of a piece with 
 your general conduct ; and I entirely 
 agree with you in the main as to the 
 propriety of doing every thing one 
 could by way of providing for a child 
 one had in a manner taken into one's 
 own hands ; and I am sure I should be 
 the last person in the world to with- 
 hold my mite upon such an occasion. 
 Having no children of my own, who 
 should I look to in any little matter I 
 may ever have to bestow, but the chil- 
 dren of my sisters ? — and I am sure Mr. 
 Norris is too just — but you know I am 
 a woman of few words and professions. 
 Do not let us be frightened from a good 
 deed by a trifle. Give a girl an education, 
 and introduce her properly into the 
 world, and ten toonebut she has the means 
 of settling well, without farther expense 
 to anybody. A niece of our's. Sir Thomas, 
 I may say, or, at least of your'^s^ would 
 not grow up in this neighbourhood with- 
 out 
 
( 9 ) 
 
 out many advantages. I don't say she 
 would be so handsome as her cousins. I 
 dare say she would not ; but she would be 
 introduced into the society of this coun- 
 try under such very favourable circum- 
 stances as, in all human probability, 
 would get her a creditable establish- 
 ment. You are thinking of your sons — • 
 but do not you know that of all things 
 upon earth thati'i the least Hkely to hap- 
 pen ; brought up, as they would be, 
 always together like brothers and sisters ? 
 It is morally impossible. I never knew 
 an instance of it. It is, in fact, the only 
 sure way of providing against the con- 
 nection. Suppose her a pretty girl, and 
 seen by Tom or Edmund for the first 
 time seven years hence, and I dare say 
 there would be mischief. The very 
 idea of her having been suffered to 
 grow up at a distance from us all in 
 poverty and neglect, would be enough 
 to make either of the dear sweet-tem- 
 pered boys in love with her. But breed 
 tier up with them from this time, and 
 B 3 suppose 
 
( 10 ) 
 
 suppose her even to have the beauty of 
 an angel, and she will never be more 
 to either than a sister." 
 
 *'• There is a great deal of truth in 
 what you say,*' replied Sir Thomas, 
 " and far be it from me to throw any 
 fanciful impediment in the way of a 
 plan which would be so consistent with 
 the relative situations of each. I only 
 meant to observe, that it ought not to 
 be lightly engaged in, and that to make 
 it really serviceable to Mrs. Price, and 
 creditable to ourselves, we must secure 
 to the child, or consider ourselves en- 
 gaged to secure to her hereafter, as cir- 
 cumstances may arise, the provision of 
 a gentlewoman, if no such establishment 
 should offer as you are so sanguine in 
 expecting." 
 
 " I thoroughly understand you," 
 cried Mrs. Norris ; " you are every thing 
 that is generous and considerate, and 
 I am sure we shall never disagree on 
 ithis^poiiat. Whatever I can doy as you 
 well fenow, I am always ready ent^ugh 
 •■>K.'j'jc^* . . to 
 
( H ) 
 
 to do for the good of those I love ; and, 
 though I could never feel for this little 
 girl the hundredth part of the regard 
 I bear your own dear children, nor con- 
 sider her, in any respect, so much my 
 own, I should hate myself if I were ca- 
 pable of neglecting her. Is not she a 
 sister's child ? and could I bear to see 
 her want, while I had a bit of bread to 
 give her ? My dear Sir Thomas, with 
 all my faults I have a warm heart ; and, 
 poor as I am, would rather deny myself 
 the necessaries of life, than do an unge- 
 nerous thing. So, if you are not against 
 it, I will write to my poor sister to-mor- 
 row, and make the proposal ; and, as 
 soon as matters are settled, /will engage 
 to get the child to Mansfield ; you shall 
 have no trouble about it. My own 
 trouble, you know, I never regard. I 
 will send Nanny to London on purpose, 
 and she may have a bed at her cousin, 
 the Sadler's, and the child be appointed 
 to meet her there. They may easily 
 get her from Portsmouth to town by 
 
 the. 
 
( 12 ) 
 
 the coach, under the care of any credi- 
 table person that may chance to be go- 
 ing. I dare say there is always some 
 reputable tradesman's wife or other 
 going up." 
 
 Except to the attack on Nanny's cou- 
 sin. Sir Thomas no longer made any objec- 
 tion, and a more respectable, though less 
 economical rendezvous being accordingly 
 substituted, every thing was considered 
 as settled, and the pleasures of so bene- 
 nevolent a scheme were already enjoy- 
 ed. The division of gratifying sensa- 
 tions ought not, in strict justice, to have 
 been equal ; for Sir Thomas was fully 
 resolved to be the real and consistent 
 patron of the selected child, and Mrs. 
 Norris had not the least intention of 
 being at any expense whatever in her 
 maintenance. As far as walking, talk- 
 ing, and contriving reached, she was 
 thoroughly benevolent, and nobody 
 knew better how to dictate liberality to 
 others ; but her love of money was 
 equal to her love of directing, and she 
 
 knew 
 
( 13 ) 
 
 knew quite as well how to save her 
 own as to spend that of her friend's. 
 Having married on a narrower income 
 than she had been used to look forward 
 to, she had, from the first, fancied a 
 very strict line of economy necessary ; 
 and what was begun as a matter of 
 prudence, soon grew into a matter of 
 choice, as an object of that needful so- 
 licitude, which there were no children 
 to supply. Had there been a family to 
 provide for, Mrs. Norris might never 
 have saved her money 5 but having no 
 care of that kind, there was nothing to 
 impede her frugality, or lessen the com- 
 fort of making a yearly addition to an 
 income which they had never lived up 
 to. Under this infatuating principle, 
 counteracted by no real affection for her 
 sister, it was impossible for her to aim 
 at more than the credit of projecting 
 and arranging so expensive a charity ; 
 though perhaps she might so little know 
 herself, as to walk home to the Parson- 
 age after this conversation, in the happy 
 
 belief 
 
( 14 ) 
 
 belief of being the most liberal-minded 
 sister and aunt in the world. 
 
 When the subject was brought for- 
 ward again, her views were more fully- 
 explained ; and, in reply to Lady Ber- 
 tram's calm enquiry of " Where shall 
 the child come to first, Sister, to you or 
 to us ?" Sir Thomas heard, with some 
 surprise, that it would be total-y out of 
 Mrs. Norris's power to take any share 
 in the personal charge of her. He had 
 been considering her as a particularly- 
 welcome addition at the Parsonage, as 
 a desirable companion to an aunt who 
 had no children of her own ; but he 
 found himself wholly mistaken. Mrs. 
 Norris was sorry to say, that the little 
 girl's staying with them, at least as things 
 then were, was quite out of the question. 
 Poor Mr. Norris's indifferent state of 
 health made it an impossibility ; he 
 could no more bare the noise of a child 
 than he could fly ; if indeed, he should 
 ever get well of his gouty complaints, 
 it would be a different matter ; she 
 ia;i'i should 
 
( 15 ) 
 
 should then be glad to take her turn, 
 and think nothing of the inconvenience; 
 but just now, poor Mr. Norris took up 
 every moment of her time, and the 
 very mention of such a thing she was 
 sure would distract him. 
 
 "Then she had better come to ws," 
 said Lady Bertram with the utmost com- 
 posure. After a short pause. Sir Tho- 
 mas added with dignity, " Yes, let her 
 home be in this house. We will en- 
 deavour to do our duty by her, and 
 she will at least have the advantage of 
 companions of her own age, and of a 
 regular instructress." 
 
 '' Very true," cried Mrs. Norris, 
 *' which are both very important consi 
 derations ; and it will be just the same 
 to Miss Lee, whether she has three girls 
 to teach, or only two — there can be no 
 difference. I only wish I could be more 
 useful ; but you see I do all in my 
 power. I «m not one of those that 
 spare their own trouble ; and Nanny 
 shall fetch li^,(JiQwever it may put 
 /■c^ii me 
 
( 16 ) 
 
 me to inconvenience to iiave my chief 
 counsellor away for three days. I sup- 
 pose Sister you will put the child in the 
 little white Attic, near the old Nur* 
 series. It will be much the best place 
 for her, so near Miss Lee, and not far 
 from the girls, and close by the house- 
 maids, who could either of them help 
 dress her you know, and take care of 
 her clothes, for I suppose you would 
 not think it fair to expect Ellis to w^ait 
 on her as well as the others. Indeed,! 
 do not see that you could possibly place 
 her any where else. 
 
 Lady Bertram made no opposition. 
 
 " I hope she will prove a welLdis- 
 posed girl," continued Mrs. Norris, 
 " and be sensible of her uncommon 
 good fortune, in having such friends." 
 
 " Should her disposition be really 
 bad,'' said Sir Thomas, " we must not, 
 for our own children's sake, continue 
 her in the family ; but there is no reason 
 to expect so great an evil. We shall 
 probably see much to wish altered in 
 
 her^ 
 
( n ) 
 
 her, and must prepare ourselves for 
 gross ignorance, some meanness of opi- 
 nions, and very distressing vulgarity of 
 manner ; but these are not incurable 
 faults — nor, I trust, can they be danger- 
 ous for her associates. Had my daugh- 
 ter been younger than herself, 1 should 
 have considered the introduction of 
 such a companion, as a matter of very 
 serious moment \ but as it is, I hope there 
 can be nothing to fear for tliem^ and 
 every thing to hope for lie^r^ from the 
 association.'* 
 
 " That is exactly what I think," cried 
 Mrs. Norris, '^ and what I was saying to 
 my husband this morning. It will be 
 an education for the child said I, only 
 being with her cousins ; if Miss Lee 
 taught her nothing, she would learn to 
 be good and clever from them?^ 
 
 *' I hope she will not teize my poor 
 pug," said Lady Bertram, *^ I have but 
 just got Julia to leave it alone." 
 
 " There will be some difficulty in our 
 way, Mrs. Norris," observed Sir Tho- 
 mas, 
 
( IS ) 
 
 mas, " as to the distinction proper to 
 be made between the girls as they grow 
 up ; how to preserve in the minds of 
 my daughters the consciousness of what 
 they are, without making them think 
 too lowly of their cousin ; and how, 
 without depressing her spirits too far, 
 to make her remember that she is not 
 a Miss Bertram, I should wish to see 
 them very good friends, and would, on 
 no account, authorize in my girls the 
 smallest degree of arrogance towards 
 their relation ; but still they cannot be 
 equals. Their rank, fortune, rights, 
 and expectations, will always be differ- 
 ent. It is a point of great delicacy, 
 and you must assist us in our endea- 
 vours to chuse exactly the right line of 
 conduct.'* 
 
 Mrs. Norris was quite at his service ; 
 and though she perfectly agreed with 
 him as to its being a most difficult thing, 
 encouraged him to hope that between 
 them it would be easily managed. 
 
 It will be readily believed that Mrs. 
 
 Norris 
 
f 19 ) 
 
 Norris did not write to her sister in vain. 
 Mrs. Price seemed rather surprised that a 
 girl should be fixed on, when she had 
 so many fine boys, but accepted the offer 
 most thankfully, assuring them of her 
 daughter's being a very well-disposed, 
 good-humoured girl, and trusting they 
 would never have cause to throw her 
 off. She spoke of her farther as some- 
 what delicate and puny, but was san- 
 guine in the hope of her being mate- 
 rially better for change of air. Poor 
 woman ! she probably thought change 
 of air might agree with many of her 
 children. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
( 20 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The little girl performed her long jour- 
 ney in safety, and at Northampton was 
 met by Mrs. Norris, who thus regaled 
 in the credit of being foremost to wel- 
 come her, and in the importance of 
 leading her in to tlie others, and recom- 
 mending her to their kindness. 
 
 Fanny Price was at this time just ten 
 years old, and though there might not 
 be much in her first appearance to capti- 
 vate, there was, at least, nothing to disgust 
 her relations. She was small of her age, 
 with no glow of complexion, nor any 
 other striking beauty ; exceedingly timid 
 and shy, and shrinking from notice ; 
 but her air, though awkward, was not 
 vulgar, her voice was sweet, and when 
 she spoke, her countenance was pretty. 
 Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram received 
 her very kindly, and Sir Thomas see- 
 ing how much she needed encourage- 
 ment, tried to be all that was concilia- 
 ting j 
 
( 21 ) 
 
 ting; but he had to work against a 
 most untoward gravity of deportment 
 — and Lady Bertram, without taking 
 half so much trouble, or speaking one 
 word where he spoke ten, by the mere 
 aid of a good-humoured smile, became 
 immediately the less aweful character of 
 the two. 
 
 The young people were all at home, 
 and sustained their share in the intro- 
 duction very well, w^ith much good 
 humour, and no embarrassment, at least 
 on the part of the sons, who at seven- 
 teen and sixteen, and tall of their age, 
 had all the grandeur of men in the eyes 
 of their little cousin. The two girls 
 were more at a loss from being younger 
 and in greater awe of their father, who 
 addressed them on the occasion with 
 rather an injudicious particularity. But 
 they were too much used to company 
 and praise, to have any thing Hke natu- 
 ral shyness, and their confidence increas- 
 ing from their cousin's total want of 
 it, they were soon able to take a full 
 
 survey 
 
( 22 ) 
 
 survey of her face and her frock in easy 
 indifference. 
 
 They were a remarkably fine family^ 
 the sons very well-looking, the daugh- 
 ters decidedly handsome, and all of 
 them well-grown and forward of their 
 age, which produced as striking a diifer- 
 ence between the cousins in person, as 
 education had given to their address j 
 and no one would have supposed the 
 girls so nearly of an age as they really 
 were. There was in fact but two years 
 between the youngest and Fanny. Julia 
 Bertram was only twelve, and Maria but 
 a year older. The little visitor mean- 
 while was as an unhappy as possible. 
 Afraid of every ^body, ashamed of her- 
 self, and longing for the home she had 
 left, she knew not how to look up, and 
 could scarcely speak to be heard, or with- 
 out crying. Mrs. Norris had been talking 
 to her the whole way from Northamp- 
 ton of her wonderful good fortune, and 
 the extraordinary degree of gratitude 
 and good behaviour which it ought to 
 
 produce, 
 
( 23 ) 
 
 produce, and her consciousness of mi- 
 sery was therefore increased by the idea 
 of its being a wicked ihir.g for her not 
 to h^ ^r---. Tic fatigue too, of so 
 iOfig ..-^y, Decanie socn no trifling 
 
 evil, ill vain were the well meant con- 
 descensions of Sir Thomas, and all the 
 officious prognostications of Mrs. Norris 
 that she would be a good girl; in vain 
 did Lady Bertram smile and make her 
 sit on the sofa with herself and pug, and 
 vain was even the sight of a gooseberry 
 tart towards giving her comfort ; she 
 could scarcely sv/allow two mouthfuls 
 before tears interrupted her, and sleep 
 seeming to be her likeliest friend, she 
 was taken to finish her sorrows in 
 bed. 
 
 " This is not a very promising begin- 
 ning," said Mrs. Norris when Fanny had 
 left the room. — " After all that I said 
 to her as we came along, I thonght 
 she would have behaved better ; I told 
 her how much might depend upon her 
 acquitting herself well at first, I wish 
 
 there 
 
C 24 ) 
 
 there may not be a little sulkiness of 
 temper — her poor mother had a good 
 deal ; but we must make allowances for 
 such a child — and I do not know that 
 her being sorry to leave her home is 
 really against her, for, with all its faults, 
 it *was her home, and she cannot as yet 
 understand how much she has changed 
 for the better ; but then there is mode- 
 ration in all things." 
 
 It required a longer time, however, 
 than Mrs. Norris was inclined to allow, 
 to reconcile Fanny to the novelty of 
 Mansfield Park, and the separation from 
 everybody she had been used to. Her 
 feelings were very acute, and too little 
 understood to be properly attended to. 
 Nobody meant to be unkind, but no- 
 body put themselves out of their way 
 to secure her comfort. 
 
 The holiday allowed to the Miss Bert- 
 rams the next day on purpose to afford 
 leisure for getting acquainted with, and 
 entertaining their young cousin, pro- 
 duced little union. They could not 
 
 but 
 
( 25 ; 
 
 but hold her cheap on finding that she 
 had but two sashes, and had never 
 learnt French ; and when they perceiv- 
 ed her to be httle struck with the duet 
 they were so good as to play, they 
 could do no more than make her a ge- 
 nerous present of some of their least 
 valued toys, and leave her to herself, 
 while they adjourned to whatever 
 might be the favourite holiday sport 
 of the moment, making artificial flowers 
 or wasting gold paper. 
 
 Fanny, whether near or from her 
 cousins, whether in the school-room, 
 the drawing-room, or the shrubbery, 
 was equally forlorn, finding something 
 to fear in every person and place. She 
 was disheartened by Lady Bertram's 
 silence, awed by Sir lliomas's grave 
 looks, and quite overcome by Mrs. 
 Norris's admonitions. Her elder cou- 
 sins mortified her by reflections on her 
 size, and abashed her by noticing her 
 shyness ; Miss Lee wondered at her ig- 
 norance, and the maid-servants sneered 
 VOL. I. c at 
 
( 26 ) 
 
 at her clothes ; and when to these sor- 
 rows was added the idea of the brothers 
 and sisters among whom she had always 
 been important as play-fellow, instruc- 
 tress, and nurse, the despondence that 
 sunk her little heart was severe. 
 
 The grandeur of the house astonish- 
 ed but could not console her. The 
 rooms were too large for her to move 
 in with ease ; whatever she touched she 
 expected to injure, and she crept about 
 in constant terror of something or 
 other; often retreating towards her 
 own chamber to cry ; and the little girl 
 who was spoken of in the drawing-room 
 when she left it at night, as seeming so 
 desirably sensible of her peculiar good 
 fortune, ended every day's sorrows by 
 sobbing herself to sleep. A week had 
 passed in this way, and no suspicion of 
 it conveyed by her quiet passive manner, 
 when she was found one morning by her 
 cousin Edmund, the youngest of the 
 sons, sitting crying on the attic stairs. 
 
 ** My dear little cousin," said he with 
 
 all 
 
C ^7 ) 
 
 all the gentleness of an excellent nature^ 
 " what can be the matter ?'' And sit- 
 ting down by her, was at great pains to 
 overcome her shame in being so sur- 
 prised, and persuade her to speak 
 openly. *' Was she ill ? or was any 
 body angry \^ith her ? or had she quar- 
 relled with Maria and Julia ? or was 
 she puzzled about any thing in her lesson 
 that he could explain ? Did she, in 
 short, want any thing he could possibly 
 get her, or do for her ?" For a long 
 while no answer could be obtained be- 
 yond a " no^ no — not at all — no, thank 
 you ;" but he still persevered, and no 
 sooner had he begun to revert to her 
 own home, than her increased sobs ex- 
 plained to him where the grievance lay. 
 He tried to console her. 
 
 " You are sorry to leave Mamma, my 
 dear little Fanny," said he, " which 
 shews you to be a very good girl ; but 
 you must remember that you are 
 with relations and friends, who all 
 love you, and wish to make you happy, 
 c 2 Let 
 
( 28 ) 
 
 Let us walk out in the park, and you 
 shall tell me all about your brothers 
 and sisters." 
 
 On pursuing the subject,he found that 
 dear as all these brothers and sisters gene- 
 rally were, there was one among them 
 who ran more in her thoughts than the 
 rest. It was William whom she talked of 
 most and wanted most to see. William, 
 the eldest, a year older than herself, her 
 constant companion and friend ; her 
 advocate with her mother (of whom 
 he was the darHng) in every distress. 
 " William did not like she should come 
 away— he had told her he should miss 
 her very much indeed." " But William 
 will write to you, I dare say." " Yes, 
 he had promised he would, but he had 
 told her to write first." " And when 
 shall you do it ?" She hung her head 
 and answered, hesitatingly, " she did not 
 know J she had not any paper." 
 
 " If that be all your difficulty, I will 
 furnish you with paper and every other 
 
 material, 
 
( 29 ) 
 
 material, and you may write your let- 
 ter whenever you chuse. Would it 
 make you happy to write to William V 
 
 " Yes, very.'* 
 
 " Then let it be done now. Come 
 with me into the breakfast room, we 
 shall find every thing there, and be sure 
 of having the room to ourselves." 
 
 *' But cousin — will it go to the 
 post ?" 
 
 Yes, depend upon me it shall ; it 
 shall go with the other letters ; and as 
 your uncle will frank it, it will cost 
 William nothing.'* 
 
 " My uncle !" repeated Fanny with a 
 frightened look. 
 
 *' Yes, when you have written the 
 letter, I will take it to my Father to 
 frank.*' 
 
 Fanny thought it a bold measure, 
 but offered no farther resistance ; and 
 they went together into the breakfast- 
 room, where Edmund prepared her pa- 
 per, and ruled her lines with all the good 
 will that her brother could himself have 
 
 felt 
 
( 30 ) 
 
 felt, and probably with somewhat more 
 exactness. He continued with her the 
 whole time of her writing, to assist her 
 with his penknife or his orthography, as 
 either were wanted ; and added to these 
 attentions, which she felt very much, a 
 kindness to her brother, which delight- 
 ed her beyond all the rest. He wrote 
 with his own hand his love to his cousin 
 William, and sent him half a guinea 
 under the seal. Fanny's feelings on the 
 occasion were such as she^elieved her- 
 self incapable of expressing ; but her 
 countenance and a few artless words fully 
 conveyed all their gratitude and delight, 
 and her cousin began to find her an in- 
 teresting object. He talked to her 
 more, and from all that she said, was 
 convinced of her having an affectionate 
 heart, and a strong desire of doing 
 right 5 and he could perceive her to be 
 farther entitled to attention, by great 
 sensibility of her situation, and great 
 timidity. He had never knowingly 
 given her pain, but he now felt that she 
 
 required 
 
( 31 ) 
 
 required mere positive kindness, and 
 with that view endeavoured, in the first 
 place, to lessen her fears of them all, and 
 gave her especially a great deal of good 
 advice as to playing with Maria and 
 Julia, and being as merry as possible. 
 
 From this day Fanny grew more com- 
 fortable. She felt that she had a friend, 
 and the kindness of her cousin Edmund 
 gave her better spirits with every body 
 else. The place became less strange, and 
 the people less formidable ; and if there 
 were some amongst them whom she 
 could not cease to fear, she began at 
 least to know their ways, and to catch 
 the best manner of conforming to them. 
 The little rusticities and awkwardnesses 
 which had at first made grievous inroads 
 on the tranquillity of all, and not least 
 of herself, necessarily wore away, and 
 she was no longer materially afraid to 
 appear before her uncle, nor did her 
 aunt Norris's voice make her start very 
 much. To her cousins she became 
 occasionally an acceptable companion. 
 
 Though 
 
( 32 ) 
 
 Though unworthy, from inferiority of 
 age and strength, to be their constant 
 associate, their pleasures and schemes 
 were sometimes of a nature to make a 
 third very useful, especially when that 
 third was of an obliging, yielding tem- 
 per; and they could not but own, when 
 tlieir aunt inquired into her faults, or 
 their brother Edmund urged her claims 
 to their kindness, that " Fanny was 
 good-natured enough." 
 
 Edmund was uniformly kind him- 
 self, and she had nothing worse to endure 
 on the part of Tom, than that sort of 
 merriment which a youHgman of seven- 
 teen will always think fair with a child of 
 ten. He was just entering into life, full 
 of spirits, and with all the liberal dis- 
 [ positions of an eldest son, who feels born 
 only for expense and enjoyment. His 
 kindness to his Httle cousin was con- 
 sistent with his situation and rights ; 
 he made her some very pretty presents, 
 and laughed at her. 
 
 As her appearance and spirits im- 
 proved. 
 
( S3 ) 
 
 proved. Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris 
 thought with greater satisfaction of their 
 benevolent plan ; and it was pretty soon 
 decided between them, that though far 
 from clever, she shewed a tractable dis- 
 position, and seemed likely to give them 
 little trouble. A mean opinion of her 
 abilities was not confined to them. 
 Fanny could read, work, and write, but 
 she had been taught nothing more ; and 
 as her cousins found her ignorant of 
 many things with which they had been 
 long familiar, they thought her pro- 
 digiously stupid, and for the first two 
 or three weeks, were continually bring- 
 ing some fresh report of it into the 
 drawing room. " Dear Mamma, only 
 think, my cousin cannot put the map 
 of Europe together — or my cousin c \n- 
 not tell the principal rivers in Russia — 
 or she never heard of Asia Minor — 
 she does not know the difference b 
 tween water-colours and crayons ! — 
 How strange ! — Did you ever hear any 
 thing so stupid ?" 
 
 c 3 « Mv 
 
( 34 ) 
 
 ** My dear," their considerate aunt 
 would reply ; " it is very bad, but you 
 must not expect every body to be as 
 forward and quick at learning as your- 
 self." 
 
 " But, aunt, she is really so very igno- 
 ran ' — D- ► you know, we asked her last 
 night, v/hich way she would go to get 
 to Ireland ; and she said, she should 
 cross t'" the Isle of Wight. She thinks 
 of rothiiig but the Isle of Wight, and 
 she calls it the I4and, as if there were 
 no other island in the world. I am sure 
 I should have been ashamed of myself, 
 if I had not known better long before 1 
 was so old as she is. I cannot remem- 
 ber the time when I did not know a 
 great deal that she has not the least 
 notion of yet. Hv)w long ago it is aunt, 
 since we used to repeat the chronolo- 
 gical order of the kings of England, 
 with the dates of their accession, and 
 most of the principal events of their 
 reigns." 
 
 •* Yes," added the other j ** and of 
 
 th« 
 
( 35 ) 
 
 the Roman emperors as low as Severus ; 
 besides a great deal of the Heathen 
 Mythology, and all the Metals, Semi- 
 Metals, Planets, and distinguished phi- 
 losophers." 
 
 " Very true, indeed, my dears, but you 
 are blessed with wonderful memories, 
 and your poor cousin has probably none 
 at all There is a vast deal of difference 
 in memories, as well as in every thing 
 else, and therefore you must make al- 
 lowance for your cousin, and pity her 
 deficiency. And remember that, if you 
 are ever so forward and clever your- 
 selves, you should always be modest ; 
 for, much as you know already, there 
 is a great deal more for you to learn.'* 
 
 " Yes, I know there is, till I am sa- 
 venteen. But I must tell you another 
 thing of Fanny, so odd and so stupid. 
 Do you know, she says she does not want 
 to learn either music or drawing.'* 
 
 ** To be sure, my dear^ that is very 
 stupid indeed, and shews a great want 
 of genius and emulation* But all things 
 
 considered, 
 
( 36 ) 
 
 considered, I do not know whether it 
 is not as well that it should be so, for, 
 though you know (owing to me) your 
 papa and mamma are so good as to 
 bring her up with you, it is not at all 
 necessary that she should be as accom- 
 plished as you are;— on the contrary, 
 it is much more desirable that there 
 should be a difference." 
 
 Such were the counsels by which Mrs. 
 Norris assisted to form her nieces' minds; 
 and it is not very wonderful that with 
 all their promising talents and early 
 information, they should be entirely 
 deficient in the less common acquire- 
 ments of self-knowledge, generosity, 
 and humility. In every thing but dis- 
 position, they were admirably taught. 
 Sir Thomas did not know what was 
 wanting, because, though a truly anxious 
 father, he was not outwardly affection- 
 ate, and the reserve of his manner re- 
 pressed all the flow of their spirits be- 
 fore him. 
 
 To the education of her daughters. 
 
 Lady 
 
( 37 ) 
 
 Lady Bertram paid not the smallest 
 attention. She had not time for such 
 cares. She was a woman who spent her 
 days in sitting nicely dressed on a sofa, 
 doing some long piece of needle work, 
 of little use and no beauty, thinking 
 more of her pug than her children, but 
 very indulgent to the latter, when it did 
 not put herself to inconvenience, guided 
 in every thing important by Sir Thomas, 
 and in smaller concerns by her sister. 
 Had she possessed greater leisure for 
 the service of her girls, she v/ould pro- 
 bably have supposed it unnecessary, for 
 they were under the care of a governess, 
 with proper masters, and could want 
 nothing more. As for Fanny's being 
 stupid at learning, *' she could only say- 
 it was very unlucky, but some people 
 U'ere stupid, and Fanny must take more 
 pains ; she did not know what else was 
 to be done ; and except her being so 
 dull, she must add she saw no harm in 
 the poor little thing — and always found 
 her very handy and quick in carrying 
 
 messages. 
 
( 38 ) 
 
 messages, and fetching what she want. 
 eA'* 
 
 Fanny with all her fauUs of ignorance 
 and timidity was fixed at Mansfield 
 Park, and learning to transfer in its 
 favour much of her attachment to her 
 former home, grew up there not un- 
 happily among her cousins. There 
 was no positive ill-nature in Maria or 
 Julia ; and though Fanny was often 
 mortified by their treatment of her, she 
 thought too lowly of her own claims 
 to feel injured by it. 
 
 From about the time of her entering 
 the family, Lady Bertram, in conse- 
 quence of a little ill-health, and a great 
 deal of indolence, gave up the house in 
 town, which she had been used to 
 occupy every spring, and remained 
 wholly in the country, leaving Sir 
 Thomas to attend his duty in Parlia- 
 ment, with whatever increase or diminu- 
 tion of comfort might arise from her 
 absence. In the country, therefore, the 
 Miss Bertrams continued to exercise their 
 
 memories, 
 
( 39 ) 
 
 memories, practise their duets, and grow 
 tail and womanly ; and their father saw 
 them becoming in person, manner, and 
 accomplishments, every thing that could 
 satisfy his anxiety. His eldest son was 
 careless and extravagant, and had 
 already given him much uneasiness, but 
 his other children promised him nothing 
 but good. His daughters he felt, while 
 they retained the name of Bertram, 
 m ust be giving it new grace, and in 
 quitting it he trusted would extend its 
 respectable alliances ; and the character 
 of Edmund, his strong good sense and 
 uprightness of mind, bid most fairly 
 for utility, honour, and happiness to 
 himself and all his connections. He 
 was to be a clergyman. 
 
 Amid the cares and the complacency 
 which his own children suggested, Sir 
 Thomas did not forget to do what he 
 could for the children of Mrs. Price 5 he 
 assisted her liberally in the education 
 and disposal of her sons as they became 
 old enough for a determinate pursuit ^ 
 
 and 
 
( 40 ) 
 
 and Fanny,though almost totally separat- 
 ed from her family, was sensible of the 
 truest satisfaction in hearing of any 
 kindness towards them, or of any thing 
 at all promising in their situation or con- 
 duct. Once and once only in the 
 course of many years had she the hap- 
 piness of being with William. Of the 
 rest she saw nothing ; nobody seemed 
 to think of her ever going amongst 
 them again, even for a visit, nobody at 
 home seemed to want her ; but William 
 determining soon after her removal, to 
 be a sailor, was invited to spend a week 
 \«^ith his sister in Northamptonshire, 
 before he went to sea. Their eager 
 affection in meeting, their exquisite 
 delight in being together,^ their hours of 
 happy mirth and moments of serious 
 confierence may be imagined ; as well as 
 the sanguine views and spirits of the 
 boy even to the last, and the misery of 
 the girl when he left her. Luckily the 
 visit happened in the Christmas holidays, 
 when she could directly look for com- 
 fort 
 
( 41 ) 
 
 fort to her cousin Edmund, and he told 
 her such charming things of what 
 William was to do, and be hereafter, in 
 consequence of his profession, as made 
 her gradually admit that the separation 
 might have some use. Edmund's 
 friendship never failed her ; his leaving 
 Eton forOxford, made no change in his 
 kind dispositions, and only afforded 
 more frequent opportunities of proving 
 them. Without any display of doing 
 more than the rest, or any fear of 
 doing too much, he was always true to 
 her interests, and considerate of her feel- 
 ings, trying to make her good qualities 
 understood, and to conquer the diffi- 
 dence which prevented their being more 
 apparent; giving her advice, consola- 
 tion, and encouragement. 
 
 Kept back as she was by every body 
 else, his single support could not bring 
 her forward, but his attentions were 
 otherwise of the highest importance in 
 assisting the improvement of her mind, 
 and extending its pleasures. He knew 
 
 her 
 
( 42 ) 
 
 her to be clever, to have a quick appre- 
 hension as well as good sense, and a 
 fondness for reading, which properly- 
 directed, must be an education in itself. 
 Miss Lee taught her French and heard 
 her read the daily portion of History, 
 but he recommended the books which 
 charmed her leisure hours, he encourag- 
 ed her taste, and corrected her judg- 
 ment ; he made reading useful by talk- 
 ing to her of what she read, and 
 heightened its attraction by judicious, 
 praise. In return for such services she* 
 loved him better than any body in the 
 world except William ; her heart was 
 divided between the two. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
( 43 ) 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The first event of any importance in the 
 family was the death of Mr. Norris, 
 which happened when Fanny was about 
 fifteen, and necessarily introduced altera- 
 tions and novelties. Mrs. Norris on 
 quitting the parsonage, removed first to 
 the parkjand afterwards to a small house 
 of Sir Thomas's in the village, and con* 
 soled herself for the loss of her husband 
 by considering that she could do very 
 well without him, and for her reduction 
 of income by the evident necessity of 
 stricter economy, 
 
 The living was hereafter for Edmund, 
 and had his uncle died a few years 
 sooner, it would have been duly given 
 to some friend to hold till he were old 
 enough for orders. But Tom's extra- 
 vagance had, previous to that event, 
 been so great as to render a different 
 disposal of the next presentation neces- 
 sary, and the younger brother must help 
 
 to 
 
( 44 ) 
 
 to pay for the pleasures of the elder. 
 There was another family-living actually 
 held for Edmund ; but though this cir- 
 cumstance had made the arrangement 
 somewhat easier to Sir Thomas's con- 
 science, he could not but feel it to be 
 an act of injustice, and he earnestly 
 tried to impress his eldest son with the 
 same conviction, in the hope of its pro- 
 ducing a better effect than any thing he 
 had yet been able to say or do. 
 
 "I blush for you, Tom," said he, in his 
 most dignified manner; " I blush for the 
 expedient which I am driven on, and I 
 trust I may pity your feelings as a bro- 
 ther on the occasion. You have robbed 
 Edmund for ten, twenty, thirty years, 
 perhaps for life, of more than half the 
 income which ought to be his. It may 
 hereafter be in my power, or in your's 
 (I hope it will), to procure him better 
 preferment ; but it must not be for- 
 gotten, that no benefit of that sort 
 would have been beyond his natural 
 claims on us, and that nothing can, in 
 
 fact, 
 
( 45 ) 
 
 fact, be an equivalent for the certain 
 advantage which he is now obliged to 
 forego through the urgency of your 
 debts.'' 
 
 Tom listened with some shame and 
 some sorrow ; but escaping as quickly as 
 possible, could soon with cheerful sel- 
 fishness reflect, 1 st, that he had not been 
 half so much in debt as some of his 
 friends ; 2dly5 that his father had made 
 a most tiresome piece of work of it ^ 
 and 3dly, that the future incumbent, 
 whoever he might be, would, in all pro- 
 bability, die very soon. 
 
 On Mr. Norris's death, the presenta- 
 tion became the right of a Dr. Grant, 
 who came consequently to reside at 
 Mansfield, and on proving to be a hearty 
 man of forty-five, seemed likely to dis- 
 appoint Mr. Bertram's calculations. 
 But " no, he was a short-neck'd, apo- 
 plectic sort of fellow, and, plied well 
 with good things, would soon pop off." 
 
 He had a wife about fifteen years his 
 junior, but no children, and they en- 
 tered 
 
( 46 ) 
 
 tered the neighbourhood with the usual 
 fair report of being very respectable, 
 agreeable people. 
 
 The time was now come when Sir 
 Thomas expected his sister-in-law to 
 claim her share in their niece, the change in 
 Mrs. Norris's situation^and the improve- 
 ment in Fanny's age, seeming not merely 
 to do away any former objection to their 
 living together, but even to give it the 
 most decided eligibility ; and as his 
 own circumstances were rendered less 
 fair than heretofore, by some recent 
 losses on his West India Estate, in addi* 
 tion to his eldest son's extravagance, it 
 became not undesirable to himself to be 
 relieved from the expense of her sup- 
 port, and the obligation of her future 
 provision. In the fulness of his belief 
 that such a thing must be, he men- 
 tioned its probability to his wife, and 
 the first time of the subject's occur- 
 ring to her again, happening to be 
 when Fanny was present, she calmly 
 observed to her, " So, Fanny, you are 
 
 going 
 
( 47 ) 
 
 going to leave us, and live with my sis* 
 ter. How shall you like it ?'* 
 
 Fanny was too much surprised to do 
 more than repeat her aunt's words, 
 ** Going to leave you ?** 
 
 *' Yes, my dear, why should you be 
 astonished ? You have been five years 
 with us, and my sister always meant to 
 take you when Mr. Norris died. But 
 you must come up and tack on my pat- 
 terns all the same." 
 
 The news was as disagreeable to Fan- 
 ny as it had been unexpected. She 
 had never received kindness from her 
 aunt Norris, and could not love her. 
 
 " I shall be very sorry to go away,'* 
 said she, with a faltering voice. 
 
 ** Yes, I dare say you will ; thafs na- 
 tural enough. I suppose you have had as 
 little to vex you, since you came into 
 this house, as any creature in the 
 world." 
 
 " I hope I am not ungrateful, aunt,** 
 said Fanny, modestly. " No, my dear j 
 
 I hope 
 
( 48 j 
 
 I hope not. I have always found you a 
 very good girl." 
 
 " And am I never to live here again ?" 
 
 " Never, my dear ; but you are sure 
 of a comfortable home. It can make 
 very little difference to you, whether 
 you are in one house or the other." 
 
 Fanny left the room with a very sor- 
 rowful heart ; she could not feel the dif- 
 ference to be so small, she could not 
 think of living with her aunt with any 
 thing like satisfaction. As soon as she 
 met with Edmund, she told him her 
 distress. 
 
 " Cousin,'^ said she, " something is 
 going to happen v/hich I do not like at 
 all ; and though you have often persuad- 
 ed me into being reconciled to things 
 that I disliked at first, you Vvill not be 
 able to do it now. I am going to live 
 entirely with my aunt Norris." 
 
 " Indeed !" ' 
 
 " Yes, my aunt Bertram has just told 
 me so. It is quite settled. I am^ to leave 
 Mansfield Park, and go to the White 
 
 house, 
 
( 49 ; 
 
 house, I suppose, as soon as she is re- 
 moved there." 
 
 " Well, Fanny, and if the plan were 
 not unpleasant to you, I should call it an 
 excellent one.'* 
 
 « Oh ! Cousin V* 
 
 " It has every thing else in its favour. 
 My aunt is acting like a sensible woman 
 in wishing for you. She is chusing a 
 friend and companion exactly where she 
 ought, and I am glad her love of money 
 does not interfere. You will be what 
 you ought to be to her. I hope it 
 does not distress you very much, Fan- 
 
 ny." 
 
 " Indeed it does. I cannot like it. I 
 love this house and every thing in it. 
 I shall love nothing there. You know 
 how uncomfortable I feel with her." 
 
 " I can say nothing for her manner to 
 you as a child, but it was the same with 
 us all, or nearly so. She never knew 
 how to be pleasant to children. But 
 you are now of an age to be treated 
 better ; I think she is behaving better 
 
 VOL. X, D alreadv* 
 
( 50 ) 
 
 already, and when you are her only com- 
 panion, you 7?zw5^ be important to her." 
 
 *^ I can never be important to any 
 one." 
 
 " What is to prevent you ?" 
 
 " Every thing — my situation — my 
 foolishness and awkwardness." 
 
 '^ As to your foolishness and awkward- 
 ness, my dear Fanny, believe me, you 
 never have a shadow of either, but in 
 using the words so improperly. There 
 is no reason in the world why you should 
 not be important where you are known. 
 You have good sense, and a sweet tem- 
 per, and I am sure you have a grateful 
 heart, that could never receive kind- 
 ness without wishing to return it. I 
 do not know any better qualifications 
 for a friend and companion.'* 
 
 " You are too kind/' said Fanny, co- 
 louring at such praise ; " how shall I 
 ever thank you as I ought, for thinking 
 so well of me. Oh ! cousin. If I am to 
 go away, I shall remember your good- 
 ness, to the last moment of my life." 
 
 « Why, 
 
( 5i ) 
 
 ^' Why, indeed, Fanny, I should hope 
 to be remembered at such a distance as 
 the White house. You speak as if you 
 were going two hundred miles off, in- 
 stead of only across the park. But you 
 will belong to us almost as much as ever. 
 The two families will be meeting every 
 day in the year. The only difference 
 will be, that living with your aunt, you 
 will necessarily be brought forward, as 
 you ought to be. Here^ there are too 
 many, whom you can hide behind ; but 
 with her you will be forced to speak 
 for yourself.'* 
 
 " Oh ! do not say so." 
 
 " I must say it, and say it with plea- 
 sure. Mrs. Norris is much better fitted 
 than my mother for having the charge 
 of you now. She is of a temper to do 
 a great deal for any body she really inte- 
 rests herself about, and she will force 
 you to do justice to your natural pow- 
 ers." 
 
 Fanny sighed, and said, " I cannot 
 
 see things as you do ; but I ought to be- 
 
 D 2 liev^e 
 
( 52 ) 
 
 lieve you to be right rather than myself, 
 and I am very much obliged to you for 
 trying to reconcile me to what must be. 
 If I could suppose my aunt really to care 
 for me, it would be delightful to feel 
 myself of consequence to anybody! — 
 Here^ I know I am of none, and yet I 
 love the place so well." 
 
 *' The place, Fanny, is what you will 
 not quit, though you quit the house. 
 You will have as free a command of the 
 park and gardens as ever. Even your 
 constant little heart need not take fright 
 at such a nominal change. You will 
 have the same walks to frequent, the 
 same library to chuse from, the same 
 people to look at, the same horse to 
 ride." 
 
 *' Very true. Yes, dear old grey 
 poney. Ah ! cousin, when I remember 
 how much I used to dread riding, what 
 terrors it gave me to hear it talked of 
 as likely to do me good ; — (Oh ! how I 
 have trembled at my uncle's opening 
 his lips if horses were talked of) and 
 
 then 
 
( 53 ) 
 
 then think of the kind pains you took 
 to reason and persuade me out of my 
 fears, and convince me that I should 
 like it after a little while, and feel how 
 right you proved to be, I am inclined 
 to hope you may always prophecy as 
 well/' 
 
 " And f am quite convinced that your 
 being with Mrs. Norris, will be as good 
 for your mind, as riding has been for 
 your health — and as much for your 
 ultimate happiness, too." 
 
 So ended their discourse, which, for 
 any very appropriate service it could 
 render Fanny, might as well have been 
 spared, for Mrs. Norris had not the 
 smallest intention of taking her. It had 
 never occurred to her, on the present 
 occasion, but as a thing to be carefully 
 avoided. To prevent its being ex- 
 pected, she had fixed on the smallest 
 habitation which could rank as genteel 
 among the buildings of Mansfield parish; 
 the White house being only just large 
 enough to receive herself and her ser- 
 vants, 
 
( 54 ) 
 
 Tants^ and allow a spare room for a 
 friend, of which she made a very par- 
 ticular point ; — the spare-rooms at the 
 parsonage had never been wanted, but 
 the absolute necessity of a spare-room 
 for a friend was now never forgotten; 
 Not all her precautions, however, could 
 save her from being suspected of some- 
 thing better ; or, perhaps, her very dis- 
 play of the importance of a spare-room, 
 might have misled Sir Thomas to sup- 
 pose it really intended for Fanny. Lady 
 Bertram soon brought the matter to a 
 certainty, by carelessly observing to Mrs. 
 Norris, — 
 
 " I think, sister, we need not keep 
 Miss Lee any longer, when Fanny goes 
 to live with you ?*' 
 
 Mrs. Norris almost started. " Live 
 with me, dear Lady Bertram, what do 
 you mean ?" 
 
 " Is not she to live with you ? — I 
 thought you had settled it with Sir Tho- 
 mas ?"' 
 
 " Me ! never. I never spoke a syl- 
 lable 
 
( 55 ) 
 
 lable about it to Sir Thomas, nor he to 
 me, Fanny live with me ! the last 
 thing in the world for me to think of, 
 or for any body to wish that really knows 
 us both. Good heaven ! what could I 
 do with Fanny ? — Me ! a poor helpless, 
 forlorn widow, unfit for any thing, my 
 spirits quite broke down, what could I 
 do with a girl at her time of life, a girl 
 of fifteen ! the very age of all others to 
 need most attention and care, and put 
 the cheerfuUest spirits to the test. Sure 
 Sir Thomas could not seriously expect 
 such a thing ! Sir Thomas is too much 
 my friend. Nobody that wishes me 
 well, I am sure, would propose it. How 
 came Sir Thomas to speak to you about 
 it ?" 
 
 " Indeed, I do not know. I suppose 
 he thought it best." 
 
 *' But what did he say ? — He could 
 not say he xcished me to take Fanny. 
 I am sure in his heart he could not wish 
 me to do it." 
 
 " No, he only said he thought it very 
 
 likely 
 
( 56 ) 
 
 likely — and I thought so too. We both 
 though it would be a comfort to you. 
 But if you do not like it, there is no 
 more to be said. She is no incumbrance 
 here/' 
 
 " Dear sister ! If you consider my 
 unhappy state, how can she be any 
 comfort to me ? Here am I a poor deso- 
 late widow, deprived of the best of 
 husbands, my health gone in attending 
 and nursing him, my spirits still worse, 
 all my peace in this world destroyed, 
 with barely enough to support me in 
 the rank of a gentlewoman, and enable 
 me to live so as not to disgrace the 
 memory of the dear departed — what 
 possible comfort could I have in taking 
 such a charge upon me as Fanny ! If I 
 could wish it for my own sake, I would 
 not do so unjust a thing by the poor 
 girl. She is in good hands and sure of 
 doing well. I must struggle through 
 my sorrows and difficulties as I can." 
 
 " Then you will not mind living by 
 yourself quite alone? " "Dear Lady Ber- 
 tram! 
 
( ^v ) 
 
 tram ! what am I fitforbut solitude? Nov/ 
 and then I shall hope to have a friend in 
 my little cottage (I shall always have abed 
 for a friend) ; but the most part of my 
 future days will be spent in utter seclusion. 
 If I can but make both ends meet, that's 
 all I ask for." " I hope, sister, things 
 are not so very bad with you neither-— 
 considering. Sir Thomas says you will 
 have six hundred a year." 
 
 " Lady Bertram, I do not complain. 
 I know I cannot live as I have done, but 
 I must retrench where I can, and learn 
 to be a better manager. I have been a 
 liberal housekeeper enough, but I shall 
 not be ashamed to practice economy 
 now. My situation is as much altered 
 as my income. A great many things 
 were due from poor Mr. Norris as 
 clergyman of the parish, that cannot be 
 expected from me. It is unknown how 
 much was consumed in our kitchen by 
 odd comers and goers. At the White 
 house, matters must be better looked 
 aft«r. I must live within my income, 
 D 3 0-^ 
 
( ^58 ) 
 
 or I shall be miserable ; and I own it 
 would give me great satisfaction to be 
 able to do rather more — to lay by a 
 little at the end of the year." 
 
 " I dare say you will. You always 
 do, don't you ?" 
 
 " My object. Lady Bertram, is to be 
 of use to those that come after me. It 
 is for your children's good that I wish 
 to be richer. I have nobody else to care 
 for, but I should be very glad to think 
 1 could leave a little trifle among them, 
 worth their having." 
 
 '*" You are very good, but do not 
 trouble yourself about them. They are 
 sure of being w^ell provided for. Sir 
 Thomas will take care of that." 
 
 ** Why, you know ' Sir Thomases 
 means will be rather straitened, if the 
 Antigua estate is to make such poor 
 returns." " Oh ! that will soon be settled. 
 Sir Thomas has been writing about it 
 I know." 
 
 " Well, Lady Bertram," said Mrs. 
 Norris moving to go, " I can only say 
 
 that 
 
( ^9 ) 
 
 that my sole desire is to be of use to 
 your family — and so if Sir Thomas 
 should ever speak again about my taking 
 Fanny, you will be able to say, that my 
 health and spirits put it quite out of 
 the question — besides that, I really should 
 not have a bed to give her, for I must 
 keep a spare room for a friend." 
 
 Lady Bertram repeated enough of 
 this conversation to her husband, to 
 convince him how much he had mistaken 
 his sister-in-law's views ; and she was 
 from that moment perfectly safe from 
 all expectation, or the slightest allusion 
 to it from him. He could not but 
 w^onder at her refusing to do any thing 
 for a niece, whom she had been so 
 forward to adopt ; but as she took early 
 care to make him, as well as Lady 
 Bertram, understand that whatever she 
 possessed was designed for their family, 
 he soon grew reconciled to a distinc- 
 tion, which at the same time that it 
 was advantageous and complimentary 
 
 to 
 
( GO ) 
 
 to them, would enable him better to 
 provide for Fanny himself. 
 
 Fanny soon learnt how unnecessary 
 had been her fears of a removal ; and 
 her spontaneous, untaught felicity on 
 the discovery, conveyed some consola- 
 tion to Edmund for his disappoint- 
 ment in what he had expected to be so 
 essentially serviceable to her. Mrs. Norris 
 took possession of the White house, the 
 Grants arrived at the parsonage, and 
 these events over, every thing at Mans- 
 field went on for some time as usual. 
 
 The Grants shewing a disposition to 
 be friendly and sociable, gave great 
 satisfaction in the main among their 
 new acquaintance. They had their 
 faults, and Mrs. Norris soon found 
 them out. The Dr. was very fond of 
 eating, and would have a good dinner 
 every day, and Mrs. Grant instead of 
 contriving to gratify him at little ex- 
 pense, gave her cook as high wages as 
 they did at Mansfield park, and was 
 scarcely ever seen in her offices. Mrs. 
 
 Norris 
 
( 61 ) 
 
 Norris could not speak with any temper 
 of such grievances, nor of the quantity 
 of butter and eggs that were regularly 
 consumed in the house. " Nobody 
 loved plenty and hospitality more than 
 herself — nobody more hated pitiful 
 doings — the parsonage she believed had 
 never been wanting in comforts of any 
 sort, had never borne a bad character in 
 her time^ but this was a way of going on 
 that she could not understand. A fine 
 lady in a country parsonage was quite 
 out of place. Her store-room she 
 thought might have been good enough 
 for Mrs. Grant to go into. Enquire 
 where she would, she could not find 
 out that Mrs. Grant had ever had more 
 than five thousand pounds." 
 
 Lady Bertram listened without much 
 interest to this sort of invective. She 
 could not enter into the wrongs of an 
 economist, but she felt all the injuries of 
 beauty in Mrs. Grant's being so well 
 settled in life without being handsome, 
 and expressed her astonishment on that 
 
 point 
 
< 62 ) 
 
 point almost as often, though not so 
 diffusely as Mrs. Norris discussed the 
 other. 
 
 These opinions had been hardly can- 
 vassed a year, before an other event 
 arose of such importance in the family, 
 as might fairly claim some place in the 
 thoughts and conversation of the ladies. 
 Sir Thomas found it expedient to go 
 to Antigua himself, for the better ar- 
 rangement of his affairs, and he took 
 bis eldest son with him in the hope of 
 detaching him from some bad connec- 
 tions at home. They left England with 
 the probability of being nearly a twelve- 
 month absent, 
 
 Tlie necessity of the measure in a pe- 
 cuniary light, and the hope of its utility 
 to his son, reconciled Sir Thomas to 
 the effort of quitting the rest of his 
 family, and of leaving his daughters to 
 the direction of others at their present 
 most interesting time of life. He could 
 not think Lady Bertram quite equal to 
 supply his place v/ith them, or rather 
 
 to 
 
( 63 ) 
 
 to perform what should have been her 
 own ; but in Mrs. Norris's watchful at- 
 tention, and in Edmund's judgment, 
 he had sufficient confidence to make 
 him go without fears for their con- 
 duct. 
 
 Lady Bertram did not at all like to 
 have her husband leave her ; but she 
 was not disturbed by any alarm for his 
 safety, or solicitude for his comfort, be- 
 ing one of those persons who think 
 nothing can be dangerous or difficult, or 
 fatiguing to any body but themselves. 
 
 The Miss Bertrams were much to be 
 pitied on the occasion; not for their 
 sorrow, but for their want of it. Their 
 father was no object of love to them, 
 he had never seemed the friend of their 
 pleasures, and his absence was unhap- 
 pily most welcome. They were re- 
 lieved by it from ail restraint ; and 
 without aiming at one gratification that 
 would probably have been forbidden by 
 Sir Thomas, they felt themselves imme- 
 diately at their own disposal^ and to 
 
 have 
 
( 64 > 
 
 have every indulgence within their 
 reach. Fanny's relief, and her consci- 
 ousness of it, were quite equal to her 
 cousins', but a more tender nature sug- 
 gested that her feelings were ungrateful, 
 and she really grieved because she could 
 not grieve. " Sir Thomas, who had 
 done so much for her and her brothers, 
 and who was gone perhaps never to re- 
 turn ! that she should see him go with- 
 out a tear ! — it was a shameful insensi- 
 bility." He had said to her moreover, 
 on the very last morning, that he hoped 
 she might see WiUiam again in the 
 course of the ensuing Winter, and had 
 charged her to write and invite him to 
 Mansfield as soon as the squadron to 
 which he belonged should be known 
 to be in England. '^ This was so thought- 
 ful and kind !" — and would he only 
 have smiled upon her and called her 
 " my dear Fanny," while he said it 
 every former frown or cold address 
 might have been forgotten. But he 
 had ended his speech in a way to sink 
 
 her 
 
( 65 ) 
 
 her in sad mortification, by adding, " If 
 William does come to Mansfield, I hope 
 you may be able to convince him that 
 the many years which have passed since 
 you parted, have not been spent on 
 your side entirely without improve- 
 ment — though I fear he must find his 
 sister at sixteen in some respects too 
 much like his sister at ten." She cried 
 bitterly over this reflection when her 
 uncle was gone; and her cousins on 
 seeing her with red eyes, set her down 
 as a hypocrite. 
 
 CHAP- 
 
( 66 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Tom Bertram had of late spent so 
 little of his time at home, that he could 
 be only nominally missed ; and Lady 
 Bertram was soon astonished to find 
 how very well they did even without 
 his father, how well Edmund could 
 supply his place in carving, talking to 
 the steward, writing to the attorney, 
 settling with the servants, and equally 
 saving her from all possible fatigue or 
 exertion in every particular, but that of 
 directing her letters. 
 
 The earliest intelligence of the tra- 
 vellers' safe arrival in Antigua after a fa- 
 vourable voyage, was receiv^ed ; though 
 not before Mrs. Norris had been indulg- 
 ing in very dreadful fears, and trying 
 to make Edmund participate them 
 whenever she could get him alone ; and 
 as she depended on being the first per- 
 son made acquainted with any fatal ca* 
 tastrophe^ she had already arranged the 
 
 manner 
 
( 67 ) 
 
 manner of breaking it to all the others, 
 when Sir Thomas's assurances of their 
 both being alive and well, made it ne- 
 cessary to lay by her agitation and af- 
 fectionate preparatory speeches for a 
 while. 
 
 The winter came and passed without 
 their being called for; the accounts con- 
 tinued perfectly good ; — and Mrs. 
 Norris in promoting gaieties for her 
 nieces, assisting their toilettes, display- 
 ing their accomplishments, and looking 
 about for their future husbands, had so 
 much to do as, in addition to all her 
 own household cares, some interference 
 in those of her sister, and Mrs. Grant's 
 wasteful doings to overlook, left her 
 very little occasion to be occupied even 
 in fears for the absent. 
 
 The Miss Bertrams were now fully 
 established among the belles of the 
 neighbourhood, and as they joined to 
 beauty and brilliant acquirements, a 
 manner naturally easy, and carefully 
 formed to general civility and oblig- 
 ingness. 
 
( 68 ) 
 
 ingness, they possessed its favour as 
 well as its admiration. Their vanity- 
 was in such good order that they 
 seemed to be quite free from it, and 
 gave themselves no airs; while the 
 praises attending such behaviour, se- 
 cured, and brought round by their 
 aunt, served to strengthen them in be- 
 lieving they had no faults. 
 
 Lady Bertram did not go into public 
 with her daughters. She was too in- 
 dolent even to accept a mother's grati- 
 fication in witnessing their success and 
 enjoyment at the expense of any per- 
 sonal trouble, and the charge was made 
 over to her sister, who desired nothing 
 better than a post of such honourable 
 representation, and very thoroughly 
 relished the means it afforded her of 
 mixing in society without having horses 
 to hire. 
 
 Fanny had no share in the festivities 
 of the season ; but she enjoyed being 
 avowedly useful as her aunt's compa- 
 nion, when they called away the rest of 
 
 the 
 
( 69 ) 
 
 the family ; and as Miss Lee had left 
 Mansfield, she naturally became every- 
 thing to Lady Bertram during the 
 night of a ball or a party. She talked 
 to her, listened to her, read to her j 
 and the tranquillity of such evenings, 
 her perfect security in such a iete d tete 
 from any sound of unkindncss, was 
 unspeakably welcome to a mind which 
 had seldom known a pause in its alarms 
 or embarrassments. As to her cousins' 
 gaieties, she loved to hear an account 
 of them, especially of the balls, and 
 whom Edmund had danced wh ; but 
 thought too lowly of her own situation 
 to imagine she should ever be admitted 
 to the same, and listened therefore 
 without an idea of any nearer concern 
 in them. Upon the whole, it was a 
 comfortable winter to her, for though 
 it brought no William to England, the 
 never failing hope of his arrival was 
 worth much. 
 
 The ensuing spring deprived her of 
 her valued friend the old grey poney, 
 
 and 
 
( 70 ) 
 
 and for some time she was in danger of 
 feeling the loss in her health as well as 
 in her affections, for in spite of the ac- 
 knowledged importance of her riding 
 on horseback, no measures were taken 
 for mounting her again, " because," as 
 it was observed by her aunts, " she might 
 ride one of her cousin's horses at any- 
 time when they did not want them," 
 and as the Miss Bertrams regularly want- 
 ed their horses every fine day, and had 
 no idea of carrying their obliging man- 
 ners to the sacrifice of any real pleasure, 
 that time of course never came* They 
 took their cheerful rides in the fine morn- 
 ings of April and May ; and Fanny 
 either sat at home the whole day with 
 one aunt, or walked beyond her 
 strength at the instigation of the 
 other J Lady Bertram holding exercise 
 to be as unnecessary for every body 
 as it was unpleasant to herself, and Mrs. 
 Norris, who was walking all day, think- 
 ing every body ought to walk as much. 
 Edmund was absent at this time, or the 
 
 evil 
 
( 71 ) 
 
 fevil would have been earlier remedied. 
 When he returned to understand how 
 Fanny was situated, and perceive its ill 
 effects, there seemed with him but one 
 thing to be done, and that " Fanny- 
 must have a horse," was the resolute de- 
 claration with which he opposed what- 
 ever could be urged by the supineness of 
 his mother, or the economy of his 
 aunt, to make it appear unimportant, 
 Mrs. Norris could not help thinking that 
 some steady old thing might be found 
 among the numbers belonging to the 
 Park, that would do vastly well, or that 
 one might be borrowed of the steward, 
 or that perhaps Dr. Grant might now 
 and then lend them the poney he sent 
 to the post. She could not but consider 
 it as absolutely unnecessary, and even 
 improper, that Fanny should have a re- 
 gular lady's horse of her own in the 
 style of her cousins. She was sure 
 Sir Thomas had never intended it, and 
 she must say, that to be making such a 
 purchase in his absence, and adding to 
 
 the 
 
( 72 ) 
 
 the great expenses of his stable at a time 
 when a large part of his income was 
 unsettled, seemed to her very unjus- 
 tifiable. " Fanny must have a horse,'* 
 was Edmund's only reply. Mrs, Nor- 
 ris could not see it in the same light. 
 Lady Bertram did ; she entirely agreed 
 with her son as to the necessity of it, and 
 as to its being considered necessary by 
 
 is father ; — she only pleaded against 
 there being any hurry, she only wanted 
 him to wait till Sir Thomas's return, 
 and then Sir Thomas might settle it all 
 himself. He would be at home in Sep- 
 tember, and where would be the harm 
 of only waiting till September ? 
 
 Though Edmund was much more 
 displeased with his Aunt than with 
 his Mother, as evincing least regard 
 for her niece, he could not help paying 
 more attention to what she said, and 
 at length determined on a method of 
 proceeding which would obviate the 
 risk of his father s thinking he had done 
 too much, and at the same time pro- 
 cure 
 
( 73 ) 
 
 cure for Fanny the immediate means of 
 exercise which he could not bear she 
 should be without. He had three horses 
 of his own, but not one that would 
 carry a woman. Two of them were 
 hunters, the third, a useful read-horse ; 
 this third he resolved to exchange for one 
 that his cousin might ride ; he knew 
 where such a one was to be met with, 
 and having once made up his mind, the 
 whole business was soon completed. The 
 new mare proved a treasure ; with a 
 very little trouble, she became exactly 
 calculated for the purpose, and Fanny 
 was then put in almost full possession 
 of her. She had not supposed before, 
 that any thing could ever suit her like 
 the old grey poney ; but her delight 
 in Edmund's mare was far beyond any 
 former pleasure of the sort ; and the 
 addition it was ever receiving in the con- 
 sideration of that kindness from which 
 her pleasure sprung, was beyond all her 
 words to express. She regarded her 
 cousin as an example of every thing 
 VOL. I. X good 
 
( 74 ) 
 
 good and great, as possessing worth, 
 which no one but herself could ever 
 appreciate, and as entitled to such gra- 
 titude from her, as no feelings could be 
 strong enough to pay. Her sentiments 
 towards him were compounded of all 
 that was respectful, grateful, confiding, 
 and tender. 
 
 As the horse continued in name as 
 well as fact, the property of Edmund, 
 Mrs. Norris could tolerate its being for 
 Fanny's use ; and had Lady Bertram 
 ever thought about her own objection 
 again, he might have been excused in 
 her eyes, for not waiting till Sir Tho- 
 mas's return in September, for when 
 September came. Sir Thomas was still 
 abroad, and without any near prospect 
 of finishing his business. Unfavourable 
 circumstances had suddenly arisen at a 
 moment when he was beginning to 
 turn all his thoughts towards England, 
 and the very great uncertainty in which 
 every thing was then involved, deter<< 
 uiined him on sending home his sen, 
 
 and 
 
( 75 ) 
 
 and waiting the final arrangement by 
 himself. Tom arrived safely, bringing 
 an excellent account of his father's health ; 
 but to very little purpose, as far as Mrs. 
 Norris was concerned. Sir Thomas's 
 sending away his son, seemed to her so 
 like a parent's care, under the influence 
 of a foreboding of evil to himself, that 
 she could not help feeling dreadful pre- 
 sentiments ; and as the long evenings 
 of autumn came on, was so terribly 
 haunted by these ideas, in the sad soli- 
 tariness of her cottage, as to be obliged 
 to take daily refuge in the dining 
 room of the park. The return of win- 
 ter engagements, however, was not 
 without its effect ; and in the course of 
 their progress, her mind became so 
 pleasantly occupied in superintending 
 the fortunes of her eldest niece, as to- 
 lerably to quiet her nerves. " If poor 
 Sir Thomas were fated never to return, 
 it would be peculiarly consoling to see 
 their dear Maria well married," she 
 very often thought ; always when they 
 E 2 were 
 
( 76 ) 
 
 were in the company of men of for- 
 tune, and particularly on the introduc- 
 tion of a young man who had recently 
 succeeded to one of the largest estates, 
 and finest places in the country. 
 
 Mr. Rushworth was from the first 
 struck with the beauty of Miss Bert- 
 ram, and being inclined to marry, soon 
 fancied himself in love. He was a 
 heavy young man, with not more than 
 common sense, but as there was nothing 
 disagreeable in his figure or address, 
 the young lady was well pleased with 
 her conquest. Being now in her 
 twenty-first year, Maria Bertram was 
 beginning to think matrimony a duty ; 
 and as a marriage with Mr. Rushworth 
 would give her the enjoyment of a larger 
 income than her father's, as well as 
 ensure her the house in town, which 
 was now a prime object, it became by 
 the same rule of moral obligation, her 
 evident duty to marry Mr. Rushworth 
 if she could. Mrs. Norris was most 
 zealous in promoting the match, by 
 
 every 
 
( 77 ) 
 
 every suggestion and contrivance, likely 
 to enhance its desirableness to either 
 party; and among other means by 
 seeking an intimacy with the gentle- 
 man's mother, who at present lived 
 with him, and to whom she even forced 
 Lady Bertram to go through ten 
 miles of indifferent road, to pay a morn- 
 ing visit. It was not long before a 
 good understanding took place between 
 this lady and herseE Mrs. Rushworth 
 acknowledged herself very desirous that 
 her son should marry, and declared 
 that of all the young ladies she had ever 
 seen, Miss Bertra,m seemed, by her ami- 
 able qua' ities and accomplishments, the 
 best adapted to make him happy. Mrs. 
 ISTorris accepted the compliment, and 
 admired the nice discernment of charac- 
 ter which could so well distinguish 
 merit. Maria was indeed the pride and 
 delight of them all — perfectly faultless — 
 an angel ; and of course, so surround- 
 ed by admirers, must be difficult in her 
 choice ; but yet as far as Mrs. Norris 
 
 could 
 
( 78 ) 
 
 could allow herself to decide on so short 
 an acquaintance, Mr. Rushworth ap- 
 peared precisely the young man to de- 
 serve and attach her. 
 
 After dancing with each other at a 
 proper number of balls, the young peo- 
 ple justified these opinions, and an en- 
 gagement, with a due reference to the 
 absent Sir Thomas, was entered into, 
 much to the satisfaction of their respec- 
 tive families, and of the general lookers- 
 on of the neighbourhood, who had, 
 for many weeks past, felt the expediency 
 of Mr. Rushworth*s marrying Miss Ber- 
 tram. 
 
 It was some months before Sir Tha» 
 mas's consent could be received ; but in 
 ,4.kc mean while, as no one felt a doubt 
 of his mosf'cordial pleasure in the con- 
 nection, the intercourse of the two fa- 
 milies was carried on without restraint, 
 and no other attempt made at secrecy, 
 than Mrs. Norris's talking of it every 
 where as a matter not to be talked of at 
 present. 
 
 Edmund 
 

 9 ) 
 
 t^dmund was the only one of the fa- 
 mily who could see a fault in the busi- 
 ness 'y but no representation of his aunt's 
 could induce him to find Mr. Rush worth 
 a desirable companion. He could allow 
 his sister to be the best judge of hei' 
 own happiness, but he was not pleased 
 that her happiness should centre in a 
 large income ; nor could he refrain from 
 often saying to himself, in Mr. Rush- 
 worth's company, *^ If this man had not 
 twelve thousand a year, he would be a 
 very stupid fellow." 
 
 Sir Thomas, however, was truly hap- 
 py in the prospect of an alliance so un- 
 questionably advantageous, and of which 
 he heard nothing but the perfectly good 
 and agreeable. It was a connection ex- 
 actly of the right sort ; in the 'same 
 county, and the same interest ; and his 
 most hearty concurrence was conveyed 
 as soon as possible. He only condi- 
 tioned that the marriage should not 
 take place before his return, which he 
 was again looking eagerly forward to. 
 
 He 
 
( 80 ) 
 
 He wrote in April, and had strong hopes 
 of settling every thing to his entire sa- 
 tisfaction, and leaving Antigua before 
 the end of the summer. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs in the 
 month of July, and Fanny had just 
 reached her eighteenth year, when the 
 society of the village received an addi- 
 tion in the brother and sister of Mrs. 
 Grant, a Mr. and Miss Crawford, the 
 children of her mother by a second mar- 
 riage. They were young people of for- 
 tune. The son had a good estate in 
 Norfolk, the daughter twenty thousand 
 pounds. As children, their sister had 
 been always very fond of them ; but, 
 a« her own marriage had been soon fol- 
 lowed by the death of their common 
 parent, which left them to the care of 
 a brother of their father, of whom Mrs. 
 Grant knew nothing, she had scarcely 
 seen them since. In their uncle's house 
 they had found a kind home. Admiral 
 and Mrs. Crawford, though agreeing in 
 nothing else, were united in affection 
 
 for 
 
( 81 ) 
 
 for these children, or at least were no 
 farther adverse in their feelings than 
 that each had their favourite, to whom 
 they shewed the greatest fondness of the 
 two. The Admiral delighted in the 
 boy, Mrs. Crawford doated on the girl j 
 and it was the lady's death which now 
 obliged heT protegee, ziter some months 
 further trial at her uncle's house, to find 
 another home. Admiral Crawford was 
 a man of vicious conduct, who chose, 
 instead of retaining his niece, to bring 
 his mistress under his own roof; and to 
 this Mrs. Grant was indebted for her 
 sister's proposal of coming to her, a 
 measure quite as welcome on one side, 
 as it could be expedient on the other ; 
 for Mrs. Grant having by this time run 
 through the usual resources of ladies re- 
 siding in the country without a family 
 of children; having more than filled her 
 favourite sitting-room with pretty fur- 
 niture, and made a choice collection of 
 plants and poultry, was very much in 
 want of some variety at home. The 
 E 3 arrival. 
 
( 82 ) 
 
 arrival, therefore, of a sister whom she 
 had always loved, and now hoped to 
 retain v^ith her as long as she remained 
 single, was highly agreeable ; and her 
 chief anxiety was lest Mansfield should 
 not satisfy the habits of a young woman 
 who had been mostly used to London. 
 
 Miss Crawford was not entirely 
 free from similar apprehensions, though 
 they arose principally from doubts of 
 her sister's style of living and tone of 
 society ; and it was not till after she had 
 tried in vain to persuade her brother to 
 settle with her at his own country-house, 
 that she could resolve to hazard herself 
 among her other relations. To any 
 thing like a permanence of abode, or 
 limitation of society, Henry Crawford 
 had, unluckily, a great dislike ; he could 
 not accommodate his sister in an article 
 of such importance, but he escorted her, 
 with the utmost kindness, into North* 
 amptonshire, and as readily engaged 
 to fetch her away again at half an hour's 
 
 notice^ 
 
( 83 ; 
 
 notice, whenever she were weary of the 
 place. 
 
 The meeting was very satisfactory on 
 each side. Miss Crawford found a sis- 
 ter without preciseness or rusticity— a 
 sister's husband who looked the gentle- 
 tleman, and a house commodious and 
 well fitted up ; and Mrs. Grant received 
 in those whom she hoped to love better 
 than ever, a young man and woman of 
 very prepossessing appearance. Mary 
 Crawford was remarkably pretty ; Henry, 
 though not handsome, had air and coun- 
 tenance ; the manners of both were 
 lively and pleasant, and Mrs. Grant im- 
 mediately gave them credit for every 
 thing else. She was delighted with 
 each, but Mary was her dearest object ; 
 and having never been able to glory in 
 beauty of her own, she thoroughly en- 
 joyed the power of being proud of her 
 sister's. She had not waited her arrival 
 to look out for a suitable match for her ; 
 she had fixed on Tom Bertram ; the 
 eldest son of a Baronet was not too good 
 
 for. 
 
( 84 ) 
 
 for a girl of twenty thousand pounds, 
 with all the elegance and accomplish- 
 ments which Mrs. Grant foresaw in 
 her ; and being a warm-hearted, unre- 
 served woman, Mary had not been three 
 hours in the house before she told her 
 what she had planned. 
 
 Miss Crawford was glad to find a 
 family of such consequence so very near 
 them, and not at all displeased either at 
 her sister's early care, or the choice it had 
 fallen on. Matrimony was her object, 
 provided she could marry well, and hav- 
 ing seen Mr. Bertram in town, she 
 knew that objection could no more be 
 made to his person than to his situation 
 in life. "While she treated it as a joke, 
 therefore, she did not forget to think of 
 it seriously. The scheme was soon re- 
 peated to Henry. 
 
 " And now," added Mrs. Grant ; 
 ** I have thought of something to make 
 it quite complete. I should dearly love 
 to settle you both in this country, and 
 therefore, Henry, you shall marry the 
 
 youngest 
 
C 8^^ ) 
 
 youngest Miss Bertram, a nice, hand- 
 some, good - humoured, accomplished 
 girl, who will make you very happy." 
 
 Henry bowed and thanked her. 
 
 " My dear sister," said Mary, '* if 
 you can persuade him into any thing of 
 the sort, it will be a fresh matter of de- 
 light to me, to find myself allied to 
 any body so clever, and 1 shall only re- 
 gret that you have not half-a-dozen 
 daughters to dispose of. If you can 
 persuade Henry to marry, you must 
 have the address of a Frenchwoman. 
 All that English abilities can do, has 
 been tried already. 1 have three very 
 particular friends who have been all 
 dying for him in their turn ; and the 
 pains which they, their mothers, (very 
 clever women) as well as my dear aunt 
 and myself, have taken to reason, coax, 
 or trick him into marrying, is incon- 
 ceivable ! He is the most horrible flirt 
 that can be imagined. If your Miss 
 Bertrams do not like to have their hearts 
 broke, let them avoid Henry." 
 
 "My 
 
( 86 ; 
 
 " My dear brother, I will not believe 
 this of you." 
 
 " No, I am sure you are too good. 
 You will be kinder than Mary. You 
 will allow for the doubts of youth and 
 inexperience. I am of a cautious tem- 
 per, and unwilling to risk my happiness 
 in a hurry. Nobody can think more 
 highly of the matrimonial state than 
 myself. I consider the blessing of a 
 wife as most justly described in those 
 discreet lines of the poet, " Heaven's 
 last best gift." 
 
 " There, Mrs. Grant, you see how 
 he dwells on one word, and only look 
 at his smile. I assure you he is very 
 detestable — the admiral's lessons have 
 quite spoiled him." 
 
 " I pay very little regard," said Mrs. 
 Grant, " to what any young person 
 says on the subject of marriage. If they 
 profess a disinclination for it, I only set 
 it down that they have not yet seen the 
 right person." 
 
 Dr. Grant laughingly congratulated. 
 
 Miss 
 
( 87 ) 
 
 Miss Crawford on feeling no disincli- 
 nation to the state herself. 
 
 ** Oh ! yes, I am not at all ashamed 
 of it. I would have every body marry 
 if they can do it properly j I do not 
 like to have people throw themselves 
 away ; but every body should marry as 
 soon as they can do it to advantage." 
 
 CHAP- 
 
( 88 ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The young people were pleased with 
 each other from the first. On each side 
 there was much to attract, and their 
 acquaintance soon promised as early an 
 intimacy as good manners would war- 
 rant. Miss Crawford's beauty did her 
 no disservice with the Miss Bertrams. 
 They were too handsome themselves to 
 dislike any woman for being so too^ 
 and were almost as much charmed as 
 their brothers, with her lively dark eye, 
 clear brown complexion, and general 
 prettiness. Had she been tall, full form- 
 ed, and fair, it might have been more 
 of a trial j but as it was, there could be 
 no comparison, and she was most allow- 
 ably a sweet pretty girl, while they were 
 the finest young women in the coun- 
 try. 
 
 Her brother was not handsome ; no, 
 when they first saw him, he was abso- 
 lutely plain, black and plain 5 but still he 
 
( 89 ) 
 
 was the gentleman, with a pleasing 
 address. The second meeting proved 
 him not so very plain ; he was plain, to 
 be sure, but then he had so much coun- 
 tenance, and his teeth were so good, and 
 he was so well made, that one soon for- 
 got he was plain ; and after a third in- 
 terview, after dining in company with 
 him at the parsonage, he was no longer 
 allowed to be called so by any body. 
 He was, in fact, the most agreeable 
 young man the sisters had ever known, 
 and they were equally delighted with 
 him. Miss Bertram's engagement made 
 him in equity the property of Julia, of 
 which Julia was fully aware, and before 
 he had been at Mansfield a week, she was 
 quite ready to be fallen in love with, 
 
 Maria's notions on the subject were 
 more confused and indistinct. She did 
 not want to see or understand, '* There 
 could be no harm in her liking an agree- 
 able man — every body knew her situa- 
 tion — Mr. Crawford must take care of 
 iimself." Mr. Crawford did not mean 
 
 to 
 
( 90 ) 
 
 to be in any danger ; the Miss Bertrams 
 were worth pleasing, and were ready to 
 be pleased ; and he began with no object 
 but of making them like him. He did 
 not want them to die of love ; but with 
 sense and temper which ought to have 
 made him judge and feel better, he al- 
 lowed hmself great latitude on such 
 points. 
 
 ** I like your Miss Bertrams exceed- 
 ingly, sister,'* said he, as he returned 
 from attending them to their carriage 
 after the said dinner visit ; ** they are 
 very elegant, agreeable girls." 
 
 *' So they are indeed, and I am 
 delighted to hear you say it. But you 
 like Julia best." 
 
 « Oh ! yes, I like Julia best." 
 
 ^' But do you really ? for Miss Bertram 
 is in general thought the handsomest." 
 
 " So I should suppose. She has the 
 advantage in every feature, and I prefer 
 her countenance — but I like Julia best. 
 Miss Bertram is certainly the hand- 
 somest, and I have found her the most 
 
 agreeable. 
 
{ 91 ) 
 
 agreeable, but I shall always like Julia 
 best, because you order me." 
 
 " I shall not talk to you, Henry, but I 
 know you xaill like her best at last." 
 
 " Do not I tell you, that I like her 
 best at first V 
 
 " And besides, Miss Bertram is en- 
 gaged. Remember that, my dear 
 brother. Her choice is made." 
 
 " Yes, and I like her the better for it. 
 An engaged woman is always more 
 agreeable than a disengaged. She is 
 satisfied wuth herself. Her cares are 
 over, and she feels that she may exert 
 all her powers of pleasing without 
 suspicion. All is safe with a lady 
 engaged ; no harm can be done." 
 
 " Why as to that — Mr. Rushworth 
 is a very good sort of young man, and it 
 is a great match for her." 
 
 " But Miss Bertram does not care 
 three straws for him ; that is your 
 opinion of your intimate friend. / do 
 not subscribe to it. I am sure Miss 
 Bertram is very much attached to Mr. 
 
 Rushworth. 
 
( 92 ) 
 
 Rush worth. I could see it in her eyes, 
 when he was mentioned. I think too 
 well of Miss Bertram to suppose she would 
 ever give her hand without her heart.*' 
 *^ Mary, how shall we manage him ?" 
 " We must leave him to himself I 
 believe. Talking does no good. He 
 will be taken in at last." 
 
 " But I would not have him talien in, 
 I would not have him duped ; I would 
 have it all fair and honourable.'* 
 
 " Oh ! dear — Let him stand his 
 chance and be taken in. It will do just 
 as well. Every body is taken in at 
 some period or other." 
 " Not always in marriage, dear Mary." 
 *' In marriage especially. With all 
 due respect to such of the present com- 
 pany as chance to be married, my dear 
 Mrs. Grant, there is not one in a 
 hundred of either sex, who is not taken 
 in when they marry. Look where I 
 will, I see that it is so ; and I feel that'it 
 must be so, when I consider that it is, of 
 all transactions, the one in w^hich people 
 
 expect 
 
( 93 ) 
 
 expect most from others, and are least 
 honest themselves," 
 
 " Ah ! You have been in a bad school 
 for matrimony, in Hill Street.'* 
 
 *' My poor aunt had certainly little 
 cause to love the state ; but, however, 
 speaking from my own observation, it 
 is a manoeuvring business. I know so 
 many who have married in the full ex- 
 pectation and confidence of some one 
 particular advantage in the connection^ 
 or accomplishment or good quality in 
 the person, who have found themselves 
 entirely deceived, and been obliged to 
 put up with exactly the reverse ! What 
 is this, but a take in ?" 
 
 *^ My dear child, there must be a little 
 imagination here. I beg your pardon, 
 but I cannot quite believe you. Depend 
 upon it, you see but half. You see the 
 evil, but you do not see the consolation. 
 There will be little rubs and disappoint- 
 ments every where, and we are all apt 
 to expect too much ; but then, if one 
 scheme of happiness fails, human nature 
 
 turns 
 
( 94 ) 
 
 turns to another ; if the first calcula- 
 tion is wrong, we make a second better ; 
 we find comfort somewhere — and those 
 evil-minded observers, dearest Mary, 
 who make much of a little, are more 
 taken in and deceived than the parties 
 themselves." 
 
 " Well done,, sister ! I honour your 
 esprit (III corps. When I am a wife, I 
 mean to be just as staunch myself; and 
 I wish my friends in general would be 
 so too. It would save me many a 
 heart ache." 
 
 " You are as bad as your brother, 
 Mary; but we will cure you both. 
 Mansfield shall cure you both — and 
 without any taking in. Stay with us 
 and we will cure you." 
 
 The Crawfords, without wanting to 
 be cured, were very willing to stay. 
 Mary was satisfied with the parsonage 
 as a present home, and Henry equally 
 ready to lengthen his visit. He had 
 come, intending to spend only a few 
 days with them, but Mansfield promised 
 
 well 
 
( 95 ) 
 
 well, and there was nothing to call him 
 elsewhere. It delighted Mrs. Grant to 
 keep them both with her, and Dr. 
 Grant was exceedingly well contented 
 to have it so ; a talking pretty young 
 woman like Miss Crawford, is always 
 pleasant society to an indolent, stay-at- 
 home man ; and Mr. Crawford's being 
 his guest was an excuse for drinking 
 claret every day. 
 
 The Miss Bertrams* admiration of 
 Mr. Crawford was more rapturous than 
 any thing which Miss Crawford's habits 
 made her likely to feel. She acknow- 
 ledged, however, that the Mr. Bertrams 
 were very fine young men, that two 
 such young men were not often seen 
 together even in London, and that 
 their mianners, particularly those of the 
 eldest, were very good. He had been 
 much in London, and had more liveli- 
 ness and gallantry than Edmund, and 
 must, therefore, be preferred ; and, 
 indeed, his being the eldest was another 
 strong claim* She had felt an early 
 
 presentiment 
 
( 96 ) 
 
 presentiment that she should like the 
 eldest best. She knew it was her way. 
 
 Tom Bertram must have been thought 
 pleasant, indeed, at any rate ; he was 
 the sort of young man to be generally 
 liked, his agreeableness was of the kind 
 to be oftener found agreeable than some 
 endowments of a higher stamp, for he 
 had easy manners, excellent spirits, a 
 large acquaintance, and a great deal to 
 say ; and the reversion of Mansfield Park, 
 and a baronetcy, did no harm to all 
 this. Miss Crawford soon felt, that he 
 and his situation might do. She looked 
 about her with due consideration, and 
 found almost every thing in his favour, 
 a park, a real park five fniles round, a 
 spacious modern -built house, so well 
 placed and well screened as to deserve 
 to be in any collection of engravings of 
 gentlemen's seats in the kingdom, and 
 wanting only to be completely new 
 furnished — pleasant sisters, a quiet 
 mother, and an agreeable man himself — 
 with the advantage of being tied up 
 
 from 
 
( 97 ) 
 
 from much gaming at present , by a 
 promise to his father, and of being Sir 
 Thomas hereafter. It might do very 
 well ; she believed she should accept 
 him ; and she began accordingly tQ 
 interest herself a Uttle about the horse 
 which he had to run at the B— — races. 
 
 These races were to call hi in away 
 not long after their acquaintance began ; 
 and as it appeared that the family did 
 not, from his usual goings on, expect 
 him back again for many weeks, it 
 would bring his passion to an early 
 proof. Much was said on his side to 
 induce her to attend the races^ and 
 schemes were made for a large party to 
 them, with all the eagerness of incli- 
 nation, but it would only do to b€ 
 talked of. 
 
 And Fanny, what was she doing and 
 thinking all this while ? and what was 
 her opinion of the new-comers ? Few 
 young ladies of eighteen could be less 
 called on to speak their opinion than 
 Fanny. In a quiet way, very little at- 
 voL. I. *• tended 
 
( ^8 ) 
 
 tended to, she paid her tribute of admi- 
 ration to Miss Crawford's beauty ; but as 
 she still continued to think Mr. Crawford 
 very plain, in spite of her two cousins 
 having repeatedly proved the contrary, 
 she never mentioned him. The notice 
 which she excited herself, was to this 
 effect. '* I begin now to understand 
 you all, except Miss Price,'* said Miss 
 Crawford, as she was walking with the 
 Mr. Bertrams. " Pray, is she out, or 
 is she not ? — I am puzzled. — She 
 dined at the parsonage, with the rest of 
 you, which seemed like being out ; and 
 yet she says so little, that I can hardly 
 suppose she isJ' 
 
 Edmund, to whom this was chiefly 
 addressed, replied, " I believe I know 
 what you mean — but I will not under- 
 take to answer the question. My cousin 
 is grow^n up. She has the age and sense 
 of a woman, but the outs and not outs 
 are beyond me." 
 
 " And yet in general, nothing can be 
 more easily ascertained. The distinc- 
 tion 
 
( 99 ) 
 
 tion Is so broad. Manners as well as 
 appearance are, generally speaking, so 
 totally different. Till now, I could not 
 have supposed It possible to be mistaken 
 as to a girl's being out or not. A girl 
 not out, has always the same sort of 
 dress ; a close bonnet for instance, looks 
 very demure, and never says a word. 
 You may smile — but It is so I assure 
 you — and except that it is sometimes 
 carried a little too far, it is all very 
 proper. Girls should be quiet and 
 modest. The most objectionable part is, 
 that the alteration of manners on being 
 introduced into company is frequently 
 too sudden. They sometimes pass in 
 such very little time from reserve to 
 quite the opposite — to confidence ! That 
 is the faulty part of the present system. 
 One does not like to see a girl of eigh- 
 teen or nineteen so immediately up to 
 every thing — and perhaps when one 
 has seen her hardly able to speak the 
 year before. Mr. Bertram, I dare say 
 F 2 you 
 
( 100 ) 
 
 you have sometimes met with such 
 changes." 
 
 ** I believe I have ; but this is hardly 
 fair ; I see what you are at. You are 
 quizzing me and Miss Anderson.'* 
 
 *' No indeed. Miss Anderson ! I do not 
 know who or what you mean. I am 
 quite in the dark. But I xvill quiz you 
 with a great deal of pleasure, if you 
 will tell me what about." 
 
 ** Ah ! you carry it off very well, but 
 I cannot be quite so far imposed on. 
 You must have had Miss Anderson in 
 your eye, in describing an altered young 
 lady. You paint too accurately for 
 mistake. It was exactly so. The An- 
 dersons of Baker Street. We were 
 speaking of them the other day you 
 know. Edmund, you have heard me 
 mention Charles Anderson. The cir- 
 Cumstance was precisely as this lady has 
 represented it. When Anderson first in- 
 troduced me to his family, about two 
 years ago, his sister was not out^ and I 
 tcould not get her to speak to me. I 
 
 sat 
 
( 101 ; 
 
 sat there an hour one morning waiting 
 for Anderson, with only her and a little 
 girl or two in the room — the governess 
 being sick or run away, and the mother 
 in and out every moment with letters of 
 business ; and I could hardly get a word 
 or a look from the young lady — no- 
 thing like a civil answxr — she screwed 
 up her mouth, and turned from me 
 with such an air I I did not see her 
 again for a twelvemonth. She was 
 then out I met her at Mrs. Holford's 
 — and did not recollect her. She came 
 up to me, claimed me as an acquaint- 
 ance, stared me out of countenance, 
 and talked and laughed till I did not 
 know which way to look. I felt that 
 I must be the jest of the room at the 
 time — and Miss Crawford it is plain has 
 heard the story." 
 
 " And a very pretty story it is, and 
 with more truth in it, I dare say, than 
 does credit to Miss Anderson. It is 
 too common a fault. Mothers cer- 
 tainly have not yet got quite the right 
 
( 102 ) 
 
 way of managing their daughters. I 
 do not know where the error hes. I 
 do not pretend to set people right, but 
 I do see that they are often wrong."^ 
 
 " Those who are shewing the world 
 what female manners should he ^' said 
 Mr. Bertram, gallantly, " are doing 
 a great deal to set them right." 
 
 " The error is plain enough," said 
 the less courteous Edmund, " such 
 girls are ill brought up. They are given 
 wrong notions from the beginning. 
 They are always acting upon motives 
 of vanity — and there is no more real 
 modesty in their behaviour before they 
 appear in public than afterwards." 
 
 *^ I do not know," replied Miss Craw- 
 ford, hesitatingly. " Yes, I cannot 
 agree with you there. It is certainly 
 the modestest part of the business. It 
 is much worse to have girls not outy give 
 themselves the same airs and take the 
 same liberties as if they were, which 
 1 have seen done. That is worse than 
 any thing — quite disgusting !" 
 
 "Yes, 
 
( los ) 
 
 " Yes, that is very inconvenient In- 
 deed/' said Mr. Bertram. " It leads 
 one astray ; one does not know what 
 to do. The close bonnet and demure 
 air you describe so well (and nothing. 
 was ever juster) tell one what is ex- 
 pected ; but I got into a dreadful scrape 
 last year from the want of them. I 
 went down to Ramsgate for a week 
 with a friend last September — just after 
 my return from the West Indies — my 
 friend Sneyd — you have heard me 
 speak of Sneyd, Edmund ; his father 
 and mother and sisters were there, all 
 new to me. When we reached Albion 
 place they were out ; we went after 
 them, and found them on the pier. 
 Mrs. and the two Miss Sneyds, with 
 others of their acquaintance. I made 
 my bow in form, and as Mrs. Sneyd 
 was surrounded by men, attached my- 
 self to one of her daughters, walked 
 by her side all the way home, and made 
 myself as agreeable as I could ; the 
 young lady perfectly easy in her man- 
 ners. 
 
X 104 ) 
 
 ners, and as ready to talk as to listen. I 
 had not a suspicion that I could be 
 doing any thing wrong. They looked 
 just the same ; both well dressed, with 
 veils and parasols like other girls ; but I 
 afterwards found that I had been giving 
 ail my attention to the youngest, who 
 was not outf and had most excessively 
 offended the eldest. Miss Augusta 
 ought not to have been noticed for the 
 next six months, and Miss Sneyd, I be- 
 lieve, has never forgiven me. 
 
 ** That was bad indeed. Poor Miss 
 Sneyd ! Though I have no younger 
 sister, I feel for her. To be neglected 
 before one's time, must be very vexa- 
 tious. But it was entirely the mother's 
 fault. Miss Augusta should have been 
 with her governess. Such half and 
 half doings never prosper. But now 
 1 must be satisfied about Miss Price. 
 Does she go to balls ? Does she dine 
 out every where, as well as at my sis- 
 ter's r 
 
 " No,*' replied Edmund, " I do not 
 
 think 
 
( J^5 ) 
 
 think she has ever been to a ball. My 
 mother seldom goes into company her- 
 self, and dines no where but with Mrs. 
 Grant, and Fanny stays at home with 
 herr 
 
 " Oh I then the point is dear. Miss 
 Price is not out." 
 
 F 3 CHAP* 
 
( 106 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Mr. Bertram set off for , and 
 
 Miss Crawford was prepared to find a 
 great chasm in their society, and to miss 
 him decidedly in the meetings which 
 were now becoming almost daily be- 
 tween the families ; and on their all 
 dining together at the park soon after 
 his going, she retook her chosen place 
 near the bottom of the table, fully ex- 
 pecting to feel a most melancholy diffe- 
 rence in the change of masters. It 
 would be a very flat business, she w^as 
 sure. In comparison with his bro- 
 ther, Edmund would have nothing to 
 say. The soup would be sent round 
 in a most spiritless manner, wine 
 drank without any smiles, or agreeable 
 trifling, and the venison cut up without 
 supplying one pleasant anecdote of any 
 former haunch, or a single entertaining 
 story about ^* ray friend such a one." 
 She must try to find amusement in 
 what was passing at the upper end of the 
 
 table. 
 
( 107 ) 
 
 table, and In observing Mr. Rush worth, 
 who was now making his appearance at 
 Mansfield, for the first time since the 
 Crawfords' arrival. Hehadbeen visiting a 
 friend in a neighbouring county, and 
 that friend having recently had his 
 grounds laid out by an improver, Mr. 
 Rushworth was returned with his head 
 full of the subject, and very eager to be 
 improving his own place in the same 
 way ; and though not saying much to 
 the purpose, could talk of nothing else. 
 The subject had been already handled 
 in the drawing-room ; it was revived' 
 in the dining-parlour. Miss Bertram's 
 attention and opinion was evidently his 
 chief aim ; and though her deportment 
 shewed rather conscious superiority 
 than any solicitude to oblige him, the 
 mention of Sotherton Court, and the 
 ideas attached to it, gave her a feeling 
 of complacency, which prevented her 
 from being very ungracious. 
 
 . " I wish you could see C^mpton,'* 
 »id he, "it is the most complete thing ! 
 
 I 
 
( 108 ) 
 
 I never saw a place so altered in my 
 life. I told Smith I did not know 
 where I was. The approach now is one 
 of the finest things in the country. You 
 see the house in the most surprising 
 manner. I declare when I got back to 
 Sotherton yesterday, it looked like a 
 prison — quite a dismal old prison." 
 
 " Oh ! for shame," cried Mrs. Nor- 
 ris. A prison, indeed ! Sotherton 
 Court is the noblest old place in the 
 world.'* 
 
 " It wants improvemient. Ma'am, be- 
 yond any thing. I never saw a place 
 that wanted so much improvement in 
 my life ; and it is so forlorn that I do 
 not know what can be done with it." 
 
 ** No wonder that Mr. Rushworth 
 should think so at present," said Mrs. 
 Grant to Mrs. Norris, with a smile ; 
 *• but depend upon it, Sotherton will 
 have every improvement in time which 
 his heart can desire." 
 
 *< I must try to do something with 
 it," said Mr. Rushwwth, " but I do not 
 
 know 
 
C 109 ) 
 
 know what. I hope I shall have some 
 good friend to help me." 
 
 " Your best friend upon such an oc- 
 casion," said Miss Bertram, calmly, 
 would be Mr. Repton, I imagine." 
 
 " That is what I was thinking of. As 
 he has done so well by Smith, I think 
 I had better have him at once. His 
 terms are five guineas a day.'* 
 
 " Well, and if they were 7i??z/' cried 
 Mrs. Norris, " I am sure you need not 
 regard it. The expense need not be 
 any impediment. If I were you, I 
 should not think of the expense. I 
 would have every thing done in the 
 best style, and made as nice as possible. 
 Such a place as Sotherton Court de- 
 serves every thing that taste and money 
 can do. You have space to work upon 
 there, and grounds that will well reward 
 you. For my own part, if I had any 
 thing within the fiftieth part of the size 
 of Sotherton, I should be always plant- 
 ing and improving, for naturally I am 
 ex«essively fond of it. It would be too 
 
 ridi- 
 
( 110 ) 
 
 ridiculous for me to attempt any thing 
 where I am now^ with my litde half 
 acre. It would be quite a burlesque. 
 But if I had more room, I should take 
 a prodigious delight in improving and 
 planting. We did a vast deal in that 
 way at the parsonage ; we made it quite 
 a different place from what it w^as w^hen 
 we first had it. You young ones do 
 not remember much about it, perhaps. 
 But if dear Sir Thomas were here, he 
 could tell you what improvements we 
 made ; and a great deal more would have 
 been done, but for poor Mr. Norris's 
 sad state of health. He could hardly 
 ever get out, poor man, to enjoy any 
 thing, and that disheartened me from 
 doing several things that Sir Thomas 
 and I used to talk of. If it had not been 
 for that^ we should have carried on the 
 garden wall, and made the plantation to 
 shut out the church- yard, just as Dr. 
 Grant has done. We were always 
 doing something, as it was. It w^as 
 only the spring twelvemonth before 
 
 Mr. 
 
( IH ) 
 
 Mr. Norris*s death, that we put in 
 the apricot against the stable wall, 
 which is now grown such a noble tree, 
 and getting to such perfection. Sir,*' 
 addressing herself then to Dr. Grant. 
 
 " The tree thrives well beyond a 
 doubt, madam,*' replied Dr. Grant. 
 " The soil is good j and I never pass it 
 without regretting, that the fruit should 
 be so little worth the trouble of gather- 
 ing." _ 
 
 '*' Sir, it is a moor park, we bought it as 
 a moor park, and it cost us — that is, it 
 was a present from Sir Thomas, but I 
 saw the bill, and I know it cost seven- 
 shillings, and was charged as a moor 
 park.*' 
 
 " You were imposed on, Ma'am," 
 replied Dr. Grant, " these potatoes 
 have as much the flavour of a moor 
 park apricot, as the fruit from that 
 tree; It is an insipid fruit at the best ; 
 but a good apricot is eatable, which 
 none from my garden are.** 
 
 " The truth is, Ma'am," said Mrs. 
 
 Grant, 
 
( 112 ) 
 
 Grant, pretending to whisper across the 
 table to Mrs. Norris, " that Dr. Grant 
 hardly knows what the natural taste of 
 our apricot is ; he is scarcely ever 
 indulged with one, for it is so valuable 
 a fruit, with a little assistance, and ours 
 is such a remarkably large, fair sort, that 
 what with early tarts and preserves, my 
 cook contrives to get them all.'* 
 
 Mrs. Norris, who had begun to redden, 
 was appeased, and for a little while, 
 other subjects took place of the improve- 
 ments of Sotherton. Dr. Grant and 
 Mrs. Norris were seldom good friends ; 
 their acquaintance had begun in dilapida- 
 tions, and their habits were totally dis- 
 similar. 
 
 After a short interruption, Mr. Rush- 
 worth began again. " Smith's place is 
 the admiration of all the country ; and it 
 was a mere : othing before Repton 
 took it in hand. I think I shall have 
 Repton." 
 
 " Mr. Rus' worth," said Lady Ber- 
 tr^, ** if I were you, I would have a 
 
 very 
 
( lis ) 
 
 very pretty shrubbery. One likes to 
 get out into a shrubbery in fine 
 weather." 
 
 Mr. Rushworth was eager to assure 
 her ladyship of his acquiescence, and 
 tried to make out something complimen- 
 tary ; but between his submission to her 
 taste, and his having always intended 
 the same himself, with the super-added 
 objects of professing attention to the 
 comfort of ladies in general, and of 
 insinuating, that there was one only 
 whom he was anxious to please, he 
 grew puzzled ; and Edmund was glad 
 to put an end to his speech by a pro- 
 posal of wine. Mr. Rushworth, how- 
 ever, though not usually a great talker, 
 had still more to say on the subject next 
 his heart, " Smith has not much 
 above a hundred acres altogether in his 
 grounds, which is little enough, and 
 makes it more surprising that the 
 place can have been so improved. Now 
 at Sotherton, we have a good seven 
 hundred, without reckoning the water 
 
 meadows ; 
 
( n4 ) 
 
 meadows ; so that 1 think, if so much 
 could be done at Compton, we need not 
 despair. There have been two or three 
 fine old trees cut down that grew too 
 near the house, and it opens the prospect 
 amazingly, which makes me think that 
 Repton, or any body of that sort, would 
 certainly have the avenue at Sotherton 
 down ; the avenue that leads from the 
 west front to the top of the hill you 
 know," turning to Miss Bertram parti- 
 cularly as he spoke. But Miss Bertram 
 thought it most becoming to reply. 
 
 " The avenue ! Oh ! I do not recollect 
 it. I really know very little of Sother- 
 ton.'* 
 
 Fanny, who was sitting on the other 
 side of Edmund, exactly opposite Miss 
 Crawford, and who had been attentive- 
 ly listening, now looked at him, and said 
 in a low voice, 
 
 *' Cut down an avenue ! What a pity ! 
 Does not it make you think of Cowper. 
 « Ye fallen avenues, once more I mourn 
 your fate unmerited.' " 
 
 He 
 
( 115 ) 
 
 He smiled as he answered, " I am 
 afraid the avenue stands a bad chance, 
 Fanny.*' 
 
 " I should like to see Sotherton 
 before it is cut down, to see the place 
 as it is now, in its old state ; but I do 
 not suppose I shall/* 
 
 " Have you never been there ? No, 
 you never can ; and unluckily it is out 
 of distance for a ride. I wish we 
 could contrive it.'* 
 
 " Oh ! it does not signify. When- 
 ever I do see it, you will tell me how it 
 has been altered." 
 
 "I collect," said Miss Crawford, ''that 
 Sotherton is an old place, and a place of 
 some grandeur." " In any particular style 
 of building?" "The house was built 
 in Elizabeth's time, and is a large, 
 regular brick building — heavy, but 
 respectably looking, and has many good 
 rooms. It is ill placed. It stands in 
 one of the lowest spots of the park ; in 
 that respect, unfavourable for improve- 
 ment. But the woods are fine, and 
 
 there 
 
( "6 ) 
 
 there is a stream, which, I dare say, 
 might be made a good deal of. Mr. 
 Rushworth is quite right I think, in 
 meaning to give it a modern dress, and 
 I have no doubt that it will be all done 
 extremely well." 
 
 Miss Crawford listened with sub- 
 mission, and said to herself, " He is a 
 well bred man j he makes the best of 
 it." 
 
 " I do not wish to influence Mr. 
 Rushworth," he continued, *' but had I 
 a place to new fashion, I should not put 
 myself into the hands of an improver* 
 I would rather have an inferior degree of 
 beauty, of my own choice, and acquired 
 progressively. I would rather abide by 
 my own blunders than by his." 
 
 *' You would know what you were 
 about of course — but that would not 
 suit me, I have no eye or ingenuity 
 for such matters, but as they are before 
 me ; and had I a place of my own in 
 the country, I should be most thankful 
 to any Mr. Repton who would under- 
 take 
 
( in ) 
 
 take it, and give me as much beauty 
 as he could for my money ; and I should 
 never look at it, till it was complete." 
 
 " It would be delightful to me to see 
 the progress of it all," said Fanny. 
 
 " Aye — you have been brought up to 
 it. It was no part of my education ; 
 and the only dose I ever had, being 
 administered by not the first favourite 
 in the world, has made me consider 
 improvements in hand as the greatest of 
 nuisances. Three years ago, the admiral, 
 my honoured uncle, bought a cottage 
 at Twickenham for us all to spend our 
 summers in ; and my aunt and I went 
 down to it quite in raptures ; but it 
 being excessively pretty, it was soon 
 found necessary to be improved ; and 
 for three months we were all dirt and 
 confusion, without a gravel walk to 
 step on, or a bench fit for use. I would 
 hare every thing as complete as possible 
 in the country, shrubberies and flower 
 gardens, and rustic seats innumerable ; 
 but it must be all done without my 
 
 care 
 
( ns ) 
 
 care. Henry is different, he loves to be 
 doing.'* 
 
 Edmund was sorry to hear Miss 
 Crawford, whom he was much disposed 
 to admire, speak so freely of her uncle. 
 It did not suit his sense of propriety, 
 and he was silenced, till induced by fur- 
 ther smiles and liveliness, to put the 
 matter by for the present. 
 
 " Mr. Bertram," said she, " I have 
 tidings of my harp at last. I am assured 
 that it is safe at Northampton ; and 
 there it has probably been these ten 
 days, in spite of the solemn assurances 
 we have so often received to the con- 
 trary." Edmund expressed his pleasure 
 and surprise. *' The truth is, that our 
 enquiries were too direct -, we sent a 
 servant, we went ourselves ; this will not 
 do seventy miles from London — but 
 this morning we heard of it in the right 
 way. It was seen by some farmer, and 
 he told the miller, and the miller told 
 the butcher, and the butcher's son-in- 
 law left word at the shop.'' 
 
 " I am 
 
( H9 ) 
 
 " I am very glad that you have heard 
 of it, by whatever means ; and hope 
 there will be no farther delay.*' 
 
 '^ I am to have it to-morrow ; but 
 how do you think it is to be conveyed ? 
 Not by a waggon or cart ; — Oh ! no, 
 nothing of that kind could be hired in 
 the village. I might as well have asked 
 for porters and a hand-barrow.'* 
 
 '^ You would find it difficult, I dare 
 say, just now, in the middle of a very 
 late hay harvest, to hire a horse and 
 cart ?*' 
 
 '* I was astonished to find what a 
 piece of work was made of it ! To want 
 a horse and cart in the country seemed 
 impossible, so I told my maid to speak 
 for one directly ; and as I cannot look 
 out of my dressing-closet without see- 
 ing one farm yard, nor walk in the 
 shrubbery without passing another, I 
 thought it would be only ask and have, 
 and was rather grieved that I could not 
 give the advantage to all. Guess my 
 surprise, when I found that I had been 
 
 asking 
 

 ( 120 ) 
 
 asking the most unreasonable, most 
 impossible thing in the world, had of- 
 fended all the farmers, all the labourers, 
 all the hay in the parish. As for Dr. 
 Grant*s bailiff, I believe I had better 
 keep out of his way ; and my brother- 
 in-law himself, who is all kindness in 
 general, looked rather black upon me, 
 when he found what I had been at." 
 
 *' You could not be expected to have 
 thought on the subject before, but when 
 you do think of it, you must see the 
 importance of getting in the grass. The 
 hire of a cart at any time, might not be 
 so easy as you suppose ; our farmers are 
 not in the habit of letting them out ; 
 but in harvest, it must be quite out of 
 their power to spare a horse." 
 
 " I shall understand all your ways in 
 time ; but coming down with the true 
 London maxim, that every thing is to 
 be got with money, I was a little em- 
 barrassed at first by the sturdy indepen- 
 dence of your country customs. How- 
 ever, I am to have my harp fetched to- 
 
 morrow. 
 
( 121 ) 
 
 morrow. Henry, who is good-nature 
 itself, has offered to fetch it in his ba- 
 rouche. Will it not be honourably con- 
 veyed ?" 
 
 Edmund spoke of the harp as his 
 favourite instrument, and hOped to be 
 soon allowed to hear her. Fanny had 
 never heard the harp at all, and wished 
 for it very much. 
 
 " I shall be most happy to play to you 
 both," said Miss Crawford; " at least, 
 as long as you can like to listen ; pro- 
 bably, much longer, for I dearly love 
 music myself, and where the natural 
 taste is equal, the player must always be 
 best off, for she is gratified in more 
 ways than one. Now, Mr. Bertram, if 
 you write to your brother, I intreat you 
 to t/ell him that my harp is come, he 
 heard so much of my misery about it. 
 And you may say, if you please, that I 
 shall prepare my most plaintive airs 
 against his return, in compassion to his 
 feelings, as I know his horse will lose.** 
 
 " If I write, I will say whatever you 
 VOL. I. G wish 
 
( 122 ) 
 
 wish me ; but I do not at present fore- 
 see any occasion for writing." 
 
 ^* No, I dare say, nor if he were to 
 be gone a twelvemonth, would you ever 
 write to him, nor he to you, if it could 
 be helped. The occasion would never 
 be foreseen. What strange creatures 
 brothers are ! You would not write to 
 each other but upon the most urgent 
 necessity in the world ; and when 
 obliged to take up the pen to say that 
 such a horse is ill, or such a relation dead, 
 it is done in the fewest possible words. 
 You have but one style among you. I 
 know it perfectly. Henry, who is in 
 every other respect exactly what a bro- 
 ther should be, who loves me, consults 
 me, confides in me, and will talk to me 
 by the hour together, has never yet 
 turned the page in a letter ; and very 
 often it is nothing more than, ' Dear 
 Mary, I am just arrived. Bath seems 
 full, and every thing as usual. Your's 
 sincerely.' That is the true manly style; 
 that is a complete brother's letter." 
 
 « When 
 
( 123 ) 
 
 " When they are at a distance from 
 all their family," said Fanny, colouring 
 for William's sake, " they can write 
 long letters." 
 
 " Miss Price has a brother at sea," 
 said Edmund, " whose excellence as a 
 correspondent, makes her think you too 
 severe upon us." 
 
 " At sea, has she ? — In the King's 
 service of course." 
 
 Fanny would rather have had Ed- 
 mund tell the story, but his determined 
 silence obliged her to relate her bro- 
 ther's situation ; her voice was animated 
 in speaking of his profession, and the 
 foreign stations he had been on, but she 
 could not mention the number of years 
 that he had been absent without tears 
 in her eyes. Miss Crawford civilly 
 wished him an early promotion. 
 
 " Do you know any thing of my 
 cousin's captain?" said Edmund ; " cap- 
 tain Marshall ? You have a large ac- 
 quaintance in the navy, I conclude ?" 
 
 " Among Admirals, large enough ; 
 g2 but" 
 
( 124 ) 
 
 but'* with an air of grandeur ; ** we 
 know very little of the inferior ranks. 
 Post captains may be very good sort of 
 men, but they do not belong to us. Of 
 various admirals, I could tell you a great 
 deal ; of them and their flags, and the 
 gradation of their pay, and their bick- 
 erings and jealousies. But in general, 
 I can assure you that they are all passed 
 Over, and all very ill used. Certainly, 
 my home at my uncle's brought me 
 acquainted with a circle of admirals. 
 Of RearSy and Vices^ I saw enough. 
 Now, do not be suspecting me of a pun, 
 I entreat." 
 
 Edmund again felt grave, and only 
 replied, ^* It is a noble profession.'* 
 
 " Yes, the profession is well enough 
 under two circumstances ; , if it make 
 the fortune, and there be discretion in 
 spending it. But, in short, it is not a 
 favourite profession of mine. It has 
 never worn an amiable form to meJ^ 
 
 Edmund reverted to the harp, and 
 was again very happy in the prospect of 
 hearing her play. The 
 
( 125 ) 
 
 The subject of improving grounds 
 meanwhile was still under consideration 
 among the others ; and Mrs. Grant could 
 not help addressing her brother, though 
 it was calling his attention from Miss 
 Julia Bertram. " My dear Henry, have 
 you nothing to say ? You have been 
 an improver yourself, and from what 
 I hear of Everingham, it may vie with 
 anyplace in England. Its natural beauties, 
 I am sure, are great. Everingham as it used 
 to be was perfect in my estimation ; such 
 a happy fall of ground, and such timber ! 
 What would not I give to see it again 1" 
 
 " Nothing could be so gratifying to 
 me as to hear your opinion of it, w^as 
 tis answer. But I fear there would be 
 some disappointment. You would not 
 find it equal to your present ideas. In 
 extent it is a mere nothing — you would 
 be surprised at its insignificance; and 
 as for improvement, there was very 
 little for me to do ; too little — 1 should 
 like to have been busy much longer.*' 
 
 ** You are fond of the sort of thing?'* 
 said Julia. " Excessively j 
 
( 126 ) 
 
 " Excessively; but what with the 
 natural advantages of the ground 
 which pointed out even to a very young 
 eye what little remained to be done, 
 and my own consequent resolutions, I 
 had not been of age three months be- 
 fore Everingham was all that it is now. 
 My plan was laid at Westminster — a 
 little altered perhaps at Cambridge, 
 and at one and twenty executed. I am 
 inclined to envy Mr. Rushworth for 
 having so much happiness yet before 
 him. I have been a devourer of my 
 own.'* 
 
 ** Those who see quickly, will 
 resolve quickly and act quickly," said 
 Julia. " You can never want employ- 
 ment. Instead of envying Mr. Rush- 
 worth, you should assist him with your 
 opinion." 
 
 Mrs. Grant hearing the latter part of 
 this speech, enforced it warmly, persuad- 
 ed that no judgment could be equal to 
 her brother's ; and as Miss Bertram 
 caught at the idea likewise, and gave it 
 
 her 
 
{ 127 ) 
 
 her full support, declaring that in her 
 opinion it was infinitely better to con- 
 sult with friends and disinterested advi- 
 sers, than immediately to throw the 
 business into the hands of a professional 
 man, Mr. Rushworth was very ready 
 to request the favour of Mr. Crawford^s 
 assistance ; and Mr. Crawford after pro- 
 perly depreciating his own abilities, was 
 quite at his service in any way that 
 could be useful. Mr. Rushworth then 
 began to propose Mr. Crawford's doing 
 him the honour of coming over to So- 
 therton, and taking a bed there ; when 
 Mrs. Nor r is, as if reading in her two 
 nieces' minds their little approbation of 
 a plan which was to take Mr. Crawford 
 away, interposed with an amendment. 
 " There can be no doubt of Mr. Craw- 
 ford's willingness ; but why should not 
 more of us go? — Why should not we 
 make a little party ? Here are many 
 that would be interested in your im- 
 provements, my dear Mr. Rushworth, 
 and that would like to hear Mr. Cra w- 
 
 ford's 
 
( >28 ) 
 
 ford's opinion on the spot, and that 
 might be of some small use to you with 
 their opinions ; and for my own part I 
 have been long wishing to wait uponyour 
 good mother again ; nothing but having 
 no horses of my own, could have made 
 me so remiss ; but now I could go and 
 sit a few hours with Mrs. Rushworth 
 while the rest of you walked about and 
 settled things, and then we could all 
 return to a late dinner here, or dine at 
 Sotherton just as might be most agree- 
 able to your mother, and have a plea- 
 sant drive home by moonlight. I dare 
 say Mr. Crawford would take my two 
 nieces and me in his barouche, and 
 Edmund can go on horseback, you know 
 sister, and Fanny will stay at home 
 with you.'* 
 
 Lady Bertram made no objection, 
 and every one concerned in the going, 
 was forward in expressing their ready 
 concurrence, excepting Edmund, who 
 heard it all and said nothing. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
( 129 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 *^ Well Fanny, and how do you like 
 
 Miss Crawford noxv?'* said Edmund 
 the next day, after thinking some time 
 on the subject himself. *' How did you 
 like her yesterday ?*' 
 
 '^ Very well — very much. I like to 
 hear her talk. She entertains me; and 
 she is so extremely pretty, that I have 
 great pleasure in looking at her.'* 
 
 " It is her countenance that is so at- 
 tractive. She has a wonderful play of 
 feature ! But was there nothing in her 
 conversation that struck you Fanny, 
 as not quite right ?'* 
 
 " Oh ! yes, she ought not to have 
 spoken of her uncle as she did. I was 
 quite astonished. An uncle with whom 
 she has been living so many years, and 
 who, whatever his faults may be, is so 
 very fond of her brother, treating him, 
 they say, quite like a son. I could not 
 have believed it ]'' 
 
( ISO ) 
 
 " I thought you would be struck. It 
 was very wrong — very indecorous.'* 
 ^' And very ungrateful I think." 
 ^^ Ungrateful is a strong word. I 
 do not know that her uncle has any 
 claim to her gratitude \ his wife cer- 
 tainly had ; and it is the warmth of her 
 respect for her aunt's memory which 
 misleads her here. She is awkwardly 
 circumstanced With such warm feel- 
 ings and lively spirits it must be difficult 
 to do justice to her affection for Mrs. 
 Crawford, without throwing a shade on 
 the Admiral. I do not pretend to know 
 which was most to blame in their dis- 
 agreements^ though the Admiral's pre- 
 sent conduct might incline one to the 
 side of his wife ; but it is natural and 
 amiable that Miss Crawford should ac- 
 quit her aunt entirely. I do not censure 
 her opinions \ but there certainly is im- 
 propriety in making them public." 
 " Do not you think/' said Fanny, after 
 a little consideration, " that this impro- 
 priety is a reflection itself upon Mrs. 
 
 Crawford, 
 
( 131 } 
 
 Crawford, as her niece has been entirely 
 brought up by her ? She cannot have 
 given her right notions of what was 
 due to the admiral." 
 
 "That is a fair remark. Yes, we 
 must suppose the faults of the niece to 
 have been those of the aunt j and it 
 makes one more sensible of the dis- 
 advantages she has been under. But I 
 think her present home must do her 
 good. Mrs. Grant's manners are just 
 what they ought to be. She speaks of 
 her brother with a very pleasing affec- 
 tion." 
 
 " Yes, except as to his writing her 
 such short letters. She made me almost 
 laugh ; but I cannot rate so very highly 
 the love or good-nature of a brother, who 
 will not give himself the trouble of 
 writing any thing worth reading, to his 
 sisters, when they are separated. I am 
 sure William would never have used 
 me so, under any circumstances. And 
 what right had she to suppose, that you 
 
 w^ould 
 
( 1^2 ) 
 
 would not write long letters when you 
 were absent ?'* 
 
 ** The right of a lively mind, Fanny, 
 seizing whatever may contribute to its 
 own amusement or that of others ; per- 
 fectly allowable, when untinctured by 
 ill humour or roughness ; and there is 
 not a shadow of either in the counte- 
 nance or manner of Miss Crawford, 
 nothing sharp, or loud, or coarse. She 
 is perfectly feminine, except in the 
 instances we have been speaking of. 
 There she cannot be justified. I am 
 glad you saw it all as I did." 
 
 Having formed her mind and gained 
 her affections, he had a good chance of 
 her thinking hke him ; though at this 
 period, and on this subject there began 
 now to be some danger of dissimilarity, 
 for he was in a line of admiration of Miss 
 Crawford, which might lead him where 
 Fanny could not follow. Miss Craw, 
 ford's attractions did not lessen. The 
 harp arrived and rather added to her 
 beauty, wit, and good humour, for she 
 
 played 
 
( 133 ) 
 
 played with the greatest obligingness, 
 with an expression and taste which were 
 pecuHarly becoming, and there was 
 something clever to be said at the close 
 of every air. Edmund was at the 
 parsonage every day to be indulged with 
 his favourite instrument ^ one morning 
 secured an invitation for the next, for 
 the lady could not be unwilling to have 
 a listener, and every thing was soon in 
 a fair train. 
 
 A young woman, pretty, lively, with 
 a harp as elegant as herself; and both 
 placed near a window, cut down to the 
 ground, and opening on a Utile lawn, 
 surrounded by shrubs in the rich 
 foliage of summer, was enough to catch 
 any man's heart. The season, the scene, 
 the air were all favourable to tenderness 
 and sentiment. Mrs. Grant and her 
 tambour frame were not without their 
 use ; it was all in harmony ; and as 
 every thing will turn to account when 
 love is once set going, even the sandwich 
 tray, and Dr. Grant doing the honours 
 
 of 
 
( 134 ) 
 
 of it, were worth looking at. Without 
 studying the business, however, or 
 knowing what he was about, Edmund 
 was beginning at the end of a week of 
 such intercourse, to be a good deal in 
 love ; and to the credit of the lady it 
 may be added, that without his being a 
 man of the v/orld or an elder brother, 
 without any of the arts of flattery or 
 the gaieties of small talk, he began to be 
 agreeable to her. She felt it to be so, 
 though she had not foreseen and could 
 hardly understand it ; for he was not 
 pleasant by any common rule, he talked 
 no nonsense, he paid no compliments, 
 his opinions were unbending, his atten- 
 tions tranquil and simple. There was 
 a charm, perhaps, in his sincerity, his 
 steadiness, his integrity, which Miss 
 Crawford might be equal to feel, though 
 not equal to discuss with herself She 
 did not think very much about it, 
 however ; he pleased her for the present ; 
 she liked to have him near her ; it was 
 enough* 
 
 Fanny 
 
( ^S5 ) 
 
 Fanny could not wonder that 
 Edmund was at the parsonage e very- 
 morning ; she would gladly have been 
 there too, might she have gone in un- 
 invited and unnoticed to hear the harp ; 
 neither could she wonder, that when 
 the evening stroll was over, and the 
 two families parted again, he should 
 think it right to attend Mrs. Grant and 
 her sister to their home, while Mr. 
 Crawford was devoted to the ladies of 
 the park ; but she thought it a very bad 
 exchange, and if Edmund were not 
 there to mix the wine and water for 
 her, would rather go without it than 
 not. She was a little surprised that he 
 could spend so many hours with Miss 
 Crawford, and not see more of the sort 
 of fault which he had already observed, 
 and of which she was almost always 
 reminded by a something of the same 
 nature whenever she was in her com- 
 pany ; but so it was. Edmund was 
 fond of speaking to her of Miss Craw- 
 ford, but he seemed to think it enough 
 
 that 
 
( 136 ) 
 
 that the admiral had since been spared ; 
 and she scrupled to point out her own 
 remarks to him, lest it should appear 
 like ill-nature. The fu'st actual pain 
 which Miss Crawford occasioned her^ 
 was the consequence of an inclination to 
 learn to ride, which the former caught 
 soon after her being settled at Mans- 
 field from the example of the young 
 ladies at the park, and which, when 
 Edmund's acquaintance with her in- 
 creased, led to his encouraging the 
 wish,, and the offer of his own quiet 
 mare for the purpose of her first at- 
 tempts, as the best fitted for a begin- 
 ner that either stable could furnish. No 
 pain, no injury, however, was designed 
 by him to his cousin in this offer ; she 
 was not to lose a day's exercise by it. 
 The mare was only to be taken down 
 to the parsonage half an hour before her 
 ride were to begin ; and Fanny, on its 
 being first proposed, so far from feeling 
 slighted, was almost overpowered with 
 
 gratitude 
 
( 137 > 
 
 gratitude that he should be asking her 
 leave for it 
 
 Miss Crawford made her first essay 
 with great credit to herself, and no 
 inconvenience to Fanny. Edmund, 
 who had taken down the mare and 
 presided at the whole, returned v/ith it 
 in excellent time, before either Fanny 
 or the steady old coachman, who always 
 attended her when she rode without 
 her cousins, were ready to set forward. 
 The second day's trial was not so guilt- 
 less. Miss Crawford's enjoyment of 
 riding was such, that she did not know 
 how to leave off. Active and fearless, 
 and, though rather small, strongly made, 
 she seemed formed for a horse woman ; 
 and to the pure genuine pleasure of the 
 exercise, something was probably added 
 in Edmund*s attendance and instruc- 
 tions, and something more in the con- 
 viction of very much surpassing her 
 sex in general by her early progress, to 
 make her unwilling to dismount. 
 Fanny was ready and waiting, and Mrs. 
 
 Norris 
 
( 138 ) 
 
 Norris was beginning to scold her for 
 not being gone, and still no horse was 
 announced, no Edmund appeared. To 
 avoid her aunt, and look for him, she 
 went out. 
 
 The houses, though scarcely half a 
 mile apart, were not within sight of 
 each other 5 but by walking fifty yards 
 from the hall door, she could look down 
 the park, and command a view of the 
 parsonage and all its demesnes, gently 
 rising beyond the village road ; and in 
 Dr. Grant's meadow she immediately 
 saw the group — Edmund and Miss 
 Crawford both on horseback, riding 
 side by side. Dr. and Mrs. Grant, and 
 Mr. Crawford, with two or three 
 grooms, standing about and looking on. 
 A happy party it appeared to her — all 
 interested in one object — cheerful be- 
 yond a doubt, for the sound of mer- 
 riment ascended even to her. It was 
 a sound which did not make her cheer- 
 ful ; she wondered that Edmund should 
 forget her, and felt a pang. She could 
 
 not 
 
\ 139 ) 
 
 not turn her eyes from the meadow, 
 she could not help watching all that 
 passed. At first Miss Crawford and 
 her companion made the circuit of the 
 field, which was not small, at a foot's 
 pace ; then, at her apparent suggestion, 
 they rose into a canter ; and to Fanny's 
 timid nature it was most astonishing to 
 see how well she sat. After a few mi- 
 nutes, they stopt entirely, Edmund was 
 close to her, he was speaking to her, 
 he was evidently directing her manage- 
 ment of the bridle, he had hold of her 
 hand; she saw it, or the imagination 
 supplied what the eye could not reach. 
 She must not wonder at all this ; what 
 could be more natural than that Ed- 
 mund should be making himself useful, 
 and proving his good-nature by any 
 one ? She could not but think indeed 
 that Mr. Crawford might as well have 
 saved him the trouble ; that it would 
 have be:n particularly proper and be- 
 coming in a brother to have done it 
 himself; but Mr. Crawford, with all 
 
 his 
 
( 140 ) 
 
 his boasted good nature, and all hia 
 coachi-nanship, probably knew nothing 
 of the matter, and had no active kind- 
 ness in comparison of Edmund. She 
 began to think it rather hard upon the 
 mare to have such double duty j if she 
 were forgotten the poor mare should 
 be remembered. 
 
 Her feelings for one and the other 
 were soon a little tranquillized, by seeing 
 the party in the meadow disperse, and 
 Miss Crawford still on horseback, but 
 attended by Edmund on foot, pass 
 through a gate into the lane, and so 
 into the park, and make tow^ards the 
 spot where she stood. She began then 
 to be afraid of appearing rude and im- 
 patient ; and walked to meet them 
 with a great anxiety to avoid the sus- 
 picion. 
 
 ' My dear Miss Price," said Missf 
 Crawford, as soon as she was at all 
 within hearing, " I am come to make 
 my own apologies for keeping you wait- 
 ing — but I have notlung in the world 
 
 to 
 
< 141 ) 
 
 to say for myself — I knew it was very 
 bte, and that I was behaving extremely 
 ill ; and, therefore, if you please, you 
 must forgive me. Selfishness must al- 
 ways be forgiven you know, because 
 there is no hope of a cure." 
 
 Fanny s answer w^as extremely civil, 
 and Edmund added his conviction that 
 she could be in no hurry. '' For there 
 is more than time enough for my cousin 
 to ride twice as far as she ever goes," 
 said he, " and you have been promo- 
 ting her comfort by preventing her 
 from setting off half an hour sooner ; 
 cfiouds are now coming up, and she 
 will not suffer from the heat as she 
 would have done then. I wish you 
 may not be fatigued by so much exer- 
 cise. I wish you had saved yourself 
 this walk home." 
 
 " No part of it fatigues me but get- 
 ting off this horse, I assure you," said 
 she, as she sprang down with his help ; 
 ! am very strong. Nothing ever fa- 
 tigues me, but doing what I do not 
 
 like. 
 
( 142 ) 
 
 like. Miss Price I give way to you 
 with a very bad grace, but I sincerely 
 hope you will have a pleasant ride, and 
 that I may have nothing but good to 
 hear of this dear, delightful, beautiful 
 animal." 
 
 The old coachman who had been 
 waiting about with his own horse, now 
 joining them, Fanny was Hfted on her's, 
 and they set off across another part of 
 the park ; her feelings of discomfort not 
 lightened by seeing, as she looked back, 
 that the others were walking down the 
 hill together to the village *, nor did her 
 attendant do her much good by his 
 comments on Miss Crawford's great 
 cleverness as a horse woman, which he 
 had been watching with an interest 
 almost equal to her own. 
 
 *' It is a pleasure to see a lady with 
 such a good heart for riding !*' said he. 
 " I never see one sit a horse better. 
 She did not seem to have a thought of 
 fear. Very different from you. Miss, 
 when you first began, six years ago 
 
 come 
 
( 143 ) 
 
 come next Easter. Lord bless me I 
 how you did tremble when Sir Thomas 
 first had you put on 1" 
 
 In the drawing room Miss Crawford 
 was also celebrated. Her merit in be- 
 ing gifted by nature with strength and 
 courage was fully appreciated by the 
 Miss Bertrams ; her delight in riding 
 was like their own ; her early excel- 
 lence in it was like their own, and they 
 had great pleasure in praising it. 
 
 " I was sure she would ride well," 
 said Julia, " she has the make for it. 
 Her figure is as neat as her brother's." 
 
 " Yes," added Maria, " and her 
 spirits are as good, and she has the 
 same energy of character. I cannot 
 but think that good horsemanship has 
 a great deal to do with the mind." 
 
 When they parted at night, Edmund 
 asked Fanny whether she meant to ride 
 the next day. 
 
 " No, I do not know, not if you 
 want the mare," was her answer. " I 
 do not want her at all for myself," said 
 
 hC; 
 
( 1** ) 
 
 he, *^ but whenever you are next in- 
 clined to stay at home, I think Miss 
 Crawford would be glad to have her 
 for a longer time — for a whole morning 
 in short. She has a great desire to get 
 as far as Mansfield common, Mrs. Grant 
 has been telling her of its fine views, 
 and I have no doubt of her being per- 
 fectly equal to it. But any morning 
 will do for this. She would be ex- 
 tremely sorry to interfere with you. 
 It would be very wrong if she did. — 
 She rides only for pleasure, you for 
 health." 
 
 *' I shall not ride to-morrow, cer- 
 tainly," said Fanny ; " I have been out 
 very often lately, and would rather stay 
 at home. You know I am strons: 
 enough now to walk very well." 
 
 Edmund looked pleased, which must 
 be Fanny's comfort, and the ride to 
 Mansfield common took place the next 
 morning ; — the party included all the 
 young people but herself, and was much 
 enjoyed at the time, and doubly enjoyed 
 
 again 
 
( 145 ) 
 
 again in the evening discussion. A success- 
 ful scheme of this sort generally brings 
 on another ; and the having been to 
 Mansfield-common, disposed them all 
 for going somewhere else the day after. 
 There were many other views to be 
 shewn, and though the weather was 
 hot, there were shady lanes wherever 
 they wanted to go. A young party is 
 always provided with a shady lane. 
 Four fine mornings successively were 
 spent in this manner, in shewing the 
 Crawford's the country, and doing the 
 honours of its finest spots. Every thing 
 answered ; it was all gaiety and good- 
 humour, the heat only supplying incon- 
 venience enough to be talked of witli 
 pleasure — till the fourth day, when the 
 happiness of one of the party was ex- 
 ceedingly clouded. Miss Bertram wai 
 the one. Edmund and JuHa were in- 
 vited to dine at the parsonage, and she 
 was excluded. It was meant and done 
 by Mrs. Grant, with perfect good hu- 
 mour on Mr. Rushworth's account, 
 VOJ-. I. H who 
 
( 146 ) 
 
 who was partly expected at the park 
 that day ; but it was felt as a very griev- 
 ous injury, and her good manners were 
 severely taxed to conceal her vexation 
 and anger, till she reached home. As 
 Mr. Rushworth did not come, the in- 
 jury was increased, and she had not 
 even the relief of shewing her power 
 over him ; she could only be sullen to 
 her mother, aunt, and cousin, and throw 
 as great a gloom as possible over their 
 dinner, and dessert. 
 
 Between ten and eleven, Edmund and 
 Julia walked into the drawing-room, 
 fresh with the evening air, glowing and 
 cheerful, the very reverse of what they 
 found in the three ladies sitting there, 
 for Maria would scarcely raise her eyes 
 from her book, and Lady Bertram was 
 half asleep ; and even Mrs. Norris, dis- 
 composed by her niece's ill-humour, 
 and having asked one or two questions 
 about the dinner, which were not im- 
 mediately attended to, seemed almost 
 determined to say no more. For a few 
 
 minutes. 
 
( 147 ) 
 
 minutes, the brother and sister were too 
 eager in their praise of the night and 
 their remarks on the stars, to think be- 
 yond themselves; but when the first 
 pause came, Edmund, looking around, 
 said, " But where is Fanny ? — Is she 
 gone to bed ?" 
 
 " No, not that I know of,'* replied 
 Mi*s. Norris ; " she was here a moment 
 ago." 
 
 Her own gentle voice speaking from 
 the other end of the room, which was 
 a very long one, told them that she w^as 
 on the sofa. Mrs. Norris began scold- 
 ing. 
 
 *^ That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to 
 be idling aw^ay all the evening upon 
 a sofa. Why cannot you come and sit 
 here, and employ yourself as xve do ? — 
 If you have no work of your own, I can 
 supply you from the poor-basket. There 
 is all the new calico that was bought last 
 week, not touched yet. I am sure I 
 almost broke my back by cutting it out. 
 You should learn to think of other peo- 
 H 2 pie; 
 
( 148 ) 
 
 pie ; and take my word for it, it is a 
 shocking trick for a young person to be 
 always lolling upon a sofa." 
 
 Before half this was said, Fanny was 
 returned to her seat at the table, and had 
 taken up her work again ; and Julia, 
 who was in high good-humour, from 
 the pleasures of the day, did her the 
 justice of exclaiming, " I must say. 
 Ma'am, that Fanny is as little upon the 
 sofa as any body in the house." 
 
 *' Fanny," said Edmund, after looking 
 at her attentively ; " I am sure you have 
 the head-ache ?" 
 
 She could not deny it^ but said it was 
 not very bad. 
 
 " I can hardly believe you," he re- 
 plied ; " I know your looks too well. 
 How long have you had it ?" 
 
 " Since a Uttle before dinner. It is 
 nothing but the heat/* 
 
 ^* Did you go out in the heat ?" 
 *' Go out ! to be sure she did," said 
 Mrs. Norris ; " Would you have her 
 Stay within such a fine day as this ? Were 
 
 not 
 
( 149 ) 
 
 not we all out ? Even your mother was 
 out to-day for above an hour." 
 
 '^ Yes, indeed, Edmund/' added her 
 ladyship, who had been 'thoroughly 
 awakened by Mrs. Norris's sharp repri* 
 mand to Fanny ; " I was out above an 
 hour. I sat three quarters of an hour 
 in the flower garden, while Fanny cut 
 the roses, and very pleasant it was I as- 
 sure you, but very hot. It was shady 
 enough in the alcove, but I declare I 
 quite dreaded the coming home again." 
 
 " Fanny has been cutting roses, has 
 she V 
 
 " Yes, and I am afraid they will be 
 the last this year. Poor thing! She 
 found it hot enough, but they were so 
 full blown, that one could not wait." 
 
 " There was no help for it certainly," 
 rejoined Mrs. Norris, in a ratlier soft- 
 ened voice ; " but I question whether 
 her head-ache might not be caught then^ 
 sister. There is nothing so likely to 
 give it as standing and stooping in a hot 
 sun. But I dare say it will be well to- 
 morrow. 
 
C 1^0 ) 
 
 morrow. Suppose you let her have 
 your aromatic vinegar ; I always forget 
 to have mine filled." 
 
 " She has got it,*' said lady Bertram ; 
 " she has had it ever since she came 
 back from your house the second time." 
 
 " What 1" cried Edmund ; " has she 
 been walking as well as cutting roses ; 
 walking across the hot park to your 
 house, and doing it twice, Ma'am ? — 
 "No wonder her head aches." 
 
 Mrs. Norris was talking to Julia, and 
 did not hear, 
 
 " I was afraid it would be too much 
 for her," said lady Bertram ; " but 
 when the roses were gathered, your 
 aunt wished to have them, and then you 
 know they must be taken home." 
 
 " But were there roses enough to 
 oblige her to go twice ?" 
 
 " No ; but they were to be put into 
 the spare room to dry 5 and, unluckily, 
 Fanny forgot to lock the door of the 
 room and bring away the key, so she 
 was obliged to go again." 
 
 Edmund 
 
( 151 ) 
 
 Edmund got up and walked about 
 the room, saying, '' And could nobody 
 be employed on such an errand but 
 Fanny ? — Upon my word. Ma'am, it has 
 been a very ill-managed business.'' 
 
 " I am sure I do not know how it was 
 to have been done better," cried Mrs. 
 Norris, unable to be longer deaf; ^ un- 
 less I had gone myself indeed ; but I 
 cannot be in two places at once ; and I 
 was talking to Mr. Green at that very 
 time about your mother's dairymaid, by 
 her desire, and had promised John 
 Groom to write to Mrs. JefFeries about 
 his son, and the poor fellow was waiting 
 for me half an hour. I think nobody 
 can justly accuse me of sparing myself 
 upon any occasion, but really I cannot 
 do every thing at once. And as for 
 Fanny's just stepping down to my house 
 for me, it is not much above a quarter 
 of a mile, I cannot think I was unrea- 
 sonable to ask it. How often do I pace 
 it three times a day, early and late, aye 
 
 and 
 
( i^2 ) 
 
 and in all weathers too, and say nothing 
 about it." 
 
 " I wish Fanny had half your strength. 
 Ma'am." 
 
 " If Fanny would be more regular in 
 her excercise, she would not be knocked 
 up so soon. She has not been out on 
 horseback now this long while, and I 
 am persuaded, that when she does not 
 ride, she ought to walk. If she had 
 been riding before, I should not have 
 asked it of her. But I thought it would 
 rather do her good after being stooping 
 among the roses ; for there is nothing 
 so refreshing as a walk after a fatigue 
 of that kind ; and though the sun was 
 strong, it was not so very hot. Be* 
 tween ourselves, Edmund, nodding 
 significantly at his mother, it was cut- 
 ting the roses, and dawdling about in 
 the flower-garden, that did the mis- 
 chief." 
 
 " I am afraid it was, indeed," said the 
 more candid Lady Bertram, who had 
 overheard her, " I am very much afraid 
 
 sh« 
 
( 153 ) 
 
 she caught the head-ache there, for the 
 heat was aiough to kill any body. It 
 was as much as I could bear myself. Sit- 
 ting and calling to Pug, and trying to 
 keep him from the flower-beds, was 
 almost too much for me." 
 
 Edmund said no more to either lady; 
 but going quietly to another table, on 
 which the supper tray yet remained, 
 brought a glass of Madeira to Fanny, 
 and obliged her to drink the greater 
 part. She wished to be able to decline 
 it ; but the tears which a variety of 
 feelings created, made it easier to swaU 
 low than to speak. 
 
 Vexed as Edmund was with his mo- 
 ther and aunt, he was still more angry 
 with himself. His own forgetfulness of 
 her was worse than any thing which 
 they had done. Nothing of this would 
 have happened had she been properly 
 considered ; but she had been left four, 
 days together without any choice of 
 companions or exercise, and without 
 any excuse for avoiding whatever her 
 H 3 unreasonable 
 
( 154 ) 
 
 unreasonable aunts might require. He 
 was ashamed to think that for four days 
 together she had not had the power of 
 riding, and very seriously resolved, how- 
 ever unwilling he must be to check a 
 pleasure of Miss Crawford's, that it 
 should never happen again. 
 
 Fanny went to bed with her heart as 
 full as on the first evening of her arri- 
 val at the Park. The state of her spi- 
 rits had probably had its share in her 
 indisposition ; for she had been feeling 
 neglected, and been struggling against 
 discontent and envy for some days past. 
 As she leant on the sofa, to which she 
 had retreated that she might not be seen, 
 the pain of her mind had been much 
 beyond that in her head ; and the sud- 
 den change which Edmund's kindness 
 had then occasioned, made her hardly 
 know how to support herself. 
 
 CHAP- 
 
( 15^ ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Fanny's rides recommenced the very- 
 next day, and as it was a pleasant fresh- 
 feeling morning, less hot than the wea- 
 ther had lately been, Edmund trusted 
 that her losses both of health and plea- 
 sure would be soon made good. While 
 he was gone, Mr. Rushworth arrived, 
 escorting his mother, who came to be 
 civil, and to shew her civility, especially 
 in urging the execution of the plan for 
 visiting Sotherton, which had been 
 started a fortnight before, and which, 
 in consequence of her subsequent ab- 
 sence from home, had since lain dormant. 
 Mrs. Norris and her nieces were all well 
 pleased with its revival, and an early 
 day was named, and agreed to, provided 
 Mr. Crawford should be disengaged ; 
 the young ladies did not forget that 
 stipulation, and though Mrs. Norris 
 would willingly have answered for 
 his being so, they would neither au- 
 thorize 
 
( 1^6 ) 
 
 thorize the liberty, nor run the risk; 
 and at last on a hint from Miss Bertram, 
 Mr. Rushworth discovered that the 
 properest thing to be done, was for 
 him to walk down to the parsonage 
 directly, and call on Mr. Crawford, 
 and enquire whether Wednesday would 
 suit him or not. 
 
 Before his return Mrs. Grant and 
 Miss Crawford came in. Having been 
 out some time, and taken a different 
 route to the house, they had not met 
 him. Comfortable hopes however were 
 given that he would find Mr. Crawford 
 at home. The Sotherton scheme was 
 mentioned of course. It was hardly 
 possible indeed that anything else should 
 be talked of, for Mrs. Nor r is was in 
 high spirits about it, and Mrs. Rush- 
 worth, a well-meaning, civil, prosing, 
 pompous woman, who thought nothing 
 of consequence, but as it related to 
 her own and her son's concerns, had not 
 yet given over pressing Lady Bertram 
 to be of the party. Lady Bertram con- 
 stantly 
 
( 1^7 ; 
 
 stantly declined it, but her placid man- 
 ner of refusal made Mrs. Rush worth 
 still think she wished to come, till Mrs. 
 Norris's more numerous words and 
 louder tone convinced her of the truth. 
 
 " The fatigue would be too much 
 for my sister, a great deal too much I 
 assure you, my dear Mrs. Rush worth. 
 Ten miles there, and ten back, you know. 
 You must excuse my sister on this 
 occasion, and accept of our two dear 
 girls and myself without her. Sotherton 
 is the only place that could give her a 
 ivish to go so far, but it cannot be 
 indeed. She will have a companion 
 in Fanny Price you know, so it will all 
 do very well ; and as for Edmund, as 
 he is not here to speak for himself, I 
 will answer for his being most happy to 
 join the party. He can go on horse- 
 back, you know." 
 
 Mrs. Rushworth being obliged to 
 yield to Lady Bertram's staying at home, 
 could only be sorry. " The loss of her 
 Ladyship's company would be a great 
 
 drawback. 
 
( 158 ) 
 
 drawback, and she should have been 
 extremely happy to have seen the young 
 lady too. Miss Price, who had never 
 been at Sotherton yet, and it was a pity 
 she should not see the place." 
 
 " You are very kind, you are all 
 kindness, my dear madam,'* cried Mrs. 
 Norris; '* but as to Fanny, she will 
 have opportunities in plenty of seeing 
 Sotherton, She has time enough before 
 her ; and her going now is quite out 
 of the question. Lady Bertram could 
 not possibly spare her." 
 
 '^ Oh ! no — I cannot do without 
 Fanny." 
 
 Mrs. Rushworth proceeded next, un- 
 der the conviction that every body must 
 be wanting to see Sotherton, to include 
 Miss Crawford in the invitation ; and 
 though Miss Grant, who had not been 
 at the trouble of visiting Mrs. Rush- 
 worth on her coming into the neigh- 
 bourhood, civilly declined it on her own 
 account, she was glad to secure any plea- 
 sure for her sister j and Mary, properly 
 
 pressed 
 
( m ) 
 
 pressed and persuaded, was not long in 
 accepting her share of the civility. Mr. 
 Rushworth came back from the par- 
 sonage successful ; and Edmund made 
 his appearance just in time to learn what 
 had been settled for Wednesday, to at- 
 tend Mrs. Rushworth to her carriage, 
 and walk half way down the park with 
 the two other ladies. 
 
 On his return to the breakfast-room, 
 he found Mrs. Norris trying to make up 
 her mind as to whether Miss Crawford's 
 being of the party were desirable or 
 not, or whether her brother's barouche 
 would not be full without her. The Miss 
 Bertrams laughed at the idea, assuring 
 her that the barouche would hold four 
 perfectly well, independent of the box, 
 on which one might go with him. 
 
 " But why is it necessary, said Ed- 
 mund, that Crawford's carriage, or his 
 onh/ should be employed ? Why is no 
 use to be made of my mother's chaise ? 
 I could not, when the scheme was first 
 mentiened the other day, understand 
 
 why 
 
( 160 ) 
 
 why a visit from the family were not 
 to be made in the carriage of the 
 family/' 
 
 "What! cried Julia. Go box'd up 
 three in a post-chaise in this weather, 
 when we may have seats in a barouche ! 
 No, my dear Edmund, that will not 
 quite do." 
 
 " Besides," said Maria, " I know that 
 Mr. Crawford depends upon taking us. 
 After what passed at first, he would 
 claim it as a promise." 
 
 " And my dear Edmund," added 
 Mrs. Norris, " taking out txvo carriages 
 when one will do, would be trouble for 
 nothing ; and between ourselves, coach- 
 man is not very fond of the roads be- 
 tween this and Sotherton ; he always 
 complains bitterly of the narrow lanes 
 scratching his carriage, and you know 
 one should not like to have dear Sir 
 Thomas when he comes home find all 
 the varnish scratched off." 
 
 " That would not be a very hand- 
 some reason for using Mr. Crawford's," 
 
 said 
 
( 361 ) 
 
 said Maria ; " but the truth Is, that 
 Wilcox is a stupid old fellow, and does 
 not know how to drive. I will answer 
 for it that we shall find no inconvenience 
 from narrow roads on Wednesday." 
 
 " There is no hardship I suppose, 
 nothing unpleasant/' said Edmund, " in 
 going on the barouche box." 
 
 " Unpleasant !'' cried Maria ; " Oh ! 
 dear, I believe it could be generally 
 thought the favourite seat. There can 
 be no comparison as to one's view of 
 the country. Probably, Miss Crawford 
 will chuse the barouche box-herself." 
 
 " There can be no objection then to 
 Fanny's going with you j there can be no 
 doubt of your having room for her." 
 
 " Fanny !'* repeated Mrs. Norris, 
 " my dear Edmund, there is no idea 
 of her going with us. She stays with 
 her aunt. I told Mrs. Rushworth so. 
 She is not expected.'* 
 
 " You can have no reason I imagine 
 madam," said he addressing his mother, 
 for wishing Fanny not to be of the party, 
 
 "but 
 
(. 162 ) 
 
 " but as it relates to yourself, to your 
 own comfort. If you could do without 
 her, you would not wish to keep her 
 at home ?" 
 
 "To be sure not, but I can7iot do 
 without her.'* 
 
 " You can, if I stay at home with you, 
 as I mean to do." 
 
 There was a general cry out at this, 
 " Yes," he continued, " there is no 
 necessity for my going, and I mean to 
 stay at home. Fanny has a great desire 
 to see Sotherton. I know she wishes 
 it very much. She has not often a 
 gratification of the kind, and I am sure 
 Ma'am you would be glad to give her 
 the pleasure now ?" 
 
 " Oh I yes, very glad, if your aunt 
 sees no objection." 
 
 Mrs. Norris was very ready with 
 the only objection which could remain, 
 their having positively assured Mrs. 
 Rushworth, that Fanny could not go, 
 and the very strange appearance there 
 would consequently be in taking her, 
 
 which 
 
( 163 ) 
 
 which seemed to her a difficulty quite 
 impossible to be got over. It must 
 have the strangest appearance ! It 
 would be something so very unceremo- 
 nious, so bordering on disrespect for 
 Mrs. Rush worth, whose own manners 
 were such a pattern of good-breeding 
 and attention, that she really did not 
 feel equal to it. Mrs. Norris had no 
 affection for Fanny, and no wish of 
 procuring her pleasure at any time, but 
 her opposition to Edmund now arose 
 more from partiality for her own scheme 
 because it was her own, than from any 
 thing else. She felt that she had arranged 
 every thing extremely well, and that any 
 alteration must be for the worse. When 
 Edmund, therefore, told her in reply, as 
 he did when she would give him the 
 hearing, that she need not distress 
 herself on Mrt. Rushworth's account, 
 because he had taken the opportunity as 
 he walked with her through the hall, of 
 mentioning Miss Price as one who 
 would probably be of the party, and had 
 
 directly 
 
( 1^4 ) 
 
 directly received a very suiEcient invita- 
 tion for her cousin, Mrs. Norris was 
 too much vexed to submit with a very 
 good grace and would only say, " Very 
 well, very well, just as you chuse, 
 settle it your own way, I am sure I do 
 not care about it." 
 
 " It seems very odd,** said Maria, 
 " that you should be staying at home 
 instead of Fanny.'* 
 
 '^ I am sure she ought to be very 
 much obliged to you/* added Julia, 
 hastily leaving the room as she spoke, 
 from a consciousness that she ought to 
 offer to stay at home herself. 
 
 " Fanny will feel quite as grateful as 
 the occasion requires," was Edmund's 
 only reply, and the subject dropt. 
 
 Fanny's gratitude when she heard 
 the plan, was in fact much greater than 
 her pleasure. She felt Edmund's kind- 
 ness with all, and more than all, the 
 sensibility which he, unsuspicious of her 
 fond attachment, could be aware of; 
 but that he should forego any enjoy- 
 ment 
 
( i6i; ) 
 
 ment on her account gave her pain, and 
 her own satisfaction in seeing Sotherton 
 would be nothing without him. 
 
 The next meeting of the two Mans- 
 field families produced another altera- 
 tion in the plan,and one that was admitted 
 with general approbation. Mrs. Grant 
 offered herself as companion for the day 
 to Lady Bertram in lieu of her son, and 
 Dr. Grant was to join them at dinner. 
 Lady Bertram was very well pleased to 
 have it so, and the young ladies were 
 in spirits again. Even Edmund w^as 
 very thankful for an arrangement which 
 restored him to his share of the party j 
 and Mrs. Norris thought it an excellent 
 plan, and had it at her tongue's end, and 
 was on the point of proposing it whea 
 Mrs. Grant spoke. 
 
 Wednesday was fine, and soon after 
 breakfast the barouche arrived, Mr. 
 Crawford driving his sisters, and as 
 every body was ready, there was nothing 
 to be done but for Mrs. Grant to alight 
 and the others to take their places. The 
 
 place 
 
( 166 ) 
 
 place of all places, the envied seat, the 
 post of honour, was unappropriated. To 
 whose happy lot was it to fall ? While 
 each of the Miss Bertrams were meditat- 
 ing how best, and with most appear- 
 ance of obliging the others, to secure it, 
 the matter was settled by Mrs. Grant's 
 saying, as she stepped from the carriage, 
 *' As there are five of you, it will be 
 better that one should sit with Henry, 
 and as you were saying lately, that you 
 wished you could drive, Julia, I think 
 this will be a good opportunity for you 
 to take a lesson.'' 
 
 " Happy Julia ! Unhappy Maria ! The 
 former was on the barouche box in a; 
 moment, the latter took her seat 
 within, in gloom and mortification ; and 
 the carriage drove off amid the good 
 wishes of the two remaining ladies, and 
 the barking of pug in his mistresses 
 arms. 
 
 Their road was through a pleasant 
 country ; and Fanny, whose rides had 
 never been extensive, was soon beyond 
 
 her 
 
( 167 ) 
 
 her knowledge, and was very happy in 
 observing all that was new, and admir- 
 ing all that was pretty. She was not 
 often invited to join in the conversation 
 of the others, nor did she desire it. Her 
 own thoughts and reflections were 
 habitually her best companions ; and in 
 observing the appearance of the country, 
 the bearings of the roads, the difference 
 of soil, the state of the harvest, the 
 cottages, che cattle, the children, she 
 found entertainment that could only 
 have been heightened by having 
 Edmund to speak to of what she felt. 
 That was the only point of resemblance 
 between her and the lady who sat by 
 her ; in every thing but a value for 
 Edmund, Miss Crawford was very 
 unlike her. She had none of Fanny's 
 delicacy of taste, of mind, of feeling ; 
 she saw nature, inanimate nature, with 
 little observation 5 her attention was 
 all for man and women, her talents for 
 the light and lively. In looking back 
 after Edmund, however, when there 
 
 was 
 
( 168 ) 
 
 was any stretch -of road beliind them, 
 or when he gained on them in ascending 
 a considerable hill, they were united, 
 and a " there he is" broke at the same 
 moment from them both, more than 
 once. 
 
 For the first seven miles Miss Ber- 
 tram had very little real comfort ; her 
 prospect always ended in Mr. Crawford 
 and her aister sitting side by side full of 
 conversation and merriment; and to 
 see only his expressive profile as he 
 turned with a smile to Julia, or to 
 catch the laugh of the other was a 
 perpetual source of irritation, which 
 her own sense of propriety could but 
 just smopth over. When Julia looked 
 back, it was with a countenance of 
 delight, and whenever she spoke to 
 them, it was in the highest spirits ; 
 ** her view of the country was charm- 
 ing, she wished they could all see it, 
 &c/' but her only offer of exchange 
 was addressed to Miss Crawford, as 
 they gained the summit of a long hill, 
 
 and 
 
( 169 ) 
 
 and was not more inviting than this, 
 " Here is a fine burst of country. I 
 wish you had my seat, but I dare say 
 you will not take it, let me press you 
 ever so much," and Miss Crawford 
 could hardly answer before they were 
 moving again at a good pace. 
 
 When they came within the influence 
 of Sotherton associations, it was better 
 for Miss Bertram, who might be said to 
 have two strings to her bow. She had 
 Rushworth-feelings and Crawford-feel- 
 ings, and in the vicinity of Sotherton, 
 the former had considerable effect. Mr. 
 Rushworth's consequence was hers. 
 She could not tell Miss Crawford that 
 " those woods belonged to Sotherton," 
 she could not carelessly observe that 
 " she beUeved it was now all Mr. Rush- 
 worth's property on each side of the 
 road," without elation of heart ; and 
 it was a pleasure to increase with their 
 approach to the capital freehold mansion, 
 and ancient manorial residence of the 
 
 VOL. I. I family. 
 
( no ) 
 
 family, with all its rights of Court>Leet 
 and Court-Baron. 
 
 " Now we shall have no more rough 
 road. Miss Crawford, our difficuhies are 
 over. The rest of the way is such as it 
 ought to be. Mr. Rushworth has made 
 it since he succeeded to the estate. Here 
 begins the village. Those cottages are 
 really a disgrace. The church spire is 
 reckoned remarkably handsome. I am 
 glad the church is not so close to the 
 Great House as often happens in old 
 places. The annoyance of the bells must 
 be terrible. There is the parsonage ; a 
 tidy looking house, and I understand th€ 
 clergyman and his wife are very decent 
 people. Those are alms-houses, built 
 by some of the family. To the right is 
 the steward's house j he is a very respec- 
 table man. Now we are coming to the 
 lodge gates ; but we have nearly a mile 
 through the park still. It is not ugly, 
 you see, at this end ; there is some fine 
 timber, but the situation of the house is 
 dreadful. We go down hill to it for 
 
 half. 
 
 \ 
 
( ni ) 
 
 half-a-mile, and it is a pity, for it would 
 not be an ill-looking place if it had a 
 better approach." 
 
 Miss Crawford was not slow to ad- 
 mire ; she pretty well guessed Miss Ber- 
 tram's feelings, and made it a point of 
 honour to promote her enjoyment to 
 the utmost. Mrs. Norris was all delight 
 and volubility ; and even Fanny had 
 something to say in admiration, and 
 might be heard with complacency. Her 
 eye was* eagerly taking in every thing 
 within her reach, and after being at some 
 pains to get a view of the house, and 
 observing that " it was a sort of build- 
 ing which she could not look at but 
 with respect," she added, " Now, where 
 is the avenue ? The house fronts the 
 east, I perceive. The avenue, therefore, 
 must be at the back of it. Mr. Rush- 
 worth talked of the west front." 
 
 *' Yes, it is exactly behind the house ; 
 
 begins at a little distance, and ascends 
 
 for half-a-mile to the extremity of the 
 
 grounds. Yon may see sometJiing of 
 
 1 2 it 
 
( 172 ) 
 
 it here — something of the more distant 
 trees. It is oak entirely." 
 
 Miss Bertram could now speak with 
 decided information of what she had 
 known nothing about, when Mr. Rush- 
 worth had asked her opinion, and her 
 spirits were in as happy a flutter as vanity 
 and pride could furnish, when they 
 drove up to the spacious stone steps 
 before the principal entrance. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
( 173 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Mr. Rushworth was at the door to 
 receive his fair lady, and the whole party- 
 were welcomed by him with due atten- 
 tion. In the drawing-room they were 
 met with equal cordiality by the mother, 
 and Miss Bertram had all the distinction 
 with each that she could wish. After 
 the business of arriving was over, it was 
 first necessary to eat, and the doors 
 were thrown open to admit them through 
 one or two intermediate rooms into the 
 appointed dining-parlour, where a col- 
 lation was prepared with abundance and 
 elegance. Much was said, and much 
 was ate, and all went well. The parti- 
 cular object of the day was then con- 
 sidered. How would Mr. Crawford like, 
 in what manner would he chuse, to take 
 a survey of the grounds ? — Mr. Rush- 
 worth mentioned his curricle. Mr. 
 Crawford suggested the greater desir- 
 ableness of some carriage which might 
 
 convey 
 
( 1^4 ) 
 
 convey more than two. ** To be de- 
 priving themselves of the advantage of 
 other eyes and other judgments, might 
 be an evil even beyond the loss of pre- 
 sent pleasure." 
 
 Mrs. Rush worth proposed that the 
 chaise should be taken also ; but this 
 was scarcely received as an amendment j 
 the young ladies neither smiled nor spoke. 
 Her next proposition, of shewing the 
 house to such of them as had not been 
 there before, was more acceptable, for 
 Miss Bertram was pleased to have its 
 size displayed, and all were glad to be 
 doing something. 
 
 The whole party rose accordingly, and 
 under Mrs. Rushworth's guidance were 
 shewn through a number of rooms, all 
 lofty, and many large, and amply fur- 
 nished in the taste of fifty years back, 
 with shining floors, solid mahogany, rich 
 damask, marble, gilding and carving, 
 each handsome in its way. Of pictures 
 there were abundance, and some few 
 good, but the larger part were family 
 
 portraitSj 
 
( 175 ) 
 
 portraits, no longer any thing to any 
 body but Mrs. Rushworth, who had 
 been at great pains to learn all that the 
 housekeeper could teach, and was now 
 almost equally well qualified to shew the 
 house. On the present occasion, she 
 addressed herself chiefly to Miss Craw- 
 ford and Fanny, but there was no com- 
 parison in the willingness of their atten- 
 tion, for Miss Crawford, who had seen 
 scores of great houses, and cared for 
 none of them, had only the appearance 
 of civilly listening, while Fanny, to whom 
 every thing v/as almost as interesting as 
 it was new, attended with unaffected 
 earnestness to all that Mrs. Rushworth 
 could relate of the family in former 
 times, its rise and grandeur, regal visits 
 and loyal efforts, delighted to connect 
 any thing with history already known, 
 or warm her imagination with scenes 
 of the past. 
 
 The situation of the house excluded 
 the possibility of much prospect from any 
 of the rooms, and while Fanny and some 
 
 of 
 
( 176 ) 
 
 of the others were attending Mrs. Rush- 
 worth, Henry Crawford was looking 
 grave and shaking his head at the win- 
 dows. Every room on the West front 
 looked across a lawn to the beginning 
 of the avenue immediately beyond tall 
 iron palisades and gates. 
 
 Having visited many more rooms 
 than could be supposed to be of any 
 other use than to contribute to the 
 window tax, and find employment for 
 housemaids, '' Now," said Mrs. Rush- 
 worth, " we are coming to the chapel, 
 which properly we ought to enter from 
 above, and look down upon ; but as 
 we are quite among friends, I will take 
 you in this way, if you will excuse 
 me." 
 
 They entered. Fanny's imagination 
 had prepared her for something grander 
 than a mere, spacious, oblong room, 
 fitted up for the purpose of devotion 
 — with nothing more striking or 
 more solemn than the profusion of 
 mahogany, and the crimson velvet cu- 
 shions 
 
( 177 ) 
 
 shlons appearing over the ledge of the 
 family gallery above. *M am disap- 
 pointed, cousin," said she, in a low 
 voice to Edmund. " This is not my 
 idea of a chapel. There is nothing 
 awful here, nothing melancholy, no- 
 thing grand. Here are no aisles, no 
 arches, no inscriptions, no banners. 
 No banners, cousin, to be ' blown by 
 the night wind of Heaven.* No signs 
 that a ' Scottish monarch sleeps below.' *' 
 
 ** You forget, Fanny, how lately all 
 this has been built, and for how con- 
 fined a purpose, compared with the old 
 chapels of castles and monasteries. It 
 was only for the private use of the 
 family. They have been buried, I sup- 
 pose, in the parish church. There you 
 must look for the banners and the at- 
 chievements." 
 
 '^ It was foolish of me not to think 
 of all that, but I am disappointed.** i 
 
 Mrs. Rushworth began her relation. 
 
 " This chapel was fitted up as you see 
 
 it, in James the Second's time. Before 
 
 I 3 th^t 
 
!( 178 ) 
 
 that period, as I understand, the pews 
 were only wainscoat ; and there is some 
 reason to think that the linings and 
 cushions of the pulpit and family seat 
 were only purple cloth ; but this is not 
 quite certain. It is a handsome chapel, 
 and was formerly in constant use both 
 morning and evening. Prayers were 
 always read in it by the domestic chap- 
 lain, within the memory of many. But 
 the late Mr. Rushworth left it off." 
 
 " Every generation has its improve- 
 ments," said Miss Crawford, with a 
 smile, to Edmurfd. 
 
 Mrs. Rushwor ;h was gone to repeat 
 her lesson to Mr. Crawford ; and Ed- 
 mund, Fanny, and Miss Crawford re- 
 mained in a cluster together. 
 
 " It is a pity/' cried Fanny, " that the 
 custom should have been discontinued. 
 It was a valuable part of former times. 
 There is something in a chapel and 
 chaplain so much in character with a 
 great house, with one's ideas of what 
 such a household should be ! A whole 
 
 family 
 
( n9 ) 
 
 family assembling regularly for the pur- 
 pose of prayer, is fine 1'' 
 
 " Very fine indeed !" said Miss Craw- 
 ford, laughing. ^' It must do the heads 
 of the family a great deal of good to 
 force all the poor housemaids and foot- 
 men to leave business and pleasure, and 
 say their prayers here twice a day, 
 while they are inventing excuses them- 
 selves for staying away." 
 
 " That is hardly Fanny's idea of a 
 family assembling," said Edmund. " If 
 the master and mistress do not attend 
 themselves, there must be more harm 
 than good in the custom." 
 
 " At any rate, it is safer to leave 
 people to their own devices on such 
 subjects. Every body likes to go their 
 own way — to chuse their own time 
 and manner of devotion. The obli- 
 gation of attendance, the formality, the 
 restraint, the length of time — altogether 
 it is a formidable thing and what no- 
 body likes ; and if the good people 
 who used to kneel and gape in that gal- 
 lery 
 
( iso ) 
 
 lery could have foreseen that the time 
 would ever come when men and women 
 might lie another ten minutes in bed, 
 when they woke with a head-ache, with- 
 out danger of reprobation, because 
 chapel was missed, they would have 
 jumped with joy and envy. Cannot 
 you imagine with what unwilling feel- 
 ings the former belles of the house of 
 Rushworth did many a time repair to 
 this chapel ? The young Mrs. Eleanors 
 and Mrs. Bridgets — starched up into 
 seeming piety, but with heads full of 
 something very different — especially if 
 the poor chaplain were not worth look- 
 ing at — and, in those days, I fancy par- 
 sons were very inferior even to what 
 they are now." 
 
 For a few moments she was unan- 
 swered. Fanny coloured and looked at 
 Edmund, but felt too angry for speech ; 
 and he needed a little recollection before 
 he could say, " Your lively mind can 
 hardly be serious even on serious sub- 
 jects. You have given us an amusing 
 
 sketch. 
 
( 181 ) 
 
 sketch, and human nature cannot say 
 it was not so. We must all feel at 
 times the diiEculty of fixing our thoughts 
 as we could wish ; but if you are sup- 
 posing it a frequent thing, that is to 
 say, a weakness grown into a habit 
 from neglect, what could be expected 
 from the private devotions of such per- 
 sons ? Do you think the minds which 
 are suffered, which are indulged in wan- 
 derings in a chapel, would be more col- 
 lected in a closet ?" 
 
 " Yes, very likely. They would have 
 two chances at least in their favour. 
 There Vv^ould be less to distract the at- 
 tention from without, and it would not 
 be tried so long." 
 
 " The mind which does not struggle 
 against itself under one circumstance, 
 would find objects to distract it in the 
 other, I believe ; and the influence of 
 the place and of example may often 
 rouse better feelings than are begun 
 with. The greater length of the ser- 
 vice, however, I admit to be sometimes 
 
 too 
 
( 182 ) 
 
 too hard a stretch upon the mind» One 
 wishes it were not so — but I have not 
 yet left Oxford long enough to forget 
 what chapel prayers are." 
 
 While this was passing, the rest of the 
 party being scattered about the chapel, 
 Julia called Mr. Crawford's attention to 
 her sister, by saying, " Do look at Mr. 
 Rushworth and Maria, standing side by 
 side, exactly as if the ceremony were 
 going to be performed. Have not they 
 completely the air of it ?" 
 
 Mr. Crawford smiled his acquiescence, 
 and stepping forward to Maria, said, in 
 a voice which she only could hear, " I 
 do not like to see Miss Bertram so near 
 the altar." 
 
 Starting, the lady instinctively moved 
 a step or two, but recovering herself in 
 a moment, affected to laugh, and asked 
 him, in a tone not much louder, ' ' if 
 he would give her away ?" 
 
 " I am afraid 1 sliould do it very 
 awkwardly," was his reply, with a look 
 of meaning. 
 
 Julia 
 
( 183 ) 
 
 Julia joining them at the moment, 
 carried on the joke. 
 
 " Upon my word, it is really a pity 
 that it should not take place directly, 
 if we had but a proper Hcense, for here 
 we are altogether, and nothing in the 
 world could be more snug and plea- 
 sant." And she talked and laughed 
 about it with so Httle caution, as to catch 
 the comprehension of Mr. Rushworth 
 and his mother, and expose her sister 
 to the whispered gallantries of her lover, 
 while Mrs. Rushworth spoke with pro- 
 per smiles and dignity of its being a most 
 happy event to her whenever it took 
 place. 
 
 ''If Edmund were but in orders!" 
 cried Julia, and running to where he 
 stood with Miss Crawford and Fanny ; 
 " My dear Edmund, if you were but in 
 orders nowj you might perform the 
 ceremony directly. How unlucky that 
 you are not ordained, Mr. Rushworth 
 and Maria are quite ready." 
 
 Miss Crawford's countenance as JuHa 
 
 spoke. 
 
( 184 ) 
 
 spoke, might have amused a disinte- 
 rested observer. She looked almost 
 aghast under the new idea she was receiv- 
 ing. Fanny pitied her. " How dis- 
 tressed she will be at what she said just 
 now," passed across her mind. 
 
 " Ordained!" said Miss Crawford; 
 " what, are you to be a clergyman ?'* 
 
 " Yes, I shall take orders soon after 
 my father's retur» — probably at Christ- 
 mas." 
 
 Miss Crawford rallying her spirits, 
 and recovering her complexion, replied 
 only, " If I had known this before, I 
 would have spoken of the cloth with 
 more respect," and turned the subject. 
 
 The chapel was soon afterwards left 
 to the silence and stillness which reigned 
 in it with few interruptions throughout 
 the year. Miss Bertram, displeased with 
 her sister, led the way, and all seemed 
 to feel that they had been there long 
 enough. 
 
 The lower part of the house had been 
 now entirely shewn, and Mrs. Rush- 
 worth, 
 
( 185 ) 
 
 worth, never weary in the cause, would 
 have proceeded tov/ards the principal 
 stair-case, and taken them through all 
 the rooms above, if her son had not 
 interposed with a doubt of there being 
 time enough. " For if," said he, with 
 the sort of self-evident proposition which 
 many a clearer head does not always 
 avoid — " we are too long going over the 
 house, we shall not have time for what 
 is to be done out of doors. It is past 
 two, and we are to dine at five." 
 
 Mrs. Rushworth submitted, and the 
 question of surveying the grounds, with 
 the who and the how, was likely to be 
 more fully agitated, and Mrs. Norris 
 was beginning to arrange by what junc- 
 tion of carriages and horses most could 
 be done, when the young people, meet- 
 ing with an outward door, temptingly 
 open on a flight of steps which led 
 immediately to turf and shrubs, and all 
 the sweets of pleasure-grounds, as by 
 one impulse, one wish for air and liberty, 
 all walk«d out. 
 
 " Suppose 
 
( 186 ) 
 
 " Suppose we turn down here for the 
 present," said Mrs. Rushworth, civilly 
 taking the hint and following them. 
 " Here are the greatest number of our 
 plants, and here are the curious 
 phea3ants." 
 
 " Query," said Mr. Crawford looking 
 round him, " whether we may not find 
 something to employ us here, before we 
 go farther ? I see walls of great promise. 
 Mr. Rushworth shall we summon a 
 council on this lawn ?" 
 
 " James," said Mrs. Rushworth, to 
 her son, " I believe the wilderness will 
 be new to all the party. The Miss 
 Bertrams have never seen the wilder- 
 ness yet." 
 
 No objection was made, but for some 
 time there seemed no inclination to 
 move in any plan, or to any distance. 
 All were attracted at first by the plants 
 or the pheasants, and all dispersed about 
 in happy independence. Mr. Crawford 
 was the first to move forward, to 
 examine the Cipabilities of that end of 
 
 the 
 
( 187 ) 
 
 the house. The lawn, bounded on each 
 side by a high wall, contained beyond 
 the first planted serea, a bowling-green, 
 and beyond the bowling-green a long 
 terrace walk, backed by iron palissades, 
 and commanding a view over them into 
 the tops of the trees of the wilderness 
 immediately adjoining. It was a good 
 spot for fault-finding. Mr. Crawford 
 was soon followed by Miss Bertram and 
 Mr. Rushworth, and when after a little 
 time the others began to form into 
 parties, these three were found in busy 
 consultation on the terrace by Edmund, 
 Miss Crawford and Fanny, who seemed 
 as naturally to unite, and who after a 
 short participation of their regrets and 
 difficulties, left them and walked on. 
 The remaining three, Mrs. Rushworth, 
 Mrs. Norris, and Julia, were still far 
 behind ; for Julia, whose happy star no 
 longer prevailed, was obliged to keep 
 by the side of Mrs. Rushworth, and 
 restrain her impatient feet to that lady's 
 slow pace, while her aunt, having fallen 
 
 in 
 
( 188 ) 
 
 in with the housekeeper, who was come 
 out to feed the pheasants, was lingering 
 behind in gossip with her. Poor Julia, 
 the only one out of the nine not tole- 
 rably satisfied with their lot, was now in 
 a state of complete penance, and as 
 different from the Julia of the barouche 
 box as could well be imagined. The 
 politeness which she had been brought 
 up to practise as a duty made it impos- 
 sible for her to escape, while the want of 
 that higher species of self-command, that 
 just consideration of others, that know- 
 ledge of her own heart, that principle of 
 right which had not formed any essential 
 part of her education, made her miser- 
 able under it. 
 
 " This is insufferably hot,^* said Miss 
 Crawford when they had taken one 
 turn on the terrace, and were drawing, 
 a second time to the door in the middle 
 which opened to the wilderness. " Shall 
 any of us object to being comfortable ? 
 Here is a nice little wood, if one can 
 but get into it. What happiness if the 
 
 door 
 
( m ) 
 
 should not be locked! — but of course 
 it is, for in these great places, the gar- 
 deners are the only people who can go 
 where they hke." 
 
 The door, however, proved not to 
 be lock'd, and they were all agreed in 
 turning joyfully through it, and leav- 
 ing the unmitigated glare of day behind. 
 A considerable flight of steps landed them 
 in the wilderness, which was a plant- 
 ed wood of about two acres, and though 
 chiefly of larch and laurel, and beech 
 cut down, and though laid out with 
 too much regularity, was darkness and 
 shade, and natural beauty, compared 
 with the bowling-green and the terrace. 
 They all felt the refreshment of it, and 
 for some time could only walk and ad- 
 mire. At length, after a short pause, 
 Miss Crawford began with, " So you 
 are to be a clergyman, Mr. Bertram. 
 This is rather a surprise to me." 
 
 ** Why should it surprise you ? You 
 must suppose me designed for some pro- 
 fession, and might perceive that I am 
 
 neither 
 
( 190 ) 
 
 neither a lawyer, nor a soldier, nor a 
 sailor." 
 
 *^ Very true; but, in short, it had not 
 occurred to me. And you know there 
 is generally an uncle or a grandfather 
 to leave a fortune to the second son." 
 
 " A very praise- worthy practice," 
 said Edmund, " but not quite universal. 
 I am one of the exceptions, and being 
 one, must do something for myself." 
 
 " But why are you to be a clergy- 
 man? I thought that was always the 
 lot of the youngest, where there were 
 many to chuse before him/* 
 
 " Do you think the church itself 
 never chosen then ?" 
 
 " Never is a black word. B'jt yes, 
 in the never of conversation which 
 means not very often^ I do think it. 
 For what is to be done in the church? 
 Men love to distinguish themselves, and 
 in either of the other lines, distinction 
 may be gained, but not in the church. 
 A clergyman is nothing." 
 
 " The nothing of conversation ha's 
 
 its 
 
( 191 ) 
 
 its gradations, I hope, as well as the 
 never, A clergyman cannot be high 
 in state or fashion. He must not head 
 mobs, or set the ton in dress. But I 
 cannot call that situation nothing, which 
 has the charge of all that is of the first 
 importance to mankind, individually or 
 collectively considered, temporally and 
 eternally, — which has the guardianship 
 of religion and morals, and conse- 
 quently of the manners which result 
 from their influence. No one here can 
 call the office nothing. If the man who 
 holds it is so, it is by the neglect of his 
 duty, by foregoing its just importance, 
 and stepping out of his place to appear 
 what he ought not to appear." 
 
 " You assign greater consequence to 
 the clergyman than one has been used 
 to hear given, or than I can quite com- 
 prehend. One does not see much of 
 this influence and importance in society, 
 and how can it be acquired where they 
 are so seldom seen themselves ? How 
 can two sermons a week, even suppos- 
 ing 
 
( 192 ) 
 
 ing them worth hearing, supposing the 
 preacher to have the sense to prefer 
 Blair's to his own, do all that you speak 
 of ? govern the conduct and fashion the 
 manners of a large congregation for 
 the rest of the week? One scarcely 
 sees a clergyman out of his pulpit." 
 
 ^^ You are speaking of London. / 
 am speaking of the nation at large." 
 
 " The metropohs,! imagine, is a pretty 
 fair sample of the rest." 
 
 ** Not, I should hope, of the pro- 
 portion of virtue to vice throughout 
 the kingdom. We do not look in great 
 cities for our best morality. It is not 
 there, that respectable people of any 
 denomination can do most good ; and 
 it certainly is not there, that the influ- 
 ence of the clergy can be most felt. 
 A fine preacher is followed and ad- 
 mired ; but it is not in fine preaching 
 only thit a good clergyman will be use- 
 ful in his parish and his neighbourhood, 
 where the parish and neighbourhood 
 are of a size capable of knowing his 
 
 private 
 
( 193 ) 
 
 private character, and observing his ge- 
 neral conduct, which in London can 
 rarely be the case. The clergy are lost 
 there in the crowds of their parishioners. 
 They are known to the largest part 
 only as preachers. And with regard 
 to their influencing public manners, Miss 
 Crawford must not misunderstand me, 
 or suppose I mean to call them the ar- 
 biters of good breeding, the regulators 
 of refinement and courtesy, the masters 
 of the ceremonies of life. The mmmers 
 I speak of, m.ight rather be called con- 
 duct, perhaps, the result of good prin- 
 ciples ; the effect, in short, of those doc- 
 trines which it is their duty to teach and 
 recommend ; and it will, I believe, be 
 every where found that as the clergy 
 are, or are not what they -ought to be, 
 50 are the rest of the nation.'* 
 
 ^' Certainly," said Fanny with gen- 
 tle earnestness. 
 
 *' There,'* cried Miss Crawford, 
 " you have quite convinced Miss Price 
 already.*' 
 
 VOL. I. K *' I 
 
( 194 ) 
 
 " I wish I could convince Miss 
 Crawford too." 
 
 " I do not think you ever will," said 
 she w4th an arch smile j " I am just as 
 much surprised now as I was at first, 
 that you should intend to take orders. 
 You really are fit for something better. 
 Come, do change your mind. It is not 
 too late. Go into the law." 
 
 ** Go into the law ! with as much 
 ease as I was told to go into this wil- 
 derness.'' 
 
 " Now you are going to say some- 
 thing about law being the worst wilder- 
 ness of the two, but I forestall you ; 
 remember I have forestalled you." 
 
 " You need not hurry when the 
 object is only to prevent my saying a 
 bon mot, for there is not the least wit 
 in my nature. I am a very matter of 
 fact, plain spoken being, and may blun- 
 der on the borders of a repartee for 
 half an hour together without striking 
 it out." 
 
 A general silence succeeded. Each 
 
 was 
 
( 19^ ) 
 
 was thoughtful. Fanny made the first 
 interruption by saying, " I wonder that 
 I should be tired with only walking in 
 this sweet wood, but the next time we 
 come to a seat, if it is not disagreeable 
 to you, I should be glad to sit down 
 for a little while." 
 
 " My dear Fanny," cried Edmund, 
 immediately drawing her arm within 
 his, " how thoughtless I have been ! I 
 hope you are not very tired.'* " Per- 
 haps," turning to Miss Crawford, " my 
 other companion may do me the ho- 
 nour of taking an arm." 
 
 " Thank you, but I am not at all 
 tired." She took it, however, as she 
 spoke, and the gratification of having 
 her do so, of feeling such a connection 
 for the first time, made him a little 
 forgetful of Fanny. " You scarcely 
 touch me," said he. " You do not 
 make me of any use. What a difier- 
 ence in the weight of a woman's arm 
 from that of a man ! At Oxford I 
 have been a good deal used to have a 
 K 2 man 
 
( 196 ) 
 
 man lean on me for the length of a 
 street, and you are only a fly in the 
 comparison." 
 
 *' I am really not tired, which I almost 
 wonder at ; for we must have walked 
 at least a mile in this wood. Do not 
 you think we have ?** 
 
 " Not half a mile," was his sturdy 
 answer 5 for he was not yet so much in 
 love as to measure distance, or reckon 
 time, with feminine lawlessness. 
 
 " Oh ! you do not consider how much 
 we have wound about. We have taken 
 such a very serpentine course ; and the 
 wood itself must be half a mile long in 
 a straight line, for we have never seen 
 the end of it yet, since we left the first 
 great path." 
 
 " But if you remember, before we 
 left that first great path, we saw directly 
 to the end of it. "We looked down the 
 whole vista, and saw it closed by iron 
 gates, and it could not have been more 
 than a furlong in length." 
 
 " Oh ! I know nothing of your fur- 
 longs, 
 
( 197 ) 
 
 longs, but I am sure it is a very long 
 wood ; and that we have been windinir 
 in and out ever since we came into it ; 
 and therefore when I say that vv'e have 
 walked a mile in it, I must speak within 
 compass." 
 
 " We have been exactly a quarter of 
 an hour here," said Edmund, taking out 
 his watch. Do you think we are walk- 
 ino; four miles an hour?" 
 
 "Oh! do not attack me with your watch. 
 A watch is always too fast or too slow. 
 I cannot be dictated to by a watch." 
 
 A few steps farther brought them out 
 at the bottom of the very walk they 
 had been talking of ; and standing back, 
 w^ell shaded and sheltered, and looking 
 over a ha-ha into the park, was a com- 
 fortable-sized bench, on which they all 
 sat down. 
 
 " I am afraid you arc very tired, 
 Fanny," said Edmund, observing her, 
 "why would not you speak sooner ? 
 This will be a bad day's amusement for 
 you, if you are to be knocked up. 
 
 Every 
 
( 198 ) 
 
 Every sort of exercise fatigues her so 
 soon. Miss Crawford, except riding." 
 
 " How abominable in you, then, to 
 let me engross her horse as I did all last 
 week ! I am ashamed of you and of 
 myself, but it shall never happen again'* 
 
 " Your attentiveness and considera- 
 tion make me more sensible of my own 
 neglect. Fanny's interest seems in safer 
 hands with you than with me." 
 
 " That she should be tired now, how- 
 ever, gives me no surprise ; for there 
 is nothing in the course of one's duties 
 so fatiguing as what we have been doing 
 this morning — seeing a great house, 
 dawdling from one room to another-— 
 straining one's eyes and one's attention — 
 hearing what one does not understand— 
 admiring what one does not care for. — 
 It is generally allowed to be the greatest 
 bore iiv the world, and Miss Price has 
 found it so, though she did not know 
 It'' 
 
 ' ^^ I shall soon be rested," said Fanny ; 
 '^ to sit in the shade on a fine day, and 
 
 look 
 
( 199 ) 
 
 look upon verdure, is the most perfect 
 refreshment." 
 
 After sitting a little while, Miss Craw- 
 ford was up again. *^ I must move," 
 said she, " resting fatigues me. — I have 
 looked across the ha-ha till I am weary. I 
 must go and look through that iron gate 
 at the same view, without being able 
 to see it so well." 
 
 Edmund left the seat likewise. ^ ^ Now, 
 Miss Crawford, if you will look up the 
 walk, you will convince yourself that it 
 cannot be half a mile long, or half 
 half a mile.'* 
 
 " It is an immense distance," said 
 she; " I see that with a glance." 
 
 He still reasoned with her, but in 
 vain. She would not calculate, she 
 would not compare. She would only 
 smile and assert. The greatest degree 
 of rational consistency could not have 
 been more engaging, and they talked 
 with mutual satisfaction. At last it was 
 agreed, that they should endeavour to 
 determine the dimensions of the wood 
 
 by 
 
( 200 ) 
 
 by walking a little more about it. They 
 would go to one end of it, in the line 
 they were then in (for there was a 
 straight green walk along the bottom by 
 the side of the ha-ha,) and perhaps turn 
 a little way in some other direction, if 
 it seemed likely to assist them, and be 
 back in a few minutes. Fanny said she 
 "w^s rested, and would have moved too, 
 but this was not suffered. Edmund 
 urged her remaining where she was with 
 an earnestness which she could not re- 
 sist, and she was left on the bench to 
 think with pleasure of her cousin's 
 care, but with great regret that she was 
 not stronger. She watched them till 
 they had turned the corner, and listened 
 till all sound of them had ceased. 
 
 CHAP 
 
( 201 ; 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A QUARTER of an hour, twenty ini- 
 nutes, passed away, and Fanny was still 
 thinking of Edmund, Miss Crawford, 
 and herself without interuption from 
 any one. She began to be surprised at 
 being left so long, and to listen with an 
 anxious desire of hearing their steps and 
 their voices again. She listened, and at 
 length she heard ; she heard voices and 
 feet approaching ; but she had just satis- 
 fied herself that it was not those she 
 wanted, when Miss Bertram, Mr. Rush- 
 worth, and Mr. Crawford, issued from 
 the same path which she had trod her- 
 self, and were before her. 
 
 " I\Iiss Price all alone !'* and " My 
 dear Fanny, how comes this ?'* were the 
 first salutations. She told her story. 
 " Poor dear Fanny," cried her cousin, 
 ^' how ill you have been used by them. 
 You had better have staid with us." 
 
 Then seating herself with a gentle- 
 K 3 man 
 
( 202 ) 
 
 man on each side, she resumed the con- 
 versation which had engaged them be- 
 fore, and discussed the possibility of 
 improvements with much animation. 
 Nothing was fixed on — but Henry 
 Crawford was full of ideas and pro- 
 jects, and, generally speaking, whatever 
 he proposed was immediately approved, 
 first by her, and then by Mr. Rush- 
 worth, whose principal business seem- 
 ed to be to hear the others, and who 
 scarcely risked an original thought 
 of his own beyond a wish that they 
 had seen his friend Smith's place. 
 
 After some minutes spent in this w^ay. 
 Miss Bertram observing the iron gate, 
 expressed a wish of passing through 
 it into the park, that their views and 
 their plans might be more comprehen- 
 sive. It was the very thing of all 
 others to be wished^ it was the best, it 
 was the only way of proceeding with 
 any advantage, in Henry Crawford's 
 opinion \ and he directly saw a knoll 
 not half a mile off, which would give 
 
 them 
 
( 203 ) 
 
 them exactly the requisite command of 
 the house. Go therefore they must to 
 that knoll, and through that gate ; but 
 the gate was locked. Mr. Rushworth 
 wished he had brought the key ; he 
 had been very near thinking whether 
 he should not bring the key ; he was 
 determined he would never come with- 
 out the key again ; but still this did 
 not remove the present evil. They 
 could not get through, and as Miss 
 Bertram's inclination for so doing did 
 by no means lessen, it ended in Mr. 
 Rushworth's declaring outright that he 
 would go and fetch the key. He set 
 off accordingly. 
 
 *' It is undoubtedly the best thing we 
 can do now, as we are so far from the 
 house already," said Mr. Crawford, 
 when he was gone. 
 
 " Yes, there is nothing else to be done. 
 But now, sincerely, do not you find the 
 place altogether worse than you ex- 
 pected ?'' 
 
 " No, indeed, far otherwise. I find it 
 
 better^ 
 
( 2C4 ) 
 
 better, grander, more complete in its 
 style, though that style may not be the 
 best. And to tell you the truth," 
 speaking rather lower, " I do not 
 think that / shall ever see Sotherton 
 again with so much pleasure as I do now. 
 Another summer will hardly improve 
 it to me." 
 
 " After a moment's embarrassment 
 the lady replied, " You are too much a 
 man of the world not to see with the 
 eyes of the world. If other people 
 think Sotherton improved, I have no 
 doubt that you will." 
 
 " I am afraid I am not quite so much 
 the man of the world as might be good 
 for me in some points. My feeUngs are 
 not quite so evanescent, nor my memory 
 of the past under such easy dominion 
 as one finds to be the case with men of 
 the world." 
 
 This was followed by a short silence. 
 Miss Bertram began again. " You 
 seemed to enjoy your drive here very 
 much this morning. I was glad to see 
 
 you 
 
( 205 ) 
 
 you so well entertained. You and 
 Julia were laughing the whole way." 
 
 " Were we ? Yes, I believe we were ; 
 but I have not the least recollection at 
 what. Oh I I believe I was relating to 
 her some ridiculous stories of an old 
 Irish groom of my uncle's. Your sister 
 loves to laugh.'* 
 
 " You think her more light-hearted 
 than I am." 
 
 " More easily amused,'* he replied, 
 " consequently you know," smiling, 
 " better company. I could not have 
 hoped to entertain you with Irish 
 anecdotes during a ten miles drive." 
 
 " Naturally, I believe, I am as lively as 
 Julia, but I have more to think of now." 
 
 " You have undoubtedly — and there 
 are situations in which very high spirits 
 would denote insensibiUty. Your 
 prospects, however, are too fair to 
 justify want of spirits. You have a 
 very smiling scene before you." 
 
 *^ Do you mean literally or figurative- 
 ly ? Literally I conclude. Yes, certain- 
 
( 206 ) 
 
 ly, the sun shines and the park looks 
 very cheerful. But unluckily that iron 
 gate, that Ha, Ha, give me a feeling of 
 restraint and hardship. I cannot get 
 out, as the starling said." As she 
 spoke, and it was with expression, she 
 walked to the gate^ he followed her. 
 *' Mr. Rush worth is so long fetching 
 this key!" 
 
 *' And for the world you would not 
 get out without the key and without Mr. 
 Rushworth's authority and protection, 
 or I think you might with little difficulty 
 pass round the edge of the gate, here, 
 with my assistance ; I think it might be 
 done, if you really wished to be more 
 at large, and could allow yourself to 
 think it not prohibited." 
 
 " Prohibited 1 nonsense ! I certainly 
 can get out that way and I will. Mr. 
 Rushworth will be here in a moment 
 you know — we shall not be out of 
 sight." 
 
 *' Or if we are, Miss Price will be 
 so good as to tell him, that he will find 
 
 us 
 
( 207 ) 
 
 us near that knoll, the grove of oak on 
 the knoll." 
 
 Fanny, feeling all this to be wrong, 
 could not help making an effort to 
 prevent it. '^ You will hurt yourself. 
 Miss Bertram," she cried, " you will 
 certainly hurt yourself against those 
 spikes — you will tear your gown — ^you 
 will be in danger of slipping into the 
 Ha-Ha. You had better not go,'' 
 
 Her cousin was safe on the other 
 side, while these words were spoken, 
 and smiling with all the good-humour 
 of success she said, *' Thank you, my 
 dear Fanny, but I and my gown are 
 alive and well, and so good bye." 
 
 " Fanny was again left to her solitude, 
 and with no increase of pleasant feelings, 
 for she was sorry for almost all that 
 she had seen and heard, astonished at 
 Miss Bertram, and angry with Mr. 
 Crawford. By taking a circuitous, and 
 as it appeared to her, very unreasonable 
 direction to the knoll, they were soon 
 beyond her eye ; and for some minutes 
 
 longer 
 
( 208 ) 
 
 longer she remained without sight or 
 sound of any companion. She seemed 
 to have the little wood all to herself. 
 She could almost have thought, that 
 Edmund and Miss Crawford had left it, 
 but that it was impossible for Edmund 
 to forget her so entirely. 
 
 She was again roused from disagree- 
 able musings by sudden footsteps, 
 somebody was coming at a quick pace 
 down the principal walk. She expected 
 Mr. Rushworth, but it w^as Julia, who 
 hot and out of breath, and with a look of 
 disappointment, cried out on seeing her, 
 "Heyday! Where are the others? I 
 thought Maria and Mr. Crawford were 
 with you." 
 
 Fanny explained. 
 
 " A pretty trick upon my word ! I 
 cannot see them any where,'* looking 
 eagerly into the park. *^ But they 
 cannot be very far off, and I think I am 
 equal to as much as Maria, even without 
 help." 
 
 *' But, Julia, Mr. Rushworth will be 
 
 here 
 
( 209 ) 
 
 here in a moment with the key. Do 
 wait for Mr. Rushworth." 
 
 " Not I, indeed. I have had enough of 
 the family for one morning. Why child, 
 I have but this moment escaped from 
 his horrible mother. Such a penance as 
 I have been enduring, while you were 
 sitting here so composed and so happy ! 
 It might have been as well, perhaps, if 
 you had been in my place, but you always 
 contrive to keep out of these scrapes." 
 
 This was a most unjust reflection, but 
 Fanny could allow for it, and let it pass j 
 Julia was vexed, and her temper was 
 hasty, but she felt that itVould not last, 
 and therefore taking no notice, only 
 asked her if she had not seen Mr. Rush- 
 worth. 
 
 " Yes, yes, we saw him. He was 
 posting away as if upon life and death, 
 and could but just spare time to tell us 
 his errand, and v;here you all were," 
 
 " It is a pity that he should have so 
 much trouble for nothing." 
 
 *' That is Miss Maria's concern. I am 
 
 not 
 
( 210 ) 
 
 not obliged to punish myself for her 
 sins. The mother I could not avoid, as 
 long as my tiresome aunt was dancing 
 about with the housekeeper, but the son 
 I can get away from." 
 
 And she immediately scrambled across 
 the fence and walked away, not attend- 
 ing to Fanny's last question of whether 
 she had seen any thing of Miss Craw- 
 ford and Edmund. The sort of dread 
 in which Fanny now sat of seeing Mr. 
 Rushworth, prevented her thinking so 
 much of their continued absence, how- 
 ever, as she might have done. She felt 
 that he had been very ill-used, and was 
 quite unhappy in having to communi- 
 cate what had passed. He joined her 
 within five minutes after Julia's exit ; 
 and though she made the best of the 
 story, he was evidently mortified and 
 displeased in no common degree. At 
 first he scarcely said any thing ; his 
 looks only expressed his extreme sur- 
 prise and vexation, and he walked to 
 
 the 
 
( 211 ) 
 
 the gate and stood there, without seem- 
 ing to know what to do. 
 
 " They desired me to stay — nay cousin 
 Maria charged me to say that you would 
 find them at that Knoll or thereabouts.*' 
 
 " I do not believe I shall go any fur- 
 ther," said he, sullenly ; " I see nothing 
 of them. By the time I get to the 
 Knoll, they may be gone some where 
 else. I have had walking enough.'^ 
 
 And he sat down with a most gloomy 
 countenance by Fanny. 
 
 " I am very sorry," said she ; " it is 
 very unlucky." And she longed to be 
 able to say something more to the pur- 
 pose. 
 
 After an interval of silence, " I 
 think they might as well have staid for 
 me," said he. 
 
 " Miss Bertram thought you would 
 follow her." 
 
 " I should not have had to follow her 
 if she had staid.*' 
 
 This could not be denied, and Fanny 
 was silenced. After another pause he 
 
 went 
 
( 212 ) 
 
 went on. " Pray, Miss Price, are you 
 such a great admirer of this Mr. Craw- 
 ford as some people are ? For my part, 
 I can see nothing in him." 
 
 " I do not think him at all hand- 
 some." 
 
 *^ Handsome ! Nobody can call such 
 an under-sized man handsome. He is 
 not five foot nine. I should not won- 
 der if he was not more than five foot 
 eight, I think he is an ill-looking fel- 
 low. In my opinion, these Crawfords 
 are no addition at all. We did very 
 well without them." 
 
 A small sigh escaped Fanny here, and 
 she did not know how to contradict 
 him. 
 
 *' If I had made any difficulty about 
 fetching the key, there might have been 
 some excuse, but I went the very mo- 
 ment she said she wanted it." 
 
 " Nothing could be more obliging 
 than your manner, I am sure, and I dare 
 say you walked as fast as you could, but 
 still it is some distance, you know, from 
 
 this 
 
( 2i3 ) 
 
 this spot to the house, quite Into the 
 house ; and when people are waiting, 
 they are bad judges of time, and every 
 half minute seems like five." 
 
 He got up and walked to the gate 
 again, and '* wished he had had the key 
 about him at the time." Fanny thought 
 she discerned in his standing there, an 
 indication of relenting, which encou- 
 raged her to another attempt, and she 
 said, therefore, " It is a pity you should 
 not join them. They expected to have 
 a better view of the house from that 
 part of the park, and wall be thinking 
 how it may be improved ; and nothing 
 of that sort, you know, can be settled 
 without you." 
 
 She found herself more successful in 
 sending aw^ay, than in retaining a com- 
 panion. Mr. Rushworth was worked 
 on. " Well," said he, " if you really 
 think I had better go ; it would be fool- 
 ish to bring the key for nothing." And 
 letting himself out, he walked off with- 
 out further ceremony, 
 
 Fanny's 
 
( 214 ) 
 
 Fanny's thoughts were now all en- 
 grossed by the two who had left her so 
 long ago, and getting quite impatient, 
 she resolved to go in search of them. 
 She followed their steps along the bot- 
 tom walk, and had just turned up into 
 another, when the voice and the laugh 
 of Miss Crawford once more caught 
 her ear ; the sound approached, and a 
 few more windings brought them before 
 her. They were just returned into the 
 wilderness from the park, to which a 
 side gate, not fastened, had tempted 
 them very soon after their leaving her, 
 aad they had been across a portion of 
 the park into the very avenue which 
 Fanny had been hoping the whole morn- 
 ing to reach at last; and had been sitting 
 down under one of the trees. This was 
 their history. It was evident that they 
 had been spending their time pleasant- 
 ly, and were not aware of the length of 
 their absence. Fanny's best consolation 
 was in being assured that Edmund had 
 wished for her very much, and that he 
 
 should 
 
( 215 ; 
 
 should certainly have come back for 
 her, had she not been tired already ; 
 but this was not quite sufficient to do 
 away the pain of having been left a 
 whole hour, when he had talked of only 
 a few minutes, nor to banish the sort 
 of curiosity she felt, to know what they 
 had been conversing about all that time; 
 and the result of the whole was to her 
 disappointment and depression, as they 
 prepared, by general agreement, to re- 
 return to the house. 
 
 On reaching the bottom of the steps 
 to the terrace, Mrs. Rushworth and 
 Mrs. Norris presented themselvess at 
 the top, just ready for the wilderness, 
 at the end of an hour and half from 
 their leavjjng the house. Mrs. Norris 
 had been too well employed to move 
 faster. Whatever cross accidents had 
 occurred to intercept the pleasures of 
 her nieces, she had found a morning of 
 complete enjoyment — for the house- 
 keeper, after a great many courtesies 
 on the subject of pheasants, had taken 
 
 her 
 
( 216 ) » 
 
 her to the dairy, told her all about their 
 cows, and given her the receipt for a 
 famous cream cheese ; and since Julia's 
 leaving them, they had been met by 
 the gardener, with whom she had made 
 a most satisfactory acquaintance, for she 
 had set him right as to his grandson's 
 illness, convinced him it was an ague, 
 and promised him a charm for it, and 
 he, in return, had shewn her all his 
 choicest nursery of plants, and actually 
 presented her with a very curious spe- 
 cimen of heath. 
 
 On this rencontre they all returned to 
 the house together, there to lounge 
 away the time as they could with sofas, 
 and chit-chat, and Quarterly Reviews, 
 till the return of the others, and the ar^ 
 rival of dinner. It was late before the 
 Miss Bertrams and the two gentlemen 
 came in, and their ramble did not ap- 
 pear to have been more than partially 
 agreeable, or at all productive of any 
 thing useful with regard to the object 
 of the day. By their own accounts 
 
 they 
 
( 217 ) 
 
 they had been all walking after each 
 other, and the junction which had 
 taken place at last seemed, to Fanny's 
 observation, to have been as much too 
 late for re-establishing harmony, as it 
 confessedly had been for determining on 
 any alteration. She felt, as she looked 
 at Julia and Mr. Rushworth, that her's 
 was not the only dissatisfied bosom 
 amongst them ; there was gloom on 
 the face of each. Mr, Crawford and 
 Miss Bertram were much more gay, 
 and she thought that he was taking par- 
 ticular pains, during dinner, to do away 
 any little resentment of the other two, 
 and restore general good humour. 
 
 Dinner was soon followed by tea and 
 coffee, a ten miles' drive home allowed 
 no waste of hours, and from the time 
 of their sitting down to table, it was 
 a quick succession of busy nothings till 
 the carriage came to the door, and Mrs. 
 Norris, having fidgetted about, and ob- 
 tained a few pheasant's eggs, and a 
 cream cheese from the housekeeper, 
 
 VOL. I. L and 
 
( ^^^ ) 
 
 and made abundance of civil speeches 
 to Mrs. Rushworth, was ready to lead 
 the way. At the same moment Mr. 
 Crawford approaching Julia, said, " I 
 hope I am not to lose my companion, 
 unless she is afraid of the evening air in 
 so exposed a seat." The request had 
 not been foreseen, but was very graci- 
 ously received, and Julia's day was 
 likely to end almost as well as it began. 
 Miss Bertram had made up her mind to 
 something different, and v/as a little dis- 
 appointed — but her conviction of being 
 really the one preferred, comforted her 
 under it, and enabled her to receive 
 Mr. Rushworth's parting attentions as 
 she ought. He was certainly better 
 pleased to hand her into the barouche 
 than to assist her in ascending the box 
 — and his complacency seemed con- 
 firmed by the arrangement. 
 
 " Well, Fanny, this has been a fine 
 day for you, upon my word!" said 
 Mrs. Norris, as they drove through the 
 park. ** Nothing but pleasure from be- 
 ginning 
 
C 219 ) 
 
 ginning to end 1 I am sure you ought 
 to be very much obliged to your Aunt 
 Bertram and me, for contriving to let 
 you go. A pretty good day's amuse- 
 ment you have had 1" 
 
 Maria was just discontented enough to 
 say directly, '' I think you have done 
 pretty well yourself, Ma'am. Your lap 
 seems full of good things, and here is 
 a basket of something between us, 
 which has been knocking my elbow 
 unmercifully." 
 
 " My dear, it is only a beautiful little 
 heath, which that nice old gardener 
 would make me take ; but if it is in your 
 way, I will have it in my lap directly. 
 There Fanny, you shall carry that par- 
 cel for me- — take great care of it — do 
 not let it fall ; it is a cream cheese, just 
 like the excellent one v/e had at dinner. 
 Nothing would satisfy that good old 
 Mrs. Whitaker, but my taking one of 
 the cheeses. I stood out as long as I 
 could, till the tears almost came into 
 her eyes, and I knew it v/as just the 
 L 2 sort 
 
( 220 ; 
 
 sort that my sister would be delighted 
 with. That Mrs. Whitaker is a trea- 
 sure ! She was quite shocked when I 
 asked her whether wine was allowed 
 at the second table, and she has turned 
 away two housemaids for wearing 
 white gowns. Take care of the cheese, 
 Fanny. Now I can manage the other 
 parcel and the basket very well." 
 
 " What else have you been spung- 
 ing?" said Maria, half pleased that 
 Sotherton should be so complimented. 
 
 ^' Spunging, my dear ! It is nothing 
 but four of those beautiful pheasant's 
 eggs, which Mrs. Whitaker would quite 
 force upon me ; she would not take a 
 denial. She said it must be such an 
 amusement to me, as she understood 
 I lived quite alone, to have a few living 
 creatures of that sort ; and so to be 
 sure it will. I shall get the dairy maid 
 to set them under the first spare hen, 
 and if they come to good I can have 
 them moved to my own house and 
 borrow a coop ; and it will be a great 
 
 delight 
 
( 221 ) 
 
 delight to me in my lonely hours to 
 attend to them. And if I have good 
 luck, your mother shall have some/' 
 
 It was a beautiful evening, mild and 
 still, and the drive was as pleasant as 
 the serenity of nature could make it ; 
 but when Mrs. Norris ceased speaking 
 it was altogether a silent drive to those 
 within. Their spirits were in general 
 exhausted — and to determine whether 
 the day had afforded most pleasure or 
 pain, might occupy the meditations of 
 almost all. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
( 222 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The day at Sotherton, with all its 
 imperfections, afforded the Miss Ber- 
 trams much more agreeable feelings 
 than were derived from the letters from 
 Antigua, which soon afterwards reached 
 Mansfield. It was much pleasanter to 
 think of Henry Crawford than of their 
 father ; and to think of their father in 
 England again within a certain period, 
 which these letters obliged them to do, 
 was a most unwelcome exercise. 
 
 Novem.ber was the black month 
 fixed for his return. Sir Thomas wrote 
 of it with as much decision as experience 
 and anxiety could authorise. His busi- 
 .ness was so nearly concluded as to 
 justify him in proposing to take his 
 passage in the September packet, and he 
 consequently looked forward with the 
 hope of being with his beloved family 
 again early in November. 
 
 Maria was more to be pitied than 
 
 Julia, 
 
( 223 ) 
 
 Julia, for to her the father brought a 
 husband, and the return of the friend 
 most soUcitous for her happiness, would 
 unite her to the lover, on whom she 
 had chosen that happiness should depend. 
 It was a gloomy prospect, and all that 
 she could do was to throw a mist over 
 it, and hope when the mist cleared 
 away, she should see something else. 
 It would hardly be earlij in November, 
 there were generally delays, a bad pas- 
 sage or something ; that favouring SQ-nie- 
 thing which every body who shuts 
 their eyes w^hile they look, or their un- 
 derstandings while they reason, feels the 
 comfort of. It v/ould probably be the 
 middle of November at least ; the mid- 
 dle of November was three months off. 
 Three months comprised thirteen weeks. 
 Much might happen in thirteen w^eks. 
 Sir Thomas would have been deeply 
 mortified by a suspicion of half that his 
 daughters felt on the subject of his re- 
 turn, and would hardly have found 
 consolation in a knowledge of the in- 
 terest 
 
( 224 ) 
 
 terest it excited in the breast of another 
 young lady. Miss Crawford, on walk- 
 ing up with her brother to spend the 
 evening at Mansfield Park, heard the 
 good news ; and though seeming to 
 have no concern in the affair beyond 
 politeness, and to have vented all her 
 feelings in a quiet congratulation, heard 
 it with an attention not so easily satis- 
 fied. Mrs. Norris gave the particulars 
 of the letters, and the subject was dropt ; 
 but after tea, as Miss Crawford was 
 standing at an open window with Ed- 
 mund and Fanny looking out on a 
 twilight scene, while the Miss Bertrams, 
 Mr. Rushworth, and Henry Crawford, 
 were all busy with candles at the piano- 
 forte, she suddenly revived it by turn- 
 ing round towards the group, and say- 
 ing, " How happy Mr. Rushworth 
 looks ! He is thinking of November." 
 
 Edmund looked round at Mr. Rush- 
 worth too, but had nothing to say. 
 " Your father's return wdll be a very 
 interesting event*" 
 
 ''I 
 
( 225 ) 
 
 *^ It will, indeed, after such an ab- 
 sence ; an absence not only long, but 
 including so many dangers.'* 
 
 " It will be the fore-runner also of 
 other interesting events ; your sister's 
 marriage, and your taking orders." 
 
 " Yes/' 
 
 " Don't be affronted," said she laugh- 
 ing ; " but it does put me in mind of 
 some of the old heathen heroes, who 
 after performing great exploits in a fo- 
 reign land, offered sacrifices to the gods 
 on their safe return.'* 
 
 " There is no sacrifice in the case," 
 replied Edmund with a serious smile, 
 and glancing at the piano-forte again, 
 " It is entirely her own doing." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I know it is. I was 
 merely joking. She has done no raore 
 than what every young woman would 
 do ; and I have no doubt of her being 
 extremely happy. My other sacrifice 
 of course you do not understand." 
 
 '' My taking orders I assure you is 
 
 quite 
 L 3 
 
( 226 ) 
 
 quite as voluntary as Maria's mar- 
 rying." 
 
 " It is fortunate that your inclination 
 and your father's convenience should 
 accord so well. There is a very good 
 living kept for you, I understand, here- 
 abouts." 
 
 *' Which you suppose has biassed 
 
 me." 
 
 ** But that I am sure it has not," 
 cried Fanny. 
 
 *^ Thank you for your good word, 
 Fanny, but it is more than I would 
 affirm myself. On the contrary, the 
 knowing that there was such a provi- 
 sion for me, probably did bias me. 
 Nor can I think it wrong that it should. 
 There was no natural disinclination to 
 be overcome, and I see no reason xvhy 
 a man should make a worse clergyman 
 for kno\^ ing that he will have a compe- 
 tence early in life. I was in safe hands. 
 I hope I should not have been influenced 
 myself in a wrong way, and I am sure 
 my father was too conscientious to have 
 
 allowed 
 
( 227 ) 
 
 allowed it. I have no doubt that I was 
 biassed, but 1 think it was blamelessly.'* 
 
 '' It is the same sort of thing," said 
 Fanny, after a short pause, *^ as for the 
 son of an admiral to go into the navy, 
 or the son of a general to be in the 
 army, and nobody sees any thing wrong 
 in that. Nobody wonders that they 
 should prefer the line where their 
 friends can serve them best, or suspects 
 them to be less in earnest in it than they 
 appear." 
 
 '' No, my dear Miss Price, and for 
 reasons good. The profession, either 
 navy or army, is its own justification. It 
 has every thing in its favour ; heroism, 
 danger, bustle, fashion. Soldiers and 
 sailors are aUvays acceptable in society. 
 Nobody can wonder that men are sol- 
 diers and sailors." 
 
 " But the motives of a man who 
 takes orders with the certainty o£ 
 preferment, may be fairly suspected, 
 you think?" said Edmund. '' To be 
 justified in your eyes, he must do it in 
 
 the 
 
( 228 ) 
 
 the most complete uncertainty of any 
 provision." 
 
 '' What ! take orders without a living ! 
 No, that is madness indeed, absolute 
 madness !" 
 
 " Shall I ask you how the church is 
 to be filled, if a man is neither to take 
 orders with a living, nor without ? Na, 
 for you certainly would not know what 
 to say. But I mu-st beg some advantage 
 to the clergyman from your own argu- 
 ment. As he cannot be influenced by 
 those feelings which you rank highly as 
 temptation and reward to the soldier 
 and sailor in their choice of a profession, 
 as heroism, and noise, and fashion are 
 all against him, he ought to be less 
 liable to the suspicion of wanting sin- 
 cerity or good intentions in the choice 
 of his." 
 
 ^^ Oh ! no doubt he is very sincere in 
 preferring an income ready made, to the 
 trouble of working for one ; and has the 
 best intentions of doing nothing all the 
 rest of his days but eat, drink^ and grow 
 
 fat. 
 
( 229 ) 
 
 fat. It is indolence Mr. Bertram, indeed. 
 Indolence and love of ease — a want of 
 all laudable ambition, of taste for good 
 company, or of inclination to take the 
 trouble of being agreeable, which make 
 men Clergymen. A Clergyman has no- 
 thing to do but to be slovenly and sel- 
 fish — read the newspaper, watch the 
 weather, and quarrel with his wife- 
 His Curate does all the work, and the 
 business of his own life is to dine." 
 
 " There are such Clergymen, no doubt, 
 but I think they are not so common as 
 to justify Miss Crawford in esteeming it 
 their general character. I suspect that 
 in this comprehensive and (may I say) 
 common-place censure, you are not judg- 
 ing from yourself, but from prejudiced 
 persons, whose opinions you have been 
 in the habit of hearing, k is impossible 
 that your own observation can have 
 given you much knowledge of the 
 Clergy. You can have been personally 
 acquainted with very few of a set of 
 men you condemn s o conclusively. You 
 
 are 
 
( 230 ) 
 
 are speaking what you have been told 
 at your Uncle's table. 
 
 '' I speak what appears to me, the ge- 
 neral opinion; and where an opinion is 
 general, it is usually correct. Though 
 / have not seen much of the domestic 
 lives of clergymen, it is seen by too 
 many to leave any deficiency of infor- 
 mation.'^ 
 
 " Where any one body of educated 
 men, of whatever denomination, are 
 condemned indiscriminately, there must 
 be a deficiency of information, or (smil- 
 ing) of something else. Your uncle, 
 and his brother Admirals, perhaps, knew 
 little of clergymen beyond the chaplains 
 whom, good or bad, they were always 
 wishing away." 
 
 " Poor William ! He has met with 
 great kindness from the Chaplain of the 
 Antwerp," was a tender apostrophe of 
 Fanny's, very much to the purpose of 
 her own feelings, if not of the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " I have been so little addicted to take 
 
 my 
 
( 231 ) 
 
 my opinions from my uncle/' said Miss 
 Crawford, " that I can hardly suppose, 
 and since you push me so hard, I must 
 observe, that I am not entirely without 
 the means of seeing what clergymen are, 
 beingat this present time the guest of my 
 own brother, Dr. Grant. And though 
 Dr. Grant is most kind and obliging to 
 me, and though he is really a gentle- 
 man, and I dare say a good scholar and 
 clever, and often preaches good sei m.ons, 
 and is very respectable, / see him to be 
 an indolent selfish Bon vivant, who must 
 have his palate consulted in every thing, 
 who will not stir a finger for the con- 
 venience of any one, and who, more- 
 over, if the cook makes a blunder, is 
 out of humour with his excellent wife. 
 To own the truth, Henry and I were 
 partly driven out this very evening, by 
 a disappointment about a green goose, 
 which he could not get the better of. 
 My poor sister was forced to stay and 
 bear it." 
 
 " 1 do not wonder at your disapproba- 
 tion 
 
( 232 ) 
 
 tion, upon my word. It is a great defect 
 of temper, made worse by a very faulty 
 habit of self-indulgence; and to see your 
 sister suffering from it, must be exceed- 
 ingly painful to such feelings as your's. 
 Fanny, it goes against us. We cannot 
 attempt to defend Dr. Grant/' 
 
 " No," replied Fanny, " but we need 
 not give up his profession for all that ; 
 because, whatever profession Dr. Grant 
 
 had chosen, he would have taken a 
 
 not a good temper into it ; and as he 
 must either in the Navy or Army have 
 had a great many more people under his 
 command than he has now, I think more 
 would have been made unhappy by him 
 as a Sailor or Soldier than as a Clergy- 
 man. Besides, I cannot but suppose 
 that whatever there may be to wish 
 otherwise in Dr. Grant, would have 
 been in a greater danger of becoming 
 worse in a more active and worldly 
 profession, where he would have had 
 less time and obligation — where he might 
 have escaped that knowledge of himself, 
 
 the 
 
( 233 ) 
 
 ihe frequency ^ at least, of that know- 
 ledge which it is impossible he should 
 escape as he is now. A man — a sensible 
 man like Dr. Grant, cannot be in the 
 habit of teaching others their duty e very- 
 week, cannot go to church twice every 
 Sunday and preach such very good ser- 
 mons in so good a manner as he does, 
 without beino; the better for it himself. 
 It must make him think, and I have no 
 doubt that he oftener endeavours to re- 
 strain himself than he would if he had 
 been any thing but a Clergyman." 
 
 " We cannot prove the contrary, to be 
 sure — but I wish you a better fate Miss 
 Price, than to be the wife of a man whose 
 amiableness depends upon his own ser- 
 mons ; for though he may preach him- 
 self into a good humour every Sunday, 
 it will be bad enough to have him quar- 
 relling about green geese from Monday 
 morning till Saturday night." 
 
 " I think the man who could often 
 quarrel with Fanny," said Edmund, 
 
 affectionately. 
 
( 2S4 ) 
 
 afFectionately, " must be beyond the 
 reach of any sermons." 
 
 Fanny turned fartherinto thewindow; 
 and Miss Crawford had only time to say 
 in a pleasant manner, "I fancy Miss Price 
 has been more used to deserve praise 
 than to hear it," when being earnestly 
 invited by the Miss Bertrams to join in 
 a glee, she tripped off to the instrument, 
 leaving Edmund looking after her in an 
 ecstacy of admiration of all her many 
 virtues, from her obliging manners down 
 to her light and graceful tread. 
 
 " There goes good humour I am sure," 
 said he presently. " There goes a tem- 
 per which would never give pain 1 How 
 well she walks ! and how readily she 
 falls in with the inclination of others ! 
 joining them the moment she is asked, 
 " What a pity," he added, after an in- 
 stant's reflection, " that she should have 
 been in such hands !" 
 
 Fanny agreed to it, and had the pleasure 
 of seeing him continue at the window 
 with her, in spite of the expected glee ; 
 
 and 
 
( ^35 ) 
 
 and of having his eyes soon turned like 
 her's towards the scene without, where 
 all that was solemn and soothing, and 
 lovely, appeared in the brilliancy of an 
 unclouded night, and the contrast of the 
 deep shade of the woods. Fanny spoke 
 her feelings. " Here's harmony !" said 
 she, '' Here's repose! Here's what may 
 leave all Painting, and all Music behind, 
 and what Poetry only can attempt to 
 describe. Here's what may tranquillize 
 every care, and lift the heart to rap- 
 ture ! When I look out on such a night 
 as this, I feel as if there could be neither 
 wickedness nor sorrow in the world ; 
 and there certainly would be less of both 
 if the sublimity of Nature were more 
 attended to, and people were carried 
 more out of themselves by contemplat- 
 ing such a scene.*' 
 
 " I like to hear your enthusiasm, Fanny. 
 It is a lovely night, and they are much 
 to be pitied who have not been taught 
 to feel in some degree as you do — who 
 
 have 
 
( 236 ) 
 
 have not at least been given a taste for na- 
 ture in early life. They lose a great deal." 
 " You taught me to think and feel on 
 the subjectj cousin." " I had a very apt 
 scholar. There's Arcturus looking very 
 bright." 
 
 " Yes, and the bear. I wish I could 
 see Cassiopeia.'* 
 
 " We must go out on the lawn for 
 that. Should you be afraid ?" 
 
 " Not in the least. It is a great while 
 since we have had any star-gazing." 
 
 '' Yes, I do not know how it has hap- 
 pened." The glee began. " We will 
 stay till this is finished, Fanny," said 
 he, turning his back on the window ; 
 and as it advanced, she had the morti- 
 fication of seeing him advance too, mov- 
 ing forward by gentle degrees towards 
 the instrument, and when it ceased, he 
 was close by the singers, among the most 
 urgent in requesting to hear the glee 
 again. 
 
 Fanny sighed alone at the window 
 till scolded away by Mrs. Norris's threats 
 of catching cold, CHAP- 
 
( 237 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 Sir Thomas was to return in Novem- 
 ber, and his eldest son had duties to call 
 him earlier home. The approach of 
 September brought tidings of Mr. Ber- 
 tram first in a letter to the game-keeper, 
 and then in a letter to Edmund ; and 
 by the end of August, he arrived him- 
 self, to be gay, agreeable, and gallant 
 again as occasion served, or Miss Craw- 
 ford demanded, to tell of races and 
 Weymouth, and parties and friends, to 
 which she might have listened six weeks 
 before with some interest, and altoge- 
 ther to give her the fullest conviction, 
 by the power of actual comparison, of 
 her preferring his younger brother. 
 
 It was very vexatious, and she was 
 heartily sorry for it ; but so it was ; and 
 so far from now meaning to m.arry the 
 elder, she did not even want to attract 
 him beyond what the simplest claims of 
 conscious beauty required ; his length- 
 ened 
 
( 238 ) 
 
 ened absence from Mansfield, without 
 anything but pleasure in view, and his 
 own will to consult, made it perfectly- 
 clear that he did not care about her • 
 and his indifference was so much more 
 than equalled by her own, that were he 
 now to step forth the owner of Mans- 
 field park, the Sir Thomas complete, 
 which he was to be in time, she did not 
 believe she could accept him. 
 
 The season and duties w^hich brought 
 Mr. Bertram back to Mansfield, took 
 Mr. Crawford into Norfolk. Evering- 
 ham could not do without him in the 
 beginning of September. He went for 
 a fortnight ; a fortnight of such dull- 
 ness to the Miss Bertrams^ as ought to 
 have put them both on their guard, and 
 made even Julia admit in her jealousy 
 of her sister, the absolute necessity of 
 distrusting his attentions, and wishing 
 him not to return -, and a fortnight of 
 sufficient leisure in the intervals of shoot- 
 ing and sleeping, to have convinced the 
 gentleman that he ought to keep longer 
 
 av/ay. 
 
( 239 ) 
 
 away, had he been more in the habit of 
 examining his own motives, and of re- 
 flecting to what the indulgence of his 
 idle vanity was tending ; but, thought- 
 less and selfish from prosperity and bad 
 example, he would not lock beyond the 
 present moment. The sisters, hand- 
 some, clever, and encouraging, were an 
 amusement to his sated mind ; and find- 
 ing nothing in Norfolk to equal the 
 social pleasures of Mansfield^ he gladly 
 returned to it at the time appointed, and 
 was welcomed thither quite as gladly 
 by those whom he came to trifle with 
 farther. 
 
 Maria, with only Mr. Rushworth to 
 attend to her, and doomed to the re- 
 peated details of his day's sport, good 
 or bad, his boast of his dogs, his jealousy 
 of his neighbours, his doubts of their 
 qualification, and his zeal after poachers, 
 —subjects which will not find their way 
 to female feelings without some talent 
 on one side, or some attachment on the 
 other, had missed Mr. Crawford griev- 
 ously, 
 
( 240 ) 
 
 ously, and Julia, unengaged and unem- 
 ployed, felt all the right of missing him 
 much more. Each sister believed her- 
 self the favourite ; Julia might be jus- 
 tified in so doing by the hints of Mrs. 
 Grant, inclined to credit what she 
 wished, and Maria by the hints of Mr. 
 Crawford himself. Every thing re- 
 turned into the same channel as before 
 his absence ; his manners being to each 
 so animated and agreeable, as to lose 
 no ground with either, and just stopping 
 short of the consistence, the steadiness, 
 the solicitude, and the warmth which 
 might excite general notice. 
 
 Fanny was the only one of the party 
 who found anything to dislike j but 
 since the day at Sotherton, she could 
 never see Mr. Crawford with either 
 sister without observation, and seldom 
 without wonder or censure ; and had 
 her confidence in her own judgment 
 been equal to her exercise of it in every 
 other respect, had she been sure that 
 she was seeing clearly, and judging can- 
 didly, 
 
 1 
 
( 241 ) 
 
 dldly, she would probably have made 
 some Important communications to her 
 usual confidant. As it was, however, 
 she only hazarded a hint, and the hint 
 was lost. " I am rather surprised,** 
 said she, '^ that Mr. Crawford should 
 Gome back again so soon, after being here 
 so long before, full seven weeks ; for I 
 had understood he was so very fond 
 of change and moving about^ that I- 
 thought something would certainly oc- 
 cur when he was once gone, to take him 
 elsewhere. He is used to much gayer 
 places than Mansfield.*' 
 
 " It is to his credit/* was Edmund's 
 answer, " and I dare say it gives hii 
 sister pleasure. She does not like hii 
 unsettled habits." 
 
 " What a favourite he is with my 
 cousins !" 
 
 " Yes, his manners to women are suck 
 as must please. Mrs. Grant, I believe, 
 suspects him of a preference for Julia ; I 
 have never seen much symptom of it, 
 but I wish it may be so. He has no 
 VOL. I. M faults 
 
( 242 ) 
 
 fiaults but what a serious attachment 
 would remove.'^ 
 
 ^ If Miss Bertram were not engaged," 
 said Fanny, cautiously, " I could some- 
 times almost think that he admired her 
 more than Julia." 
 
 *' Which is, perhaps, more in favour 
 of his liking Julia best, than you, Fanny, 
 may be aware ; for I believe it often 
 happens, that a man, before he has quite 
 made up his own mind, will distinguish 
 the sister or intimate friend of the wo- 
 man he is really thinking of, more than 
 the woman herself. Crawford has too 
 much sense to stay here if he found 
 himself in any danger from Maria ; and 
 I am not at all afraid for her, after such 
 a proof as she has given, that her feel- 
 ings are not strong," 
 
 Fanny supposed she must have been 
 mistaken, and meant to think different- 
 ly in future; but with all that sub- 
 mission to Edmund could do, and all 
 the help of the coinciding looks and 
 hints which she occasionally noticed in 
 
 some 
 
( 243 ) 
 
 ^ome of the others, and which seemed to 
 say that Julia was Mr. Crawford's choice, 
 she knew not always what to think. 
 She was privy, one evening, to the hopes 
 of her aunt Norris on this subject, as 
 well as to her feelings, and the feelings 
 of Mrs. Rushworth, on a point of some 
 similarity, and could not help wonder- 
 ing as she listened ; and glad would she 
 have been not to be obliged to listen, 
 for it was while all the other young 
 people were dancing, and she sitting, 
 most unwillingly, among the chaperons 
 at the fire, longing for the re-entrance 
 of her elder cousin, on whom all her 
 own hopes of a partner then depended. 
 It was Fanny's first ball, though without 
 the preparation or splendour of many 
 a young lady's first ball, being the 
 thought only of the afternoon, built on 
 the late acquisition of a violin player in 
 the servants' hall, and the possibility of 
 raising five couple with the help of 
 Mrs. Grant and a new intimate friend 
 of Mr. Bertram's just arrived on a visit. 
 M 2 It 
 
 L 
 
( 244 ) 
 
 It had, however, been a very happy one 
 to Fanny through four dances, and she 
 was quite grieved to be losing even a 
 quarter of an hour. — While waiting and 
 wishing, looking now at the dancers and 
 now at the door, this dialogue between 
 the two above-mentioned Ladies was 
 forced on her. 
 
 "I think, Ma*am,"said Mrs. Norris — 
 her eyes directed towards Mr. Rush- 
 worth and Maria, who were partners for 
 the second time — '^ we shall see some 
 happy faces again now." 
 
 " Yes, Ma'am, indeed" — replied the 
 other, with a stately simper — '^ there will 
 be some satisfaction in looking on now, 
 and I think it was rather a pity they 
 should have been obliged to part. Young 
 folks in their situation should be ex- 
 cused complying with the common 
 forms. — 1 wonder my son did not pro- 
 pose it." 
 
 " I dare say he did, Ma'am. — Mr. 
 
 Rushworth is never remiss. But dear 
 
 Mari^has such a strict sense of pro- 
 
 priety, 
 
( 245 ) 
 
 priety, so much of that true delicacy 
 which one seldom meets with now-a- 
 days, Mrs. Rushworth, that wish of 
 avoiding particularity ! — Dear Ma'am, 
 only look at her face at this moment ; — 
 how different from what it was the two 
 last dances T' 
 
 Miss Bertram did indeed look happy, 
 her eyes were sparkling with pleasure, 
 and she was speaking with great anima- 
 tion, for Julia and her partner, Mr. 
 Crawford, were close to her ; they were 
 all in a cluster together. How she had 
 looked before, Fanny could not recol- 
 lect, for she had been dancing with 
 Edmund herself, and had not thought 
 about her. 
 
 Mrs. Norrls continued, " It is quite 
 delightful, Ma*am, to see young people 
 so properly happy, so well suited, and 
 so much the thing! I cannot but 
 think ofdearSir Thomas's delight. And 
 what do you say. Ma'am, to the chance 
 of another match ? Mr. Rushworth 
 
 has 
 
( 246 ) 
 
 has set a good example, and such things 
 are very catching." 
 
 Mrs. Rush worth, who saw nothing 
 but her son, was quite at a loss. " The 
 couple above, Ma'am. Do you see no 
 symptoms there ?'' 
 
 " Oh ! dear — Miss Julia and Mr, 
 Crawford. Yes, indeed, a very pretty 
 match. What is his property ?" 
 
 " Four thousand a year ." 
 
 " Very w^elL — Those who have not 
 more, must be satisfied with what they 
 have. — Four thousand a year is a pretty 
 estate, and he seems a very genteel, 
 steady young man, sol hope Miss Julia 
 will be very happy.'* 
 
 ** It is not a settled thing, Ma'am, yet, 
 — We only speak of it among friends. 
 But I have very little doubt it *will be. 
 — He is growing extremely particular 
 in his attentions." 
 
 Fanny could listen no farther. Lis- 
 tening and w^ondering were all suspen- 
 ded for a time, for Mr. Bertram was in 
 the room again, and though feeling it 
 
 would 
 
( 247 > 
 
 would be a great honour to be asked by 
 him, she thought it must happen. He 
 came towards their little circle ; but in- 
 stead of asking her to dance^ drew a 
 chair near her, and gave her an account 
 of the present state of a sick horse, and 
 the opinion of the groom, from whom 
 he had just parted. Fanny found that 
 it was not to be, and in the modesty of 
 her nature immediately felt that she 
 had been unreasonable in expecting it. 
 When he had told of his horse, he took 
 a newspaper from the table, and looking 
 over it said in a languid way, " If you 
 want to dance, Fanny, I will stand up 
 with you." — With more than equal ci- 
 vility the offer was declined ; — she did 
 not wish to dance. — *' I am glad of it," 
 said he in a much brisker tone, and 
 throwing down the newspaper again 
 — '-^ for I am tired to death. I only won- 
 der how the good people can keep it up 
 so long.-«-They had need be all in love, 
 to find any amusement in such folly — • 
 and so they are, I fancy, — If you look at 
 
 them. 
 
( 248 ) 
 
 them, you may see they are so many 
 couple of lovers — all but Yates and 
 Mrs. Grant — and between ourselves she, 
 poor woman I must want a lover as 
 much as any one of them. A despe- 
 rate dull life her's must be with the doc- 
 tor," making a sly face as he spoke to- 
 wards the chair of the latter, who prov- 
 ing, however, to be close at his elbow, 
 made so instantaneous a change of ex- 
 pression and subject necessary, as Fanny, 
 in spite of every thing, could hardly help 
 laughing at. — " A strange business this 
 in America, Dr. Grant ! — What is your 
 opinion ? — I always come to you to 
 know what I am to think of public mat- 
 ters." 
 
 " My dear Tom," cried his Aunt soon 
 afterwards, " as you are not dancing, I 
 dare say you will have no objection to 
 join us in a rubber ; shall you ?" — then, 
 leaving her seat, and coming to him to 
 enforce the proposal, added in a whisper 
 — " We want to make a table for Mrs. 
 Rushworth, you know. — Your Mother 
 
 is 
 
( 249 ) 
 
 is quite anxious about it, but cannot 
 very well spare time to sit down herself, 
 because of her fringe. Now, you and I 
 and Dr. Grant will just do ; and though 
 "wc play but half-crowns, you know you 
 may bet half guineas with him'* 
 
 ** I should be most happy," replied he 
 aloud, and jumping up with alacrity, 
 it would give me the greatest pleasure 
 — but that I am this moment going to 
 dance. Come, Fanny,*' — taking her hand 
 — " do not be dawdling any longer, or 
 the dance will be over." 
 
 Fanny was led off very willingly, 
 though it was impossible for her to feel 
 much gratitude towards her Cousin, or 
 distinguish, as he certainly did, between 
 the selfishness of another person and his 
 own. 
 
 " A pretty modest request upon my 
 word!** he indignantly exclaimed as 
 they walked away. " To want to nail 
 me to a card table for the next two 
 hours with herself and Dr. Grant, who 
 are always quarrelling, and that poking 
 M 3 old 
 
( 250 ) 
 
 old woman, who knows no more of 
 whist than of Algebra. I wish my 
 good aunt would be a little less busy ! 
 And to ask me in such a way too ! 
 without ceremony, before them all, so 
 as to leave me no possibility of refusing ! 
 That is what I dislike most particularly. 
 It raises my spleen more than any thing, 
 to have the pretence of being asked, of 
 being given a choice, and at the same 
 time addressed in such a way as to oblige 
 one to do the very thing — whatever it 
 be ! If I had not luckily thought of 
 standing up wdth you, I could not have 
 got out of it. It is a great deal too 
 bad. But when my aunt has got a 
 fancy in her head, nothing can stop 
 her." 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
( 251 ) 
 
 CHAPTER Xm. 
 
 The Honourable John Yates, this new 
 friend, had not much to recommend 
 him beyond habits of fashion and 
 expense, and being the younger son of 
 a Lord with a tolerable independance ; 
 and Sir Thomas would probably have 
 thought his introduction at Mansfield 
 by no means desirable. Mr. Bertram's 
 acquaintance with him had begun at 
 Weymouth, where they had spent ten 
 days together in the same society, and 
 the friendship, if friendship it might be 
 called, had been proved and perfected by 
 Mr. Yates's being invited to take Mans- 
 field in his way, whenever he could, and 
 by his promising to come ; and he did 
 come rather earlier than had been ex- 
 pected, in consequence of the sudden 
 breaking-up of a large party assembled 
 for gaiety at the house of another friend, 
 which he had left Weymouth to join. 
 He came on the wings of disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
C 252 ) 
 
 ment, and with his head full of acting, 
 for it had been a theatrical party ; and 
 the play, in which he had borne a part, 
 was within two days of representation, 
 when the sudden death of one of the 
 nearest connections of the family had 
 destroyed the scheme and dispersed the 
 performers. To be so near happiness, 
 so near fame, so near the long paragraph 
 in praise of the private theatricals at 
 Ecclesford, the seat of the Right Hon. 
 Lord Ravenshaw, in Cornwall, which 
 would of course have immortalized the 
 whole party for at least a tv/elvemonth ! 
 and being so near, to lose it all, was an 
 injury to be keenly felt, and Mr. Yates 
 could talk of nothing else. Ecclesford 
 and its theatre, with its arrangements 
 and dresses, rehearsals and jokes, was 
 his never-faihng subject, and to boast of 
 the past his only consolation. 
 
 Happily for him^ a love of the theatre 
 is so general, an itch for acting so 
 strong among young people, that he 
 could hardly out-talk the interest of his 
 
 hearers. 
 
( 253 ) 
 
 hearers. From the first casting of the 
 parts, to the epilogue, it was all bewitch- 
 ing, and there were few who did not 
 wish to have been a party concerned, or 
 would have hesitated to try their skill. 
 The play had been Lover's Vows, and 
 Mr. Yates was to have been Count 
 Cassel. " A trifling part,'* said he, " and 
 not at all to my taste, and such a one as 
 I certainly would not accept again ; but 
 I was determined to make no difficulties. 
 Lord Ravenshaw and the Duke had 
 appropriated the only two characters 
 worth playing before I reached Eccles- 
 ford ; and though Lord Ravenshaw 
 offered to resign his to me, it was 
 impossible to take it, you know. I was 
 sorry for him that he should have so 
 mistaken his powers, for he was no 
 more equal to the Baron ! A little man, 
 with a weak voice, always hoarse after 
 the first ten minutes ! It must have 
 injured the piece materially ; but I was 
 resolved to make no difficulties. Sir 
 Henry thought the Duke not equal to 
 
 Frederick, 
 
 I 
 
( 25-4 > 
 
 Frederick, but that was because Sir 
 Henry wanted the part himself; whereas 
 it was certainly in the best hands of 
 the two. I was surprised to see Sir 
 Henry such a stick. Luckily the 
 strength of the piece did not depend 
 upon him. Our Agatha was inimitable, 
 and the duke was thought very great 
 by many. And upon the whole it 
 would certainly have gone off wonder- 
 fully." 
 
 " It was a hard case, upon my word >'* 
 and, " I do think you were very much 
 to be pitied;" were the kind responses of 
 listening sympathy . 
 
 " It is not worth complaining about, 
 but to be sure the poor old dowager 
 could not have died at a worse time y 
 and it is impossible to help wishing,, 
 that the news could have been suppress- 
 ed for just the three days we wanted. 
 It was but three days ; and being only a 
 grand-mother, and all happening two 
 hundred miles off, I think there would 
 have been no great harm, and it xvas 
 
 suggested 
 
( 255 ) 
 
 strggested, I know ; but Lord Raven- 
 shaw, who 1 suppose is one of the most 
 correct men in England, would not hear 
 of it." 
 
 " An after-piece instead of a comedy,'* 
 said Mr. Bertram. Lover's Vows were 
 at an end, and Lord and Lady Raven- 
 shaw left to act my Grandmother by 
 themselves. Well, the jointure may 
 comfort him ; and perhaps, between 
 friends, he began to tremble for his 
 credit and his lungs in the Baron, and 
 was not sorry to withdraw ; and to 
 make you amends, Yates, I think we 
 must raise a Uttle theatre at Mansfield, 
 and ask you to be our manager/* 
 
 This, though the thought of the 
 moment, did not end with the m.oment ; 
 for the inclination to act was awakened, 
 and in no one more strongly than in 
 him who was now master of the house ; 
 and who having so much leisure as to 
 make almost any novelty a certain good, 
 had hkewise such a degree of lively 
 talents and comic taste, as were exactly 
 
 adapted 
 
( Q56 ) 
 
 adapted to the novelty of acting. The 
 thought returned again and again, 
 " Oh 1 for the Ecclesford theatre and 
 scenery to try something with.*' Each 
 sister could echo the wish ; and Henry 
 Crawford, to whom, in all the riot of 
 his gratifications it was yet an untasted 
 pleasure, was quite alive at the idea, 
 " I really believe," said he, " I could be 
 fool enough at this moment to under- 
 take any character that ever was written, 
 from Shylock or Richard III. down to 
 the singing hero of a farce in his scarlet 
 coat and cocked hat. I feel as if I could 
 be any thing or every thing, as if I 
 could rant and storm, or sigh, or cut 
 capers in any tragedy or comedy in the 
 English language. Let us be doing some- 
 thing. Be it only half a play — an act-— 
 a scene ; what should prevent us ? Not 
 these countenances I am sure," looking 
 towards the Miss Bertrams, " and for a 
 theatre, what signifies a theatre ? We 
 shall be only amusing ourselves. Any 
 room in this house might suffice." 
 
 « We 
 
( 257 ) 
 
 '* We must have a curtain," said Tom 
 Bertram, " a few yards of green baize 
 for a curtain, and perhaps that may be 
 enough." 
 
 " Oh ! quite enough," cried Mr. 
 Yates, " with only just a side wing or two 
 run up, doors in flat, and three or four 
 scenes to be let down ; nothing more 
 would be necessary on such a plan as 
 this. For mere amusement among 
 ourselves, we should want nothing 
 more." 
 
 " I believe we must be satisfied with 
 fe55," said Maria. *' There would not 
 be time, and other difficulties would 
 arise. We must rather adopt Mr. 
 Crawford's views, and make the ^^e?'- 
 formance^ not the theatre^ our object. 
 Many parts of our best plays are inde- 
 pendent of scenery." 
 
 " Nay," said Edmund, who began to 
 listen with alarm. " Let us do nothing 
 by halves. If we are to act, let it be in 
 a theatre completely fitted up with pit, 
 box, and gallery, and let us have a play 
 
 entire 
 
( 258 ) 
 
 entire from beginning to end ^ so as it 
 be a German play, no matter what, 
 with a good tricking, shifting after- 
 piece, and a figure-dance, and a horn- 
 pipe, and a song between the acts. If 
 we do not out do Ecclesford, we do 
 nothing." 
 
 ** Now, Edmund, do not be disagree- 
 able," said Julia, " Nobody loves a 
 play better than you do, or can have 
 gone much farther to see one." 
 
 *' True, to see real acting, good 
 harden'd real acting; but I would 
 hardly walk from this room to the next, 
 to look at the raw efforts of those who 
 have not been bred to the trade,— a set 
 of gentlemen and ladies, who have all 
 the disadvantages of education and de- 
 corum to struggle through." 
 
 After a short pause, however, the 
 subject still continued, and was discus- 
 sed with unabated eagerness, every one's 
 inclination increasing by the discussion, 
 and a knowledge of the inclination of 
 the rest 5 and though nothing was settled 
 
 but 
 
( 259 ) 
 
 but that Tom Bertram would prefer a 
 comedy, and his sisters and H^nry Craw- 
 ford a tragedy, and that nothing in the 
 world could be easier than to find a 
 piece which would please them all, the 
 resolution to act something or other, 
 seemed so decided, as to make Edmund 
 quite uncomfortable. He was deter- 
 mined to prevent it, if possible, though 
 his mother, who equally heard the con- 
 versation which passed at table, did 
 not evince the least disapprobation. 
 
 The same evening afforded him an 
 opportunity of trying his strength. 
 Maria, Julia, Henry Crawford, and Mr. 
 Yates, were in the billiard room. Tom 
 returning from them into the drawdng- 
 room, where Edmund was standing 
 thoughtfully by the fire, while lady 
 Bertram was on the sofa at a little dis- 
 tance, and Fanny close beside her ar- 
 ranging her work, thus began as he en- 
 tered. '* Such a horribly vile billiard- 
 table as ours, is not to be met with, I 
 believe, above ground ! I can stand it 
 
 na 
 
( 260 ) 
 
 ♦no longer, and I think, I may say, that 
 nothing shall ever tempt me to it again. 
 But one good thing I have just ascer- 
 tained. It is the very room for a 
 theatre, precisely the shape and length 
 for it, and the doors at the farther end, 
 communicating with each other as they 
 may be made to do in five minutes, by 
 merely moving the book-case in my 
 father's room, is the very thing we 
 could have desired, if we had set down 
 to wish for it. And my father's 
 room will be an excellent green-room. 
 It seems to join the billiard room on 
 purpose." 
 
 " You are not serious, Tom, in mean- 
 ing to act ?" said Edmund in a low voice, 
 as his brother approached the fire." 
 
 ** Not serious ! never more so, I as- 
 sure you. What is there to surprise 
 you in it ?'* 
 
 *' I think it would be very wrong. 
 In a general light, private theatricals are 
 open to some objections, but as we are 
 circumstanced^ I must think it would be 
 
 highly 
 
 1 
 
( 261 ) 
 
 highly Injudicious, and more than inju- 
 dicious, to attempt any thing of the 
 kind. It would show great want of 
 feeling on my father's account, absent 
 as he is, and in some degree of constant 
 danger ; and it would be imprudent, I 
 think, with regard to Maria, whose 
 situation is a very delicate one, consi- 
 dering every thing, extremely delicate." 
 " You take up a thing so seriously ! 
 as if we were going to act three 
 times a week till my father's return, and 
 invite all the country. But it is not 
 to be a display of that sort. We mean 
 nothing but a little amusement among 
 ourselves, just to vary the scene, and 
 exercise our powers in something new. 
 We want no audience, no publicity. 
 We may be trusted, I think, in chusing 
 some play most perfectly unexception- 
 able, and I can conceive no greater 
 harm or danger to any of us in convers- 
 ing in the elegant written language of 
 some respectable author than in chatter- 
 ing in words of our own. I have no 
 
 fears 
 
( 262 ; 
 
 fears, and no scruples. And as to my 
 father's being absent, it is so far from 
 an objection that I consider ic rather as 
 a motive j for the expectation of his 
 return must be a very anxious period 
 to my mother, and if we can be the 
 means of amusing that anxiety, and 
 keeping up her spirits for the next few 
 weeks, I shall think our time very well 
 spent, and so I am sure will he. — It is a 
 *very anxious period for her." 
 
 As he said this, each looked towards 
 their mother. Lady Bertram, sunk 
 back in one corner of the sofa, the pic- 
 ture of health, wealth, ease, and tran- 
 quillity, was just falling into a gentle 
 doze, while Fanny was getting through 
 the few difficulties of her work for her. 
 
 Edmund smiled and shook his head, 
 
 " By Jove ! this wont do — cried 
 Tom, throwing himself into a chair 
 with a hearty laugh. To be sure, my 
 dear Mother, your anxiety — I was un- 
 lucky there." 
 
 " What is the matter ?" asked her 
 
 Ladyship 
 
( 263 ) 
 
 Ladyship in the heavy tone of one half 
 roused, — " I was not asleep." 
 
 '* Oh! dear, no Ma am — Nobody 
 suspected you — Well Edmund," he 
 continued, returning to the former sub- 
 ject, posture, and voice, as soon as Lady 
 Bertram began to nod again — " But this 
 I will maintain — that we shall be doing 
 no harm.*' 
 
 " I cannot agree with you — I am con- 
 vinced that my Father would totally 
 disapprove it." 
 
 " And I am convinced to the con- 
 trary. — Nobody is fonder of the exer- 
 cise of talent in young people or pro- 
 motes it more than my father, and for 
 any thing of the Acting, Spouting, Re- 
 citing kind, I think he has always a de- 
 cided taste. I am sure he encouraged it 
 in us as boys. How many a time 
 have we mourned over the dead body 
 of Julius Cxsar, and to be'd and not to 
 bed^ in this very room, for his amuse- 
 ment. And I am sure, my name was 
 
 Norvaly 
 
( 264 ) 
 
 Norval^ every evening of my life though 
 one Christmas holidays." 
 " It was a very different thing. — You 
 must see the difference yourself. My Fa- 
 ther wished us, as school-boys, to speak 
 well, but he would never wish his grown 
 Up daughters to be acting plays. His 
 sense of decorum is strict.** 
 
 " I know all that,*' said Tom displeased. 
 ^' I know my Father as well as you 
 do, and I'll take care that his daughters 
 do nothing to distress him. Manage 
 your own concerns, Edmund, and Til 
 take care of the rest of the family." 
 
 *' If you are resolved on acting,'' re- 
 plied the persevering Edmund, " I must 
 hope it will be in a very small and quiet 
 way ; and I think a theatre ought not 
 to be attempted. — It would be taking 
 liberties with my Father's house in his 
 absence which could not be justified." 
 
 *' For every thing of that nature, I will 
 be answerable" — said Tom, in a decided 
 tone. — " His house shall not be hurt. I 
 have quite as great an interest in being 
 
 careful 
 
( '^^5 ) 
 
 careful of his house as you can have ; 
 and as to such alterations as I was sug- 
 gesting just now, such as moving a Book 
 case, or unlocking a door, or even as 
 using the Billiard room for the space of 
 a week without playing at Billiards in it, 
 you might just as well suppose he would 
 object to our sitting more in this room, 
 and less in the breakfast room, than we 
 did before he went away, or to my sis- 
 ter's piano forte being moved from one 
 side of the room to the other. — Abso- 
 lute nonsense !" 
 
 " The Innovation if not wrong as an 
 Innovation, will be wrong as an ex- 
 pense." 
 
 " Yes, the expense of such an under- 
 taking would be prodigious ! Perhaps 
 it might cost a whole Twenty pounds. 
 — Something of a Theatre we must 
 have undoubtedly, but it will be on the 
 simplest plan ; — a green curtain and a 
 little carpenter's work — and that's all ; 
 and as the carpenter's work may be all 
 done at home by Christopher Jackson 
 VOL. I. N himself, 
 
 i 
 
( 266 ) 
 
 himself, it will be too absurd to talk of 
 expense ;— and as long as Jackson is em- 
 ployed, every thing will be right with 
 Sir Thomas. — Don't imagine that no- 
 body in this house can see or judge but 
 yourself.— Don't act yourself, if you do 
 not like it, but don't expect to govern 
 every body else." 
 
 " No, as to acting myself," said Ed- 
 mund," that labsolutely protest against." 
 
 Tom walked out of the room as he 
 said it, and Edmund was left to sit 
 down and stir the fire in thoughtful vex- 
 ation. 
 
 Fanny,who had heard it all, and borne 
 Edmund company in every feeling 
 throughout the whole, now ventured to 
 say, in her anxiety to suggest some com- 
 fort, " Perhaps they may not be able to 
 find any play to Suit them. Your Bro- 
 ther's taste, and your Sisters, seem very 
 different.'* 
 
 " I have no hope there, Fanny. If 
 they persist in the scheme they will find 
 50mething--I shall speak to my sisters 
 
 and 
 
( 267 ) 
 
 and try to dissuade them^ and that is all 
 I can do." 
 
 " I should think my Aunt Norris 
 would be on your side.'* 
 
 *^ I dare say she would ; but she has 
 no influence with either Tom or my Sis- 
 ters that could be of any use ; and if I 
 cannot convince them myself, I shall let 
 things take their course, without at- 
 tempting it through her. Family squab- 
 ling is the greatest evil of all, and we 
 had better do any thing than be altoge- 
 ther by the ears." 
 
 His siiters, to whom he had an opM- 
 portunity of speaking the next morn- 
 ing, were quite as impatient of his ad- 
 vice, quite as unyielding to his repre- 
 sentation, quite as determined in the 
 cause of pleasure as om. — Their Mo- 
 ther had no objection to the plan, and 
 they were not in the least afraid of their 
 Father's disapprobation. — Therecould be 
 no harm in what had been done in so 
 many respectable families, and by s» 
 many women of the first consideration; 
 N 2 and 
 
( 268 ) 
 
 and it must be scrupulousness run mad, 
 that could see any thing to censure in a 
 plan like theirs, comprehending only 
 brothers and sisters, and intimate 
 friends, and which would never be 
 heard of beyond themselves. Julia did 
 seem inclined to admit that Maria's si- 
 tuation might require particular caution 
 and delicacy — but that could not ex- 
 tend to her — she was at liberty j and 
 Maria evidently considered her engage- 
 ment as only raising her so much more 
 above restraint, and leaving her less 
 occasion than Julia, to consult either 
 Father or Mother. Edmund had little 
 to hope, but he was still urging the sub- 
 ject, when Henry Crawford entered 
 the room, fresh from the Parsonage, 
 calling out, " No v. ant of hands in our 
 Theatre, Miss Bertram. No want of 
 under slrappers^ — My sister desires her 
 lovCj and hopes to be ^ Iniitted into 
 the Company^ and will be happy to take 
 the part of any old Duenna or tame 
 
 Confidante, 
 
( 269 ) 
 
 Confidante, that you may not like to 
 do yourselves." 
 
 Maria gave Edmund a glance which 
 meant, " What say you now? Can 
 we be wrong if Mary Crawford feels 
 the same ?" And Edmund silenced, 
 was obliged to acknowledge that the 
 charm of acting might well carry fas- 
 cination to the mind of Genius; and 
 with the ingenuity of Love, to dwell 
 more on the obliging, accommodating 
 purport of the message than on any 
 thing else. 
 
 The scheme advanced. Opposition 
 was vain j and as to Mrs. Norris, he 
 was mistaken in supposing she would 
 wish to make any. She started no 
 diiEculties that were not talked down 
 in five minutes by her eldest nephew 
 and niece, who were all powerful with 
 her ; and, as the whole arrangement 
 was to bring very little expense to any 
 body, and none at all to herself, as she 
 foresaw in it all the comforts of hurry, 
 bustle and importance, and derived the 
 
 immediate 
 
( 270 ) 
 
 immediate advantage of fancying her- 
 self obliged to leave her own house, 
 where she had been living a month at 
 her own cost, and take up her abode 
 in theirs, that every hour might be 
 spent in their service ; she was, in 
 fact, exceedingly delighted with the 
 project. 
 
( 271 ; 
 
 CHAPTER XIV, 
 
 Fanny seemed nearer being right than 
 Edmund had supposed. The business 
 of finding a play that would suit every 
 body, 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 diffi- 
 culties, and having made the necessity 
 of an enlargement of plan and ex- 
 pense fully evident, was already at 
 work, while a play was still to seek. 
 Other preparations were also in hand. 
 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 Vv'as actually 
 forming into a curtain by the house- 
 maids, 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. 
 
 There 
 
( '^l^ ) 
 
 There were, in fact, so many things 
 to be attended to, so many people to 
 be pleased, so many best characters re- 
 quired, 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 any thing 
 pursued by youth and zeal could hold 
 out. 
 
 On the tragic side were the Miss 
 Bertrams, Henry Crawford, and Mr. 
 Yates 5 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 unneces- 
 sary ; and independent of this great ir- 
 reconcileable difference, they wanted a 
 piece containing very few characters in 
 the whole, 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 Game- 
 ster, 
 
( 273 ) 
 
 ster, presented any thing that could 
 satisfy even the tragedians; and the 
 Rivals, the School for Scandal, Wheel 
 of Fortune, Heir at Law, and a long 
 etcetera, v^ere successively dismissed 
 u'ith yet warmer objections. No piece 
 could be proposed that did not supply 
 somebody with a difficulty, and on one 
 side or the other it was a continual re- 
 petition of, " Oh ! no, that will never 
 do. Let us have no ranting tragedies. 
 Too many characters — Not a tolerable 
 woman's part in the play — Any thing 
 but that^ my dear Tom. It would be 
 impossible to fill it up — One could not 
 expect any body to take such a part- 
 Nothing but buffoonery from beginning 
 to end, T/i^^ 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 lan- 
 guage — I do not wish to make objec- 
 tions, I shall be happy to be of any use, 
 but I think we could not chuse worse," 
 Fanny looked on and listened, not 
 N 3 unamused 
 
( 274 ) 
 
 unamused to observe the selfishness 
 which, more or less disguised, seemed 
 to govern them all, and wondering how 
 it would end. For her own gratifies* 
 tion she could have wished that some- 
 thing might be acted, for she had never 
 seen even half a play, but every thing 
 of higher consequence was against it. 
 
 " This will never do/' said Tom Ber- 
 tram at last. " We are wasting time 
 most abominably. Something must be 
 fixed on. No matter what, so that 
 something is chosen. We must not be 
 so nice. A few characters, too many 
 must not frighten us. We must double 
 them. We must descend a little. If a 
 part is insignificant, the greater our cre- 
 dit in making any thing of it. From 
 this moment /make no difficulties. I 
 take any part you chuse 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 pro- 
 posed the Heir at Law, doubting only 
 whether to prefer Lord Duberley or 
 
 Dr, 
 
( 275 ) 
 
 Dr. Panglcs3 for himself, and very 
 earnestly, but very unsuccessfully, try- 
 ing to persuade the others that there 
 were some fine tragic parts in the rest of 
 the Dramatis Personce. 
 
 The pause which followed this fruit* 
 less 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 ex- 
 claimed, " Lovers Vows! And why 
 should not Lovers Vows do for lis as 
 well as for the Ravenshaws ? How came 
 it never to be thought of before ? It 
 strikes me as if it would do exactly. 
 W^hat say you all ? Here are two ca- 
 pital tragic parts for Yates and Craw- 
 ford, 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. And as for the rest, they 
 may be filled up by anybody. It is only 
 Count Cassel and Anhalt." 
 
 The 
 
(216) 
 
 The suggestion was generally wel- 
 come. Every body was growing weary 
 of indecision, and the first idea with 
 every body was, that nothing had been 
 proposed before so likely to suit them 
 all. 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. To storm through Baron Wil- 
 denhaim was the height of his thea- 
 trical ambition, and with the advantage 
 of knowing half the scenes by heart al- 
 ready, he did now with the greatest 
 alacrity offer his services for the part. 
 To do him justice, however, he did not 
 resolve to appropriate it — for remem- 
 bering that there was some very good 
 ranting ground in Frederick, he pro- 
 fessed :\n 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 
 
( 277 ) 
 
 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. She 
 was acknowledged to be quite right, 
 and the two parts being accepted accord^ 
 ingly, she 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 Craw- 
 ford'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 
 
( 278 ) 
 
 might be useful, and that she would not 
 allow herself to be considered in the 
 present case. But this was immediately 
 opposed by Tom Bertram, who asserted 
 the part of Amelia to be in every res- 
 pect the property of Miss Crawford if 
 she would accept it. " It falls as natu- 
 rally, as necessarily to her,*' said he, " as 
 Agatha does to one or other of my sis- 
 ters. It can be no sacrifice on their side, 
 for it is highly comic." 
 
 A short silence followed. 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. " 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 solem- 
 nity. You must not, indeed, you must 
 not — (turning to her.) I could not 
 stand your countenance dressed up in 
 
 woe 
 
( 279 ) 
 
 woe and paleness. The many laughs 
 we have had together would infallibly 
 come across me, and Frederick and his 
 knapsack would be obliged to run 
 away." 
 
 Pleasantly, courteously it was spoken ; 
 but the manner was lost in the matter 
 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 3 the smile 
 of triumph which Maria was trying to 
 suppress shewed how well it was under- 
 stood, and before Julia could command 
 herself enough to speak, her brother 
 gave his weight against her too, by 
 saying, " Oh 1 yes, Maria must be Aga- 
 tha. Maria will be the best Agatha. 
 Though Julia fancies she prefers tra- 
 gedy, I would not trust her in it. There 
 is nothing of tragedy about her. She 
 has not the look of it. Her features 
 are not tragic features, and she walks 
 too quick, and speaks too quick, and 
 would not keep her countenance. She 
 
 had 
 
( 280 ) 
 
 had better do the old countrywoman j 
 the Cottager's wife ; you had, indeed, 
 Julia. Cottager's wife is a very pretty 
 part I assure you. The old lady re- 
 lieves the high-flown benevolencQ of 
 her liusband with a good deal of spirits 
 You shall be Cottager's wife." 
 
 '' Cottager's wife !" cried Mr. Yates. 
 ^^ What are you talking of? The most 
 trivial, paltry, insignificant part; the 
 merest common-place — not a tolerable 
 speech in the whole. Your sister do 
 that ! It is an insult to propose it. At 
 Ecclesford the governess was to have 
 done it. We all agreed that it could 
 not be offered to any body 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 guess-work ; but I 
 mean no disparagement to Julia. We 
 cannot have two Agathas, and we must 
 
 have 
 
( 281 ) 
 
 have one Cottager's wife ; and I am 
 sure I set her the example cf modera- 
 tion myself in being satisfied with the 
 old Butler. If the part is trifling she 
 will have more credit in making some- 
 thing of it y and if she is so desperately 
 bent against every thing humorous, let 
 her take Cottager's speeches instead of 
 Cottager's wife's, and so change the 
 parts all through ; he is solemn and pa- 
 thetic enough I am sure. It could 
 make no difference in the play ; and as 
 for Cottager himself, when he has got 
 his wife's speeches, / would undertake 
 him with all my heart.*' 
 
 " With all your partiality for Cotta- 
 ger'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 allow her to accept the 
 part. She must not be left to her own 
 complaisance. Her talents will be 
 wanted in Amelia. AmeHa is a cha- 
 racter more difficult to be well repre- 
 sented 
 
( 282 ) 
 
 sented than even Agatha. I consider 
 Amelia as the most difficult character 
 in the whole piece. It requires great 
 powers, great nicety, to give her play- 
 fulness and simplicity without extrava- 
 gance. 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 re- 
 quires a gentlewoman — a Julia Ber- 
 tram. You mil undertake it I hope ?" 
 Turning to her with a look of anxious 
 entreaty which softened her a little j 
 but while she hesitated what to say, 
 her brother again interposed with Miss 
 Crawford's better claim. 
 
 " No, no, Julia must not be Amelia. 
 It is not at all the part for her. She 
 would not Hke it. She would not do 
 well. She is too tall and robust. 
 Ameha should be a small, light, girlish, 
 skipping figure. It is fit for Miss Craw- 
 ford and Miss Crawford only. She looks 
 
 the 
 
( 283 ) 
 
 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, " in- 
 deed you must. When you have stu- 
 died the character, I am sure you will 
 feel it suit you. Tragedy may be your 
 choice, but it will certainly appear that 
 comedy chuses yoiu You will be to 
 visit me in prison with a basket of pro- 
 visions ; you will not refuse to visit me 
 in prison ? I think I see you coming in 
 with your basket.*' 
 
 The influence of his voice was felt. 
 Julia wavered ; but was he only trying 
 too soothe and pacify her, and make 
 her overlook the previous affront ? She 
 distrusted him. The slig-ht had been 
 most determined. He was, perhaps, 
 but 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 
 
( 284 ) 
 
 Julia well knew that on this ground 
 Maria could not be happy but at her 
 expense. With hasty indignation there- 
 fore, 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 overpower- 
 ing!" — She stopped — Henry Crawford 
 looked rather foolish, and as if he did 
 not know what to say, Tom Bertram 
 began again, 
 
 " Mie:s Crawford must be Amelia. — 
 She will be an excellent Amelia.'* 
 
 *' 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. An odious, 
 little, pert, unnatural, impudent girl. 
 I have always protested against come- 
 
( 285 ) 
 
 dy,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 com- 
 passion 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, with- 
 out great pity. 
 
 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'shelp,to ascertain what scenery 
 would be necessary — while Maria and 
 Henry Cravv^ford 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 proba- 
 bly do it very ill, I feel persuaded she 
 would do it worse," was doubtless re- 
 ceiving all the compliments it called 
 for. 
 
 When, 
 
 I 
 
( 286 ) 
 
 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 Craw- 
 ford J and Fanny remained alone. 
 
 The first use she made of her soli- 
 tude 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. Her 
 curiosity was all awake, and she ran 
 through it with an eagerness which 
 was suspended only by intervals of as- 
 tonishment, that it could be chosen in 
 the present instance — that it could 
 be proposed and accepted in a private 
 Theatre ! Agatha and Amelia appeared 
 to her in their difl'erent ways so totally 
 improper for home representation — 
 the situation of one, and the language 
 
 of 
 
 J 
 
( 287 ) 
 
 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. 
 
 CHAP- 
 
( 288 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XV, 
 
 Miss Crawford accepted the part very 
 readily, and soon after Miss Bertram's 
 return from the Parsonage, Mr. Rush- 
 worth arrived, and another character 
 was consequently 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. 
 Miss Bertram approved the decision, 
 for the less he had to learn the better ; 
 and though she could not sympathize 
 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. 
 
( 2S9 ) 
 
 scene, she very kindly took his p;^rt iii 
 hand, and curtailed every speech that 
 admitted being shortened ; — besides 
 pointing out the necessity of his being 
 very much dress'd, and chusing his co- 
 lours. Mr. Rushworth Hked the idea 
 of his finery, very well, though affect- 
 ing to despise it, and was too much en- 
 gaged 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. 
 
 Thus much was settled before Ed- 
 mund, who had been out all the morn- 
 ing, knew any thing of the matter; 
 but when he entered the drawing room 
 before dinner, the buz of discussion 
 was high between Tom, Maria, and Mn 
 Yates ; and Mr. Rushworth stepped 
 forward with great alacrity to tell 
 him the agreeable news. 
 
 " We have got a play," said he. — 
 ^' It is to be called Lovers Vows ; and I 
 am to be Count Cassel, and am to come 
 
 VOL, I. o in 
 
( 290 ) 
 
 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 . — I do not know how I 
 shall like it." 
 
 Fanny's eyes followed Edmund, 
 and her heart beat for him as she heard 
 this speech, and saw his look, and felt 
 what his sensations must be. 
 
 " Lovers Vows !*' — in atone of the 
 greatest amazement, was his only reply 
 to Mr, Rushworth; and he turned to- 
 wards his brother and sisters as if hard- 
 ly doubting a contradiction. 
 
 " Yes," cried Mr. Yates.—" After all 
 our debatings and difEculties, we find 
 there is nothing that will suit us alto- 
 gether so well, nothing so unexcep- 
 tionable as Lovers Vows. The wonder 
 is that it should not have been thought 
 of before. My stupidity was abomina- 
 ble, for here we have all the advantage 
 of what I saw at Ecclesford ; and it is 
 so useful to have any thing of a model! 
 —We have cast almost every part." 
 
 " But 
 
( 291 ) 
 
 *^ But what do you do for women ?" 
 said Edmund gravely, and looking at 
 Maria. 
 
 " Maria blushed in spite of herself 
 as she answered, " I take the part 
 which Lady Ravenshaw was to have 
 done, and (with a bolder eye) Miss 
 Crawford is to be Amelia." 
 
 " I should not have thought it the 
 sort of play to be so easily filled up, 
 with W5, " replied Edmund, turning 
 away to the fire where sat his Mother, 
 Aunt, and Fanny, and seating himself 
 with a look of great vexation, 
 
 Mr. Rushworth followed him to say 
 " I come in three times, and have two 
 and forty speeches. That's something, 
 is not it ? — But I do not much like the 
 idea of being so fine. — I shall hardly 
 know myself in a blue dress, and a 
 pink satin cloak." 
 
 Edmund could not answer him. — In 
 a few minutes Mr. Bertram was called 
 out of the room to satisfy some doubts 
 of the carpenter, and being accompa- 
 o 2 nied 
 
( 292 ) 
 
 nied by Mr. Yates, and followed soon 
 afterwards by Mr. Rushworth, Edmund 
 almost immediatelytook the opportunity 
 of saying, *^ I cannot before Mr. Yates 
 speak what I feel as to this play, without 
 reflecting on his friends at Ecclesford 
 — but I must now, my dear Maria, tell 
 you^ that I think it exceedingly unfit for 
 private representation, and that I hope 
 you will give it up. — I cannot but sup- 
 pose you "Will when you have read it 
 carefully over. — Read only the first Act 
 aloud, to either your Mother or Aunt, 
 and see how you can approve it. — It 
 will not be necessary to send you to 
 your Father s judgment^ I am con- 
 vinced. 
 
 " We see things very differently," 
 cried Maria — "lam perfectly acquainted 
 with the play, I assure you — and with a 
 very few omissions, and so forth, which 
 w^ill be made, of course, I can see no- 
 thing objectionable in it ; and / am not 
 the cmlij young woman you find, who 
 
 thinks 
 
( 293 ) 
 
 thinks it very fit for private representa- 
 tion." 
 
 " I am sorry for it,*' was his answer — 
 " But in this matter it is you who are to 
 lead. You must set the example, — If 
 others have blunder'd, it is your place to 
 put them right, and shew them what 
 true delicacy is. — In all points of deco- 
 rum, xjour conduct must be law to the 
 rest of the party." 
 
 This picture of her consequence had 
 some effect, for no one loved better to 
 lead than Maria ; — and with far more 
 good humour she answered, " I am 
 much obliged to you, Edmund ; — ^you 
 mean very well, I am sure — ^but I still 
 think you see things too strongly ; and 
 I really cannot undertake to harangue 
 all the rest upon a subject of this kind. 
 — There would be the greatest indeco- 
 rum I think." 
 
 " Do you imagine th^t I could have 
 such an idea in my head ? No — let 
 your conduct be the only harangue. 
 —Say that on examining the part, you 
 
 feel 
 
 I 
 
( 294 ) 
 
 feel yourself unequal to it, that you 
 find it requiring more exertion and 
 confidence than you can be supposed to 
 have. — Say this with firmness, and it will 
 be quite enough. — All who can distin- 
 guish, will understand your motive. — 
 The play will be given up, and your 
 delicacy honoured as it ought." 
 
 " Do not act any thing improper, my 
 dear," said Lady Bertram. *' Sir Tho- 
 mas would not like it. — Fanny, ring the 
 bell ; I must have my dinner. — ^To he 
 sure Julia is dress'd by this time.'* 
 
 " I am convinced. Madam," said Ed- 
 mund, preventing Fanny, " that Sir 
 Thomas would not like it." 
 
 " There, my dear, do you hear what 
 Edmund says ?'' 
 
 *' If I were to decline the part," said 
 Maria with renewed zeal, " Julia would 
 certainly take it." 
 
 " What !"— cried Edmund, « if she 
 knew your reasons !" 
 
 " Oh ! she might think the difference 
 between us — the difference in our situ-- 
 
 ations. 
 
( 295 ) 
 
 ations — that she need not be so scrupu- 
 lous as / might feel necessary. I am 
 sure she would argue so. No, you 
 must excuse me, I cannot retract my 
 consent. It is too far settled; every 
 body would be so disappointed. Tom 
 would be quite angry ; and if we are so 
 very nice, we shall never act any thing." 
 " I was just going to say the very same 
 thing," said Mrs. Norris. " If every 
 play is to be objected to, you will act 
 nothing — and the preparations will be 
 all so much money thrown away — and 
 I am sure that would be a discredit to 
 us all. I do not know the play, but as 
 Maria says, if there is anything a lit tie too 
 warm (and it is so with most of them) 
 it can be easily left out» — ^We must not 
 be over precise Edmund. As Mr. Rush- 
 worth is to act toOj there can be no 
 harm. — I only wish Tom had known his 
 own mind when the carpenters began, 
 •for there was the loss of half a day's 
 work about those side doors. — The cur- 
 tain will be a good job, however. The 
 
 maids 
 
 I 
 
( 296 ) 
 
 maids do their work very well, and I 
 think we shall be able to send back some 
 dozens of the rings. — There is no oc- 
 casion to put them so very close toge- 
 ther. I am of some use I hope in pre- 
 venting waste and making the most of 
 things. There should always be one 
 steady head to superintend so many 
 young ones. I forgot to tell Tom of 
 something that happened to me this very 
 day. — I had been looking about me in 
 the poultry yard, and was just coming 
 out, when who should I see but Dick 
 Jackson making up to the Servants' Hall 
 door with two bits of deal board in his 
 hand, bringing them to father, you may 
 be sure ; Mother had chanced to send 
 him of a message to Father, and then 
 Father had bid him bring up them two 
 bits of board for he could not no how 
 do without them. I knew what all this 
 meant, for the Servants' dinner bell was 
 ringing at the very moment over our 
 heads, and as I hate such encroachingpeo- 
 ple; (the Jacksons are very encroaching, 
 
 I 
 
I 
 
 ( 297 ) 
 
 I have always said so, — just the sort of 
 people to get all they can.) I said to the 
 boy directly — (a great lubberly fellow 
 of ten years old you know, who ought 
 to be ashamed of himself), 77/ take the 
 boards to your Father, Dick ; so get 
 you home again as fast as you can. — 
 The boy looked very silly and turned 
 aw^ay without offering a word, for I be- 
 lieve I might speak pretty sharp ; and I 
 dare say it will cure him of coming ma- 
 rauding about the house for on ewhile, — 
 1 hate such greediness — so good as your 
 Father is to the family, employing the 
 man all the year round !"' 
 
 Nobody was at the trouble of an an- 
 swer ; the others soon returned, and 
 Edmund found that to have endea- 
 voured to set them right must be his 
 only satisfaction. 
 
 Dinner passed heavily. Mrs. Norris 
 related again her triumph over Dick 
 Jackson, but neither play nor prepara- 
 tion were otherwise much talked of, for 
 Edmund's disapprobation was felt even 
 3 by 
 
( 298 ) 
 
 by his brother, though he would not 
 have owned it. Maria, wanting Henry 
 Craw^ford's animating support, thought 
 the subject better avoided. Mr. Yates, 
 who was trying to make himself agree- 
 able to Julia, found her gloom less impe- 
 netrable on any topic than th^t of his 
 regret at her secession from their com- 
 pany, and Mr. Rushw^orth having only 
 his own part, and his ow^n dress in his 
 head, had soon talked away all that could 
 be said of either. 
 
 But the concerns of the theatre were 
 suspended only for an hour or two; 
 there was still a great deal to be settled ; 
 and the spirits of evening giving fresh 
 courage, Tom, Maria, and Mr. Yates, 
 soon after their being re-assembled in 
 the drawing room, seated themselves in 
 committee at a separate table, with the 
 play open before them, and were just 
 getting deep in the subject when a most 
 welcome interruption was given by the 
 entrance of Mr. and Miss Crawford, 
 who, late- and dark and dirty as it was, 
 
 could 
 
( 299 ) 
 
 could not help coming, and were re- 
 ceived with the most grateful joy. 
 
 " Well, how do you go on ?*' and 
 " What have you settled V and " Oh ! 
 we can do nothing without you," fol- 
 lowed the first salutations ; and Henry 
 Crawford was soon seated with the 
 other three at the table, while his sister 
 made her way to Lady Bertram, and 
 with pleasant attention was complinient- 
 ing her, " I must really congratulate 
 your ladyship," said ^he, " on the play- 
 being chosen, for though you have borne 
 it with exemplary patience, I am sure 
 you must be sick of all our noise and 
 difficulties. The actors may be glad, 
 but the by-standers must be infinitely 
 more thankful for a decision ; and I do 
 sincerely give you joy. Madam, as well 
 as Mrs. Norris, and every body else who 
 is in the same predicament,'* glancing 
 half fearfully, half slily, beyond Fanny 
 to Edmund,. 
 
 She was very civilly answered by 
 Lady Bertram, but Edmund said no- 
 thing. 
 
f 300 ) 
 
 thing. His being only a bye-stander 
 was not disclaimed. After continuing 
 in chat with the party round the fire a 
 few minutes, Miss Crawford returned 
 to the party round the table ; and 
 standing by them, seemed to interest 
 herself in their arrangements till, as if 
 struck by a sudden recollection, she 
 exclaimed, " My good friends, you are 
 most composedly at work upon these 
 cottages and ale-houses, inside and out 
 — but pray let me know my fate in the 
 meanwhile. Who is to be Anhalt ? 
 What gentleman among you, am I to 
 have the pleasure of making love to ?" 
 
 For a mom^ent no one spoke ; and 
 then many spoke together to tell the 
 same melancholy truth — that they had 
 not yet got any Anhalt. " Mr. Rush- 
 worth was to be Count Cassel, but no 
 one had yet undertaken Anhalt.'* 
 
 " I had my choice of the parts," said 
 Mr. Ru^hworth ; " but I thought I 
 should like the Count best — though I 
 
 do 
 
( 301 ) 
 
 do not much relish the finery I am to 
 have," 
 
 " You chose very wisely, I am 
 sure," replied Miss Crawford, with a 
 brightened look. " Anhalt is a heavy 
 part." 
 
 " The Count has two and forty 
 speeches,'* returned Mr. Rushworth, 
 " which is no trifle." 
 
 " I am not at all surprised," said Miss 
 Crawford, after a short pause. " at this 
 want of an Anhalt. Amelia deserves no 
 better. Such a forward young lady may 
 well frio;hten the men." 
 
 " I should be but too happy in taking 
 the part if it were possible," cried Tom, 
 " but unluckily the Butler and Anhalt 
 are in together. I will not entirely 
 give it up, however — I will try what 
 can be done — I will look it over aQ:ain." 
 
 " Your brother should take the part,'* 
 said Mr. Yates, in a low voice. " Do 
 not you think he would ?'' 
 
 " /shall not ask him,*' replied Tom, 
 in a cold, determined manner. 
 
 Miss 
 
( 302 ) 
 
 Miss Crawford talked of something 
 else, and soon afterwards rejoined the 
 party at the fire. " They do not want 
 me at all," said she, seating herself. I 
 only puzzle them, and oblige them to 
 make civil speeches. Mr. Edmund Ber* 
 tram as you do not act yourself, you 
 will be a disinterested adviser ; and, 
 therefore, I apply \.o you. What shall 
 we do for an Anhalt ? Is it practicable 
 for any of the others to double it ? 
 What is your advice ?" 
 
 " My advice," said he, calmly, " is 
 that you change the play.*' 
 
 " / should have no objection," she 
 replied ; " for though I should not par- 
 ticularly dislike the par*: of x\melia if 
 well supported — that is, if every thing 
 went well — I shall be sorry to be an in- 
 convenience — but as they do not chuse 
 to hear your advice at that table — 
 (looking round) — it certainly will not 
 be taken." 
 
 Edmund said no more. 
 
 " If any part could tempt you to act^ 
 
 I 
 
( 303 ) 
 
 I suppose it would be Anhalt," observed 
 the lady, arehly, after a short pause — 
 *' for he is a clergyman you know." 
 
 '^ That circumstance would by no 
 means tempt me,*' he replied, " for I 
 should be sorry to make the character 
 ridiculous by bad acting. It must be 
 very difficult to keep Anhalt from ap- 
 pearing a formal, solemn lecturer, and 
 the man who chuses the profession 
 itself, is, perhaps, one of the last who 
 who would wish to represent it on the 
 stage." 
 
 Miss Crawford was silenced ; and 
 with some feelings of resentment and 
 mortification, moved her chair conside- 
 rably nearer the tea-table, and gave all 
 her attention to Mrs. Norris, who was 
 presiding there. 
 
 " Fanny," cried Tom Bertram, from 
 the other table, where the conference 
 was eagerly carrying on, and the con- 
 versation incessant, " we want your 
 services." 
 
 Fanny was up in a moment, expect- 
 ing 
 
( 304 ) 
 
 ing some errand, for the habit of em- 
 ploying her in that way was not yet 
 overcome, in spite of all that Edmund 
 could do. 
 
 " Oh ! we do not want to disturb you 
 from your seat. We do not want your 
 present services. We shall only want 
 you in our play- You must be Cotta- 
 ger's wife." 
 
 " Me !" cried Fanny, sitting down 
 again with a m.ost frightened look. 
 " Indeed you must excuse me. I could 
 not act any thing if you were to give 
 me the world. No, indeed, I cannot 
 act." 
 
 " Indeed but you must, for we can- 
 not excuse you. It need not frighten 
 you ; it is a nothing of a part, a mere 
 nothing, not above half a dozen speeches 
 altogether, and it will not much signify 
 if nobody hears a word you say, so you 
 may be as cr epmouse as you like, but 
 we must have you to look at.'* 
 
 " If you are afraid of half a dozen 
 speeches," cried Mr. Rushworth, "what 
 
 would 
 
 1 
 
( S05 ) 
 
 would you do with such a part as mine ? 
 I have forty-two to learn." 
 
 " It is not that I am afraid of learning 
 by heart/' said Fanny, shocked to find 
 herself at that moment the only speaker 
 in the room, and to feel that almost 
 every eye was upon her 5 " but I really 
 cannot act.** 
 
 " Yes, yes, you can act wxll enough 
 for us. Learn your part, and we will 
 teach you all the rest. You have only 
 two scenes, and as I shall be Cottager, 
 ril put you in and push you about 5 
 and you will do it very well FU answer 
 for it.'' 
 
 " No, indeed, Mr. Bertram, you must 
 excuse me. You cannot have an idea. 
 It would be absolutely impossible for 
 me. If I were to undertake it, I should 
 only disappoint you.'* 
 
 " Phoo ! Phoo ! Do not be so shame- 
 faced. You'll do it very well. Every 
 allowance will be made for you. We 
 do not expect perfection. You must 
 get a brown gown, and a white apron^ 
 
 and 
 
( 306 ) 
 
 and a mob cap, and we must make you 
 a few wrinkles, and a little of the crows- 
 foot at the corner of your eyes, and 
 you will be a very proper, little old 
 woman/* 
 
 " You must excuse me, indeed you 
 must excuse me,'' cried Fanny, growing 
 more and more red from excessive agi- 
 tation, and looking distressfully at 
 Edmund, who was kindly observing her, 
 but unwilling to exasperate his brother 
 by interference, gave her only an encou- 
 raging smile. Her entreaty had no 
 efiect on Tom ; he only said again what 
 he had said before ; and it was not 
 merely Tom, for the requisition wa& 
 now backed by Maria and Mr. Craw- 
 ford, and Mr. Yates, with an urgency 
 which differed from his, but in being 
 more gentle or more ceremonious, and 
 which altogether was quite overpow- 
 ering to Fanny ; and before she could 
 breathe after it, Mrs. Norris completed 
 the whole, by thus addressing her in a 
 whisper at once angry and audible, 
 
 " What 
 
( 307 ) 
 
 *' What a piece of work here is about 
 nothing, — I am quite ashamed of you, 
 Fanny, to make such a difficulty o^ 
 obliging your Cousins in a trifle of tnis 
 sort, — So kind as they are to you ! — 
 Take the part with a good grace, and let 
 us hear no more of the matter, I en- 
 treat." 
 
 " Do not urge her. Madam," said Ed- 
 mund. '^ It is not fair to urge her in 
 this manner. — You see she does not like 
 to act. — Let her chuse for herself as well 
 as the rest of us. — Her judgment may 
 be quite as safely trusted. — Do not urge 
 her any more." 
 
 " I am not going to urge her," — ^re- 
 plied Mrs. Norris sharply, " but I shall 
 think her a very obstinate, ungrateful 
 girl, if she does not do what her Aunt, 
 and Cousins wish her — very ungrateful 
 indeed, considering who and what she 
 is.'* 
 
 Edmund was too angry to speak; but 
 Miss Crawford looking for a moment 
 with astonished eyes at Mrs. Norris, 
 
 and 
 
( 308 ) 
 
 and then at Fanny, whose tears were 
 beginning to show themselves, imme- 
 diately said with some keenness, " I do 
 not like my situation ; this place is too 
 hot for me" — and moved away her chair 
 to the opposite side of the table dose to 
 Fanny, saying to her in a kind low 
 whisper as she placed herself, " Never 
 mind, my dear Miss Price — this is a cross 
 evening, — everybody is cross and teiz- 
 ing — but do not let us mind them ;'* 
 and with pointed attention continued to 
 talk to her and endeavour to raise her 
 spirits, in spite of being out of spirits 
 herself. — By a look at her brother, she 
 prevented any farther entreaty from the 
 Theatrical board, and the really good 
 feelings by which she was almost purely 
 governed, were rapidly restoring her to 
 all the little she had lost in Edmund's 
 favour. 
 
 Fanny did not love Miss Crawford ; 
 but she felt very much obliged to her 
 for her present kindness ; and when 
 from taking notice of her work and 
 
 wishing 
 
( 3G9 
 
 wishing she could work as well, and 
 begging for the pattern, and supposing 
 -Fanny was now preparing for her ap- 
 pearance as of course she would come 
 out when her cousin was married, Miss 
 Crawford proceeded to enquire if she 
 had heard lately from her brother at sea, 
 and said that she had quite a curiosit/ 
 to see him, and imagined him a very 
 fine young m^an, and advised Fanny to 
 get his picture drawn before he went to 
 sea again — She could not help admitting 
 it to be very agreeable flattery, or help 
 listening, and answering with more ani- 
 mation than she had intended. 
 
 The consultation upon the play still 
 went on, and Miss Crawford's attention 
 w^as first called from Fanny by Tom Ber- 
 tram's telling her, with infinite regret, 
 that he found it absolutely impossible for 
 him to undertake the part of Anhalt in 
 addition to the Butler ; — he had been 
 most anxiously trying to make it out to 
 be feasible, — but it would not do, — he 
 must give it up. — '^ But there will not 
 
 be 
 
 i 
 
( 310 ) 
 
 be the smallest diiEculty in filling it, 
 he added. — We have but to speak 
 the word ; we may pick and chuse. 
 — I could name at this moment at 
 least six young men within six miles 
 of us, who are wild to be admitted 
 into our company, and there are one 
 or two that would not disgrace us. — 
 I should not be afraid to trust either 
 of the Olivers or Charles Maddox. — 
 Tom Oliver is a very clever fellow, 
 and Charles Maddox is as gentleman- 
 like a man as you will see any where, 
 so I will take my horse early to-morrow 
 morning, and ride over to Stoke, and 
 settle with one of them." 
 
 While he spoke, Maria was looking 
 apprehensively round at Edmund in 
 full expectation that he must oppose 
 such an enlargement of the plan as this 
 — so contrary to all their first protesta- 
 tions ; but Edmund said nothing. — 
 After a moment's thought. Miss Craw- 
 ford calmly replied, '^ As far as I am 
 concerned, I can have no objection to 
 
 any 
 
( 311 ) 
 
 any thing that you all think eligible. 
 Have I ever seen either of the gentle- 
 men ? — Yes, Mr. Charles Maddox dined 
 at my Sister's one day, did not he Hen- 
 ry ? — A quiet-looking young man. I 
 remember him. Let him be applied to, 
 if you please, for it will be less unplea- 
 sant to me than to have a perfect stran- 
 ger." 
 
 Charles Maddox was to be the man. 
 —Tom repeated his resolution of go- 
 ing to him early on the morrow ; and 
 though Julia, who had scarcely opened 
 her lips before, observed in a sarcastic 
 manner, and with a glance, first at 
 Maria, and then at Edmund, that 
 *' the Mansfield Theatricals would en- 
 liven the whole neighbourhood, ex- 
 ceedingly" — Edmund still held his 
 peace, and shewed his feelings only by 
 a determined gravity. 
 
 " I am not very sanguine as to our 
 play" — said Miss Crawford in an under 
 voice, to Fanny, after some considera- 
 tion J 
 
 I 
 
( 312 ) 
 
 tion ; " and I can tell Mr. Maddox, that 
 I shall shorten some of his speeches, and 
 a great many of ruT/ own, before we 
 rehearse together. — It will be very dis- 
 agreeable, and by no means what I ex- 
 pected/' 
 
 C:HAPTER 
 
( 313 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 It was not in Miss Crawford's power to 
 talk Fanny into any real forgetfulness 
 of what had passed. — When the even- 
 ing was over, she went to bed full of 
 it, her nerves still agitated by the 
 shock of such an attack from her cousia 
 Tom, so public and so persevered in, 
 and her spirits sinking under her Aunt*3 
 unkind reflection and reproach. To be 
 called into notice in such a manner, to 
 hear that it was but the prelude to some 
 thing so infinitely worse, to be told 
 tlxat she must do what was so impossi- 
 ble as to act; and then to have the 
 charge of obstinacy and ingratitude, 
 follow it, enforced with such a hint at 
 the dependance of her situation, had 
 been too distressing at the time, to make 
 the remembrance when she was alone 
 m>uch less so, — especially with the su- 
 peradded dread of what the morrow 
 might produce in continuation of 
 VOL. I. p the 
 
( 314 ) 
 
 the subject. Miss Crawford had pro- 
 tected her only for the time 5 and if 
 she were applied to again among them- 
 selves with all the authoritative urgency 
 that Tom and Maria were capable of ; 
 andEdmund perhaps away — 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 in- 
 competent 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 mis- 
 tress. 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. 
 There Miss Lee had lived, and there 
 they had read and written, and talked 
 and laughed, till within the last three 
 
 years. 
 
( S15 ) 
 
 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 ler 
 plants, or wanted one of the books, 
 which she was still glad to keep there, 
 from the deficiency of space and ac- 
 commodation 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 her's. 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 j 
 — the smallness of the one making the 
 use of the other so evidently reason- 
 able, that the Miss Bertrams, with every 
 superiority in their own apartments, 
 which their own sense of superiority 
 could demand, were entirely approving 
 P 2 it ; 
 
( 316 ) 
 
 it ; — and Mrs. Norris having stipulated 
 for there never being a fire in it 
 on Fanny's account, was tolerably re- 
 signed 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. 
 
 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 Fan- 
 ny's, and while there was a gleam of sun- 
 shine, she hoped nottobe driven from it 
 entirely, even when winter came. The 
 comfort of it in her hours of leisure 
 was extreme. She could go there after 
 any thing 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 wri- 
 ting desk, and her works of charity and 
 ingenuity, were all within her reach ; 
 
 — or 
 
( 317 ) 
 
 — 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. — 
 Every thing 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 been 
 often misunderstood, her feelings dis- 
 regarded, and her comprehension under 
 valued ; though she had known the 
 pains of tyranny, of ridicule, and neg- 
 lect, yet almost every recurrence of 
 either had led to somethmg consola- 
 tory ; her Aunt Bertram had spoken 
 for her, or Miss Lee had been encou- 
 raging, 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 affec- 
 tion which made her tears delightful— 
 and the whole was now so blended 
 
 together 
 
( 318 ) 
 
 together, so harmonized by distance, 
 that every former affliction had its 
 charm. 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 foot-stool 
 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 moon- 
 light lake in Cumberland ; a collection 
 of family profiles thought unworthy of 
 being anywhere else, over the mantle 
 piece, and by their side and pinned 
 against the wall, a small sketch of a 
 ship sent four years ago from the Medi- 
 terranean by William, with H. M. S, 
 Antwerp at the bottom, in letters as tali 
 as the main-mast. 
 
 To this nest of comforts Fanny now 
 
 walked 
 
( 319 ) 
 
 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 per- 
 severance 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. 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 it not ill-nature — selfish- 
 ness — and a fear of exposing herself? 
 And would Edmund's judgment, would 
 his persuasion of Sir Thomas's disappro- 
 bation 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 sus- 
 pect the truth and purity of her own 
 
 scruples. 
 
( S20 ) 
 
 scruples, and as she looked around her, 
 the claims of her cousins to being 
 obliged, v/ere strengthened by the sight 
 of present upon present that she had 
 received from them. The table be- 
 tween the windows was covered with 
 work-boxes and netting-boxes, which 
 had been given her at different times, 
 principally by Tom ; and she grew be- 
 wildered as to the amount of the debt 
 which all these kind remembrances pro- 
 duced. 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. Her eyes brightened 
 at the sight of Edmund. 
 
 " Can I speak with you, Fanny, for a 
 few minutes ?" said he. 
 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 " I want to consult. I want your 
 opinion." 
 
 *' My opinion ?* she cried, shrinking 
 
 from 
 
( 321 ) 
 
 from such a compliment, highly as it 
 gratified her. 
 
 *^ Yes, your advice and opinion* I 
 do not know what to do. 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. This is the end of all the 
 privacy and propriety which vv^as talked 
 about at first. I know no harm of 
 Charles Maddox, but the excessive inti- 
 macy which must spring from his being 
 admitted among us in this manner, is 
 highly objectionable, the more than inti- 
 miacy — the familiarity. 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. Do 
 not you see it in the same light ?"' 
 
 " Yes, but what can be done ? Your 
 brother is so determined V^ 
 
 " There is but one thing to be done, 
 
 Fanny. I must take Anhalt myself. I 
 
 p 3 am 
 
( 222 ) 
 
 am well aware that nothing else will 
 quiet Tom.'* 
 
 Fanny could not answer him. 
 
 " It is not at all what I Hke,'* he con- 
 tinued. " No man can like being driven 
 into the appem^ance of such inconsis- 
 tency. After being known to oppose 
 the scheme fom the beginning, there 
 is absurdity in the face of my joining 
 them nou\ when they are exceeding 
 their first plan in every respect ; but I 
 tan think of no other alternative. Can 
 you, Fanny ?*' 
 
 " No," said Fanny, slowly, " not im- 
 mediately — but " 
 
 *' But what ? I eee your judgment is 
 not wjth me. Think it a little over. 
 Perhaps you are not so much aware as 
 I am, of the i ischief that maij^ .of the 
 unpleasantnesses thatw??/^^, arise from a 
 young man's being received in this 
 manner— domesticated among us — au- 
 thorized to come at all hours — and 
 placed suddenly on a footing which 
 must do away all restraints. To think 
 
 only 
 
( 323 ) 
 
 only of the licence which every rehearsal 
 must tend to create. It is all very bad ! 
 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 un- 
 derstand her unwillingness to be acting 
 with a stranger ; and as she probably en« 
 gaged in the part with different expecta- 
 tions — 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. 
 Her feelings ought to be respected. 
 Does not it strike you so, Fanny ? You 
 hesitate." 
 
 " 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. It will be 
 such a triumph to the others ?'' 
 
 " They will not have much cause of 
 
 triumph, 
 
( 324 ) 
 
 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. As I am 
 now, I have no influence, I can do no- 
 thing ; I have offended them, and they 
 will not hear me ; but when I have put 
 them in good humour by this conces- 
 sion, I am not without hopes of per- 
 suading them to confine the representa- 
 tion 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. Rushvvorth and 
 the Grants. Will not this be worth 
 gaining ?" 
 
 " Yes, it will be a great point." 
 ** But still it has not your approba- 
 tion. Can you mention any other mea- 
 sure by which I have a chance of doing 
 equal good ?" 
 
( 325 ) 
 
 " No, I cannot think of anything 
 else." 
 
 " Give me your approbation, then, 
 Fanny. I am not comfortable without 
 it." 
 
 " Oh ! cousin.'* 
 
 " If you are against me, I ought to 
 distrust myself — and yet. But it is abso- 
 lutely 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. I thought 
 yoxL would have entered more into Miss 
 Crawford's feeUngs." 
 
 " No doubt she will be very glad. 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 
 good will." 
 
 " She *ucas very kind, kideed, and I 
 am glad to have her spared." 
 
 She 
 
( 326 ) 
 
 She could not finish the generous effu- 
 sion. Her conscience stopt her in the 
 middle, but Edmund was satisfied. 
 
 " I shall walk down immediately after 
 breakfast," said he, " and am sure of giv- 
 ing pleasure there. And now, dear 
 Fanny, I will not interrupt you any 
 longer. You want to be reading. But 
 I could not be easy till I had spoken to 
 you, and come to a decision. Sleeping 
 or waking, 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 v/ith such una- 
 nimity. You in the meanwhile will be 
 taking a trip into China, I suppose. 
 How does Lord Macartney go on ? — 
 (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. 
 
( 327 ) 
 
 book. I admire you 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 you table. But do not stay 
 here to be cold." 
 
 Ho went ; but there was no reading, 
 no China, no composure for Fanny. He 
 had told her the most extraordinary, 
 the most inconceivable, the most unwel- 
 come news ; and she could think of no- 
 thing else. To be acting ! 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. Could it be possi- 
 ble ? Edmund so inconsistent. Was 
 he not deceiving himself? Was he not 
 wrong ? Alas ! it was all Miss Craw- 
 ford's doing. She had see.i her influ- 
 ence 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 
 
( 328 ) 
 
 consequence now. This deeper anxiety- 
 swallowed them up. Things should 
 take their course ; she cared not how it 
 ended. Her cousins might attack, but i 
 could hardly teize her. She was beyond 
 their reach ; and if at last obliged to yield 
 «— no matter — it was all misery ?iou\ 
 
( 329 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 It was, indeed, a triumphant day to 
 Mr. Bertram and Maria. Such a vic- 
 tory over Edmund's discretion had been 
 beyond their hopes, and was most de- 
 lightful. There was no longer anytl.irg 
 to disturb them in their darling pro- 
 ject, and they congratulated each other 
 in private on the jealous weakness to 
 which they attributed the change, with 
 all the glee of feelings gratified in every 
 way. Edmund might still look grave, 
 and say he did not like the scheme in 
 general, and must disapprove the play 
 in particular ; their point was gained ; 
 he was to act, and he was driven to it 
 by the force of selfish inclinations only. 
 Edmund had descended from that moral 
 elevation which he had maintained 
 before, and they were both as ir ach 
 the better as the happier for the de- 
 scent. 
 
 They 
 
( 330 ) 
 
 They behaved very well, however, to 
 him on the occasion, betraying no exul- 
 tation beyond the Hnes about the cor- 
 ners of the mouth, and seemed to think 
 it as great an escape to be quit of the 
 intrusion of Charles Maddox, as if they 
 had been forced into admittinsr him 
 
 o 
 
 against their inclination. " To have it 
 quite in their own family circle was 
 what they had particularly wished. A 
 stranger among them would have been 
 the destruction of all their comfort/* 
 and when Edmund, pursuing that idea, 
 gave a hint of his hope as to the limita- 
 tion of the audience, they were ready, 
 in the complaisance of the moment, to 
 promise anything. It was all good 
 humour and encouragement. Mrs. 
 Norris offered to contrive his dress, 
 Mr. Yates assured him, that Anhalt's 
 last scene with the Baron, admitted a 
 good deal of action and emphasis, and 
 Mr. Rushworth undertook to count 
 his speeches. 
 
 " Perhaps," said Tom, '• Fanny may 
 
 be 
 
( 331 ) 
 
 be more disposed to oblige us now. 
 Perhaps you may persuade Aer." 
 
 " No, she is quite determined. She 
 certainly will not act." 
 
 " Oh ! very well. And not another 
 word was said ; but Fanny felt herself 
 again in danger, and her indifference to 
 the danger was beginning to fail her 
 already. 
 
 There were not fewer smiles at the 
 parsonage than at the park on this 
 change in Edmund ; Miss Crawford 
 looked very lovely in her's, and entered 
 with such an instantaneous renewal of 
 cheerfulness into the whole affair, as 
 could have but one effect on him. " He 
 was certainly right in respecting such 
 feelings ; he was glad he had determined 
 on it." And the morning wore away 
 in satisfactions very sweet, if not very 
 sound. One advantage resulted from 
 it to Fanny ; at the earnest request of 
 Miss Crawford, Mrs. Grant had with 
 her usual good humour agreed to un- 
 dertake the part for which Fanny had 
 
 been 
 
( 332 ) 
 
 been wanted — and this was all that 
 occurred to gladden her heart during 
 the day ; and even this, when imparted 
 by Edmund, brought a pang with it, 
 for it was Miss Crawford to whom she 
 was obliged; it was Miss Crawford 
 whose kind exertions were to excite her 
 gratitude, and whose merit in making 
 them was spoken of with a glow of ad- 
 miration. She was safe ; but peace and 
 safety were connected here. Her mind 
 had been never farther from peace. 
 She could not feel that she had done 
 wrong herself, but she v/as disquieted in 
 every other way. Her heart and her 
 judgment were equally against Ed- 
 mund's decision ; she could not acquit 
 his unsteadiness ; and his happiness 
 under it made her wretched. She was 
 full of jealousy and agitation. Miss 
 Crawford came with looks of gaiety 
 which seemed an insult, with friendly 
 expressions towards herself which she 
 could hardly answer calmly. Every 
 body around her was gay and busy, 
 
 prosperous 
 
( 333 ) 
 
 prosperous and important, each had 
 their object of interest, their part, their 
 dress, their favourite scene, their friends 
 and confederates, all were lindng em- 
 ployment in consultations and compari- 
 sons, or diversion in the playful con- 
 ceits they suggested. She alone was 
 sad and insignificant ; she had no share 
 in any thing ; she might go or stay, 
 she might be in the midst of their noise, 
 or retreat from it to the solitude of the 
 east room, without being seen or 
 missed. She could almost think any 
 thing would have been preferable to 
 this. Mrs. Grant was of consequence ; 
 her good nature had honourable men- 
 tion — her taste and her time were con- 
 sidered — her presence was wanted — 
 she was sought for and attended, and 
 praised ; and Fanny was at first in some 
 danger of envying her the character she 
 had accepted. But reflection brought 
 better feelings, and shewed her that 
 Mrs. Grant was entitled to respect, 
 which could never have belonged to 
 
 hcr^ 
 
( 334 ) 
 
 hei\ and that had she received even the 
 greatest, she could never have been easy 
 in joining a scheme which, considering 
 only her uncle, sh« must condemn alto- 
 gether. 
 
 Fanny's heart was not absolutely the 
 only sadden*d one amongst them, as she 
 soon began to acknowledge herself.— 
 Julia was a sufferer too, though not 
 quite so blamelessly. 
 
 Henry Crawford had trifled with her 
 feelings ; but she had very long allowed 
 and even sought his attentions, with a 
 jealousy of her sister so reasonable as 
 ought to have been their cure ; and now 
 that the conviction of his preference 
 for Maria had been forced on her, she 
 submitted to it without any alarm for 
 Maria's situation, or any endeavour at 
 rational tranquillity for herself. — She 
 either sat in gloomy silence, wrapt in 
 such gravity as nothing could subdue, 
 no curiosity touch, no wit amuse ; or 
 allowing the attentions of Mr. Yates, 
 was talking with forced gaiety to him 
 
 alone, 
 
( 335 ) 
 
 alone, and ridiculing the acting of the 
 others. 
 
 For a day or two after the affront 
 was given, Henry Crawford had endea- 
 voured to do it away by the usual at- 
 tack of gallantry and comphment, but he 
 had not cared enough about it to perse- 
 vere against a few repulses ; and becom- 
 ing soon too busy with his p'ay to have 
 time for more than one flirtation, he 
 grew indifferent to the quarrel, or rather 
 thought it a lucky occurrence, as qui- 
 etly putting an end to what might ere 
 long have raised expectations in more 
 than Mrs. Grant. — She was not pleased 
 to see Julia excluded from the play, and 
 sitting by disregarded ; but as it v/as not 
 a matter which really involved her hap- 
 piness, as Henry must be the best judge 
 of his own, and as he did assure her, 
 with a most persuasive smile, that nei- 
 ther he nor Julia bad ever had a serious 
 thought of each other, she could only 
 renew her former caution as to the elder 
 Sister, intreat him not to risk his tran- 
 quillity 
 
( 336 ; 
 
 quillity by too much admiration there, 
 and then gladly take her share in any 
 thing that brought cheerfulness to the 
 young people in general, and that did 
 so particularly promote the pleasure of 
 the two so dear to her. 
 
 " I rather wonder Julia is not in love 
 with Henry," was her observation to 
 Mary. 
 
 " I dare say she is," replied Mary, 
 coldly. " I imagine both sisters are." 
 
 " Both ! no, no, that must not be. 
 Do not give him a hint of it* Think 
 of Mr. Rushworth." 
 
 " You had better tell Miss Bertram 
 to think of Mr. Rushworth. It may 
 do her some good. I often think of 
 Mr. Rushworth's property and indepen- 
 dence, and wish them in other hands — 
 but I never think of him, A man 
 might represent the county with such 
 an estate ; a man might escape a pro- 
 fession and represent the county." 
 
 " I dare say he tt/// be in parliament 
 soon. When Sir Thomas comes, I dare 
 
 say 
 
( 337 ) 
 
 say he will be in for some borough, but 
 there has been nobody to put him in the 
 way of doing any thing yet." 
 
 " Sir Thomas is to achieve mighty 
 things when he comes home," said Mary, 
 after a pause. " Do you remember 
 Hawkins Browne's address to Tobacco, 
 in imitation of Pope ? — * Blest leaf, whose 
 aromatic gales dispense, to Templars 
 modesty, to Parsons sense.' I will parody 
 them. Blest knight ! whose dictatorial 
 looks dispense, to Children affluence, to 
 Rushworth sense Will not that do, 
 Mrs. Grant? Every thing seems to de- 
 pend upon Sir Thomas's return." 
 
 " You will find his consequence very 
 just and reasonable w^hen you see him 
 in his family, I assure you. T do not 
 think we do so well without him. He 
 has a fine dignified manner, which suits 
 the head of such a house, and keeps 
 every body in their place. Lady Ber- 
 tram seems more of a cypher now than 
 when he is at home ; jand nobody else 
 can keep Mrs. Norris in order. But, 
 VOL I. Q Mary 
 
( 33d ) 
 
 Mary, do not fancy that Maria Bertram 
 cares for Henry. I am sure Julia does 
 not, or she would not have flirted as she 
 did last night with Mr. Yates ; and 
 though he and Maria are very good 
 friends, I think she likes Sotherton too 
 well to be inconstant/* 
 
 ^' I would not give nmch for Mr. 
 Rushworth's chance, if Henry stept in 
 before the articles were signed." 
 
 ** If you have such a suspicion, some- 
 thing must be done, and as soon as the 
 play is all over, we will talk to him se- 
 riously, and make him know his own 
 mind, and if he means nothing, we will 
 send him oflF, though he is Henry, for a 
 time." 
 
 Julia did suffer, however, though Mrs. 
 Grant discerned it not, and though it 
 escaped the notice of many of her own 
 family likewise. She had loved, she did 
 love still,, and she had all the suffering 
 which a warm temper and a high spirit 
 were likely to endure under the disap- 
 pointment of a dear, though irrational 
 
 hope, 
 
( 339 )' 
 
 hope, with a strong sense of ill-usage. 
 Her heart was sore and angry, and she 
 vras capable only of angry consolations. 
 The sister with whom she was used to 
 be on easy terms, was now become her 
 greatest enemy ; they were alienated 
 from each other, and Julia was not su- 
 perior to the hope of some distressing 
 end to the attentions w^hich were still 
 carrying on there, some punishment to 
 Maria for conduct so shameful towards 
 herself, as %vell as towards IMr. Rush- 
 worth. With no material fault of tem- 
 per, or difference of opinion, to prevent 
 their being very good friends while 
 their interests were the same, the sisters, 
 under such a trial as this, had not affec- 
 tion or principle enough to make them 
 merciful or just, to give them honour 
 or compassion. Maria felt her tri- 
 umph, and pursued her purpose care- 
 less of Julia ; and JuHa could never see 
 Maria distinguished by Henry Craw- 
 ford, without trusting that it w^ould 
 
 create 
 Q 2 
 
( 340 ) 
 
 create jealousy, and bring a public dis- 
 turbance at last. 
 
 Fanny saw and pitied much of this in 
 Julia ; but there was no outward fellow- 
 ship between them. Julia made no com- 
 munication, and Fanny took no liberties. 
 They were two solitary sufferers, or con- 
 nected only by Fanny's consciousness. 
 
 The inattention of the two brothers 
 and the aunt, to Julia's discomposure, 
 •and their blindness to its true cause, 
 must be imputed to the fulness of their 
 own minds. They were totally pre- 
 occupied. Tom was engrossed by the 
 concerns of his theatre, and saw nothing 
 that did not immediately relate to it. 
 Edmund, between his theatrical and his 
 real part, between Miss Crawford's 
 claims and his own conduct, between 
 love and consistency, was equally unob- 
 servant ; and Mrs. Norris was too busy 
 in contriving and directing the gene- 
 ral little matters of the company, super- 
 intending their various dresses with 
 economical expedient for which nobody 
 
 thanked 
 
( 341 ) 
 
 thanked her, and saving with delighted 
 integrity, half-a-crown here and there to 
 the absent Sir Thomas, to have leisure 
 for watching the behaviour, or guarding 
 the happiness of his daughters. 
 
 CHAP- 
 
( 342 ; 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 Every thing was now In a regular train ; 
 theatre, actors, actresses, and dresses, 
 were all getting forward ; but though 
 no other great impediments arose, Fanny- 
 found, before many days were past, 
 that it was not all uninterrupted enjoy- 
 ment to the party themselves, and that 
 she had not to witness the continuance 
 of such unanimity and delight, as had 
 been almost too much for her at first. 
 Every body began to have their vexa- 
 tion. Edmund had many. Entirely 
 against his judgment, a scene painter 
 arrived from town, and was at work, 
 much to the increase of the expenses, 
 and what was worse, of the eclat of 
 their proceedings ; and his brother, 
 instead of being really guided by him as 
 to the privacy of the representation, 
 was giving an invitation to every family 
 who came in his way. Tom himself 
 began to fret over the scene painter's 
 
 slow 
 
C 343 ) 
 
 slow progress, and to feel the miseries 
 of waiting. He had learned his part 
 ■ — all his parts — for he tookevery trifling 
 one that could be united with the butler, 
 and began to be impatient to be acting ; 
 and every day thus unemployed, was 
 tending to increase his sense of the 
 insignificance of all his parts together, 
 and make him more ready to regret that 
 some other play had not been chosen. 
 
 Fanny, being always a very courteous 
 listener, and often the only listener 
 at hand, came in for the complaints and 
 distresses of most of them. SJie knew 
 that Mr. Yates was in general thought 
 to rant dreadfully, that Mr. Yates was 
 disappointed in Henry Crawford, that 
 Tom Bertram spoke so quick he would 
 be unintelligible, that Mrs. Grant spoilt 
 every thing by laughing, that Edmund 
 was behind-hand with his part, and that 
 it was misery to have any thing to do 
 with Mr. Rushworth, who was want- 
 ing a prompter through every soeech. 
 She knew, also, that poor Mr. Rush- 
 worth 
 
( 344 ) 
 
 worth could seldom get any body to 
 rehearse with him ; his complaint came 
 before her as well as the rest 5 and so 
 decided to her eye was her cousin Ma- 
 ria's avoidance of him, and so needlessly 
 often the rehearsal of the first scene 
 between her and Mr. Crawford, that 
 she had soon all the terror of other 
 complaints from him. — So far from 
 being all satisfied and all enjoying, she 
 found every body requiring something 
 they had not, and giving occasion 
 of discontent to the others. — Every 
 body had a part either too long or too 
 short; — nobody would attend as they 
 ought, nobody would remember on 
 which side they were to come in — 
 nobody but the complainer would ob- 
 serve any directions. 
 
 Fanny believed herself to derive as 
 much innocent enjoyment from the 
 Play as any of them ; — Henry Craw- 
 ford acted well, and it was a pleasure 
 to her to creep into the Theatre, and 
 attend the rehearsal of the first act — 
 
 in 
 
( 345 ) 
 
 in spite of the feelings it excited 
 in some speeches for Maria. — Maria, 
 she also thought acted well — too well ; 
 — and after the first rehearsal or two, 
 Fanny began to be their only audience 
 — and sometimes as prompter, some- 
 times as spectator — was often very use- 
 ful. — As. far as she could judge, Mn 
 Crawford was considerably the best 
 actor of all ; he had more confidence 
 than Edmund, more judgment than 
 Tom, more talent and taste than Mr. 
 Yates. — She did not like him as a man, 
 but she must admit him to be the best 
 actor, and on this point there wer« 
 not many who diflfered from her. Mr. 
 Yates, indeed, exclaimed against his 
 tameness and insipidity — and the day 
 came at last, when Mr, Rushworth 
 turned to her with a black look, and 
 said — " Do you think there is any 
 thing so very fine in all this ? For the 
 life and soul of me, I cannot admire 
 him ; — and between ourselves, to see 
 such an undersized, little, mean-look- 
 Q3 ing 
 
( 346 ) 
 
 ing man, set up for a fine actor, is 
 very ridiculous in my opinion." 
 
 From this moment, there was a re- 
 turn of his former jealousy, which 
 Maria from increasing hopes of Craw- 
 ford, was at little pains to remove ; 
 and the chances of Mr. Rushworth's 
 ever attaining to the knowledge of 
 his two and forty speeches became much 
 less. As to his ever making any thing 
 tolerable of them, nobody had the 
 smallest idea of that except his Mother 
 — She^ indeed, regretted that his part 
 was not more considerable, and de- 
 ferred coming over to Manfield till 
 they were forward enough in their re- 
 hearsal to comprehend all his scenes, 
 but the others aspired at nothing be- 
 yond his remembering the catchword, 
 and the first line of his speech, and 
 being able to follow the prompter 
 through the rest. Fanny, in her pity 
 and kind heartedness, was at great 
 pains to teach him how to learn, giving 
 kim all the helps and directions in her 
 
 power, 
 
( 347 ) 
 
 power, trying to make an artificial me- 
 mory for him, and learning every word 
 of his part herself, but without his be- 
 ing much the forwarder. 
 
 Many uncomfortable, anxious, ap- 
 prehensive feelings she certainly had ; 
 but with all these, and other claims on 
 her time and attention, she was as far 
 from finding herself without employ- 
 ment or utility amongst them, as with- 
 out a companion in uneasiness ; quite 
 as far from havino- no demand on her 
 leisure as on her compassion. The 
 gloom of her first anticipations was 
 proved to have been unfounded. She 
 was occasionally useful to all ; she was 
 perhaps as much at peace as any. 
 
 There was a great deal of needlework 
 to be done moreover, in which her help 
 was wanted, and that Mrs. Norris 
 thought her quite as well off as the rest, 
 was evident by the manner in which 
 she claimed it, '* ComeFanny," she cried, 
 " these are fine times for you, but you 
 must not be always walking from one 
 
 roona 
 
( ^48 ) 
 
 room to the other and doing the look- 
 ings on, at your ease, in this way, — I 
 want you here. — I have been slaving 
 myself till I can hardly stand, to con- 
 trive Mr. Rushworth's cloak without 
 sending for any more satin ; and now I 
 think you may give me your help in 
 putting it together. — There are but 
 three seams, you may do them in a trice. 
 —It would be lucky for me if I had 
 nothing but the executive part to do. — 
 You are best off, I can tell you, but if 
 nobody did more than t/ou, we should 
 not get on very fast." 
 
 Fanny took the v/ork very quietly 
 without attempting any defence; but 
 her kinder aunt Bertram observed on 
 her behalf, 
 
 " One cannot wonder. Sister, that 
 Fanny should be delighted ; it is all new 
 to her, you know, — you and I used to 
 be very fond of a play ourselves — and 
 so am I still ;— and as soon as I am a 
 little more at leisure, / mean to look in 
 at their Rehearsals too. What is the 
 
 play 
 
 i 
 
( 349 ) 
 play about, Fanny, you have never told 
 
 me?" 
 
 " Oh ! sister, pray do not ask her 
 now ; for Fanny is not one of those 
 who can talk and work at the same 
 time. — It is about Lovers Vows." 
 
 " I believe" said Fanny to her aunt 
 Bertram, '^ there will be three Acts 
 rehearsed to-morrow evening, and that 
 will give you an opportunity of seeing 
 all the actors at once." 
 
 " You had better stay till the curtain 
 is hung," interposed Mrs. Norris — '' the 
 curtain will be hung in a day of two, — 
 there is very little sense in a play with- 
 out a curtain — and I am much mistaken 
 if you do not find it draw up into very 
 handsome festoons." 
 
 Lady Bertram seemed quite resigned 
 to waiting. — Fanny did not share her 
 aunt's composure ; she thought of the 
 morrow a great deal, — for if the three 
 acts were rehearsed, Edmund and Miss 
 Crawford would then be acting toge- 
 ther for the first time ; — the third act 
 
 would 
 
( 350 ) 
 
 would bring a scene between them which 
 interested her most particularly, and 
 which she was longing and dreading to 
 see how they would perform. The 
 whole subject of it was love — a marriage 
 of love was to be described by the gen- 
 tleman, and very little short of a decla- 
 ration of love be made by the lady. 
 
 She had read, and read the scene again 
 with many painful, many wondering 
 emotions, and looked forward to their 
 representation of it as a circumstance 
 almost too interesting. She did not 
 believe they had yet rehearsed it even 
 in private. 
 
 The morrow came, the plan for the 
 evening continued, and Fanny's con- 
 sideration of it did not become less 
 agitated; She worked very diligently 
 under her aunt's directions, but her dili-. 
 gence and her silence concealed a very 
 absent, anxious mind ; and about noon 
 she made her escape with her work to 
 the east room, that she c ight have no 
 concern in another, and, as she deemed; 
 
 
( 351 ) 
 
 it, most unnecessary rehearsal of the 
 first act, which Henry Crawford was 
 just proposing, desirous at once of hav- 
 ing her time to herself, and of avoiding 
 the sight of Mr. Rushworth. A glimpse, 
 as she passed through the hall, of the 
 two ladies walking up from the parson- 
 age, made no change in her wish of re- 
 treat, and she worked and meditated 
 in the east room, undisturbed, for a 
 quarter of an hour, when a gentle tap 
 at the door was followed by the entrance 
 of Miss Crawford. 
 
 *' Am I right ? — Yes ; this is the east 
 room. My dear Miss Price, 1 beg your 
 pardon, but I have made my way to 
 you on purpose to intreat your help." 
 
 Fanny, quite surprised, endeavoured 
 to shew herself mistress of the room by 
 her civilities, and looked at the bright 
 bars of her empty grate with concern. 
 
 " Thank you — I am quite warm, very 
 warm. Allow me to stay here a little 
 while, and do have the goodness to hear 
 me my third act. I have brought my 
 
 book;, 
 
( 352 ) 
 
 book, and if you would but rehearse it 
 with me, I should be so obliged! I came 
 here to-day intending to rehearse it with 
 Edmund — by ourselves — against the 
 evening, but he is not in the way ; and 
 if he were^ I do not think I could go 
 through it with Jmn, till I have hardened 
 myself a little, for really there is a speech 
 or two — You will be so good, won't 
 you ?" 
 
 Fanny was most civil in her assur- 
 ances, though she could not give them 
 in a very steady voice. ^ 
 
 " Have you ever happened to look at 
 the parti mean ?" continued Miss Craw- 
 ford, opening her book. " Here it is. 
 I did not think much of it at first — but, 
 upon my word — . There, look at that 
 speech, and that, and that. How am I 
 ever to look him in ihe face and say such 
 things ? Could you do it ? But then h^ 
 is your cousin, which makes all the dif- 
 ference. You must rehearse it with 
 me, that I may fancy 2/ou him, and get 
 
 on 
 
( 353 ) 
 
 on by degrees. You Iiave a look of his 
 sometimes/' 
 
 " Have I ? — I will do my best with 
 the greatest readiness — but I must read 
 the part, for I can say very little of it." 
 " None of it, I suppose. You are to 
 have the book of course. Now for ir. 
 We must have two chairs at hand for 
 you to bring forward to the front of 
 the stage. There — very good school- 
 room chairs, not made for a theatre, I 
 daresay; much more fitted for little 
 girls to sit and kick their feet against 
 when they are learning a lesson. What 
 would your governess and your uncle 
 say to see them used for such a purpose ^ 
 Could Sir Thomas look in upon us just 
 now, he would bless himself, for we are 
 rehearsing all over the house. Yates is 
 storming away in the dining room. 
 I heard him as I came up stairs, and the 
 theatre is engaged of course by those 
 indefatigable rehearsers, Agatha and 
 Frederic. If theij are not perfect, I shall 
 be surprised. By the bye^ I looked in 
 
 upon 
 
( 354 ) 
 
 upon them five minutes ago, audit hap* 
 pened to be exactly at one of the times 
 when they were trying not to embrace, 
 and Mr. Rushworth was with me. I 
 thought he began to look a little queer, 
 so I turned it off as well as I could, by 
 whispering to him, ' We shall have an 
 excellent Agatha, there is something so 
 maternal in her manner, so completely 
 maternal in her voice and countenance.' 
 Was not that well done of me? He 
 brightened up directly. Now for my 
 soliloquy.^* 
 
 She began, and Fanny joined in with 
 all the modest feeling which the idea of 
 representing Edmund was so strongly 
 calculated to inspire; but with looks and 
 voice so truly feminine, as to be no very 
 good picture of a man. With such an 
 Anhalt, however, Miss Crawford had 
 courage enough, and they had got 
 through half the- scene, when a tap at 
 the door brought a pause, and the en- 
 trance of Edmund the next moment, sus- 
 pended it all. 
 
 Surprise, 
 
( 355 ) 
 
 Surprise, consciousness, and pleasure, 
 appeared in each of the three on this 
 unexpected meeting j and as Edmund 
 was come on the very same business 
 that had brought Miss Crawford, con- 
 sciousness and pleasure were likely to 
 be more than momentary in them. He 
 too had his book, and was seeking 
 Fanny, to ask her to rehearse with 
 him, and help him prepare for the even- 
 ing, without knowing Miss Crawford 
 to be in the house j and great was the 
 joy and animation of being thus thrown 
 together — of comparing schemes — and 
 sympathising in praise of Fanny's kind 
 offices. 
 
 She could not equal them in their 
 warmth. Her spirits sank under the 
 glow of theirs, and she felt herself be- 
 coming too nearly nothing to both, to 
 have any comfort in having been sought 
 by either. They must now rehearse 
 together. Edmund proposed, urged, 
 entreated it — till the lady, not very un- 
 willing at first, could refuse no longer 
 
 — and 
 
( 356 ) 
 
 —and Fanny was wanted only to 
 prompt and observe them. She was 
 invested, indeed, with the office of 
 judge and critic, and earnestly desired 
 to exercise it and tell them all their 
 faults ; but from doing so every feeling 
 within her shrank, she could not, would 
 not, dared not attempt it ; had she 
 been otherwise qualified for criticism, 
 her conscience must have restrained her 
 from venturing at disapprobation. She 
 believed herself to feel too much of it 
 in the aggregate for honesty or safety 
 in particulars. To prompt them must 
 be enough for her ; and it was some- 
 times more than enough ; for she could 
 not always pay attention to the book. In 
 watching them she forget herself ; and 
 agitated by the increasing spirit of Ed- 
 mund's manner, had once closed the 
 page and turned away exactly as he 
 wanted help. It was imputed to very 
 reasonable weariness, and she was thank- 
 ed and pitied ; but she deserved their 
 pity, more than she hoped they would 
 
 ever 
 
( S57 ; 
 
 ever surmise. At last the scene was 
 over, and Fanny forced herself to add 
 her praise to the compliments each was 
 giving the other ; and when again alone 
 and able to recall the whole, she was 
 inclined to believe their performance 
 would, indeed, have such nature and 
 feeling in it as must ensure their credit, 
 and make it a very suffering exhibition 
 to herself. Whatever might be its 
 effect, however, she must stand the 
 brunt of it again that very day. 
 
 The first regular rehearsal of the 
 three first acts was certainly to take 
 place in the evening ; Mrs. Grant and 
 the Crawfords were engaged to return 
 for that purpose as soon as they could 
 after dinner ; and every one concerned 
 was looking forward with eagerness. 
 There seemed a general diffusion of 
 :heerfulness on the occasion ; Tom was 
 enjoying such an advance towards the 
 :3nd, Edmund was in spirits from the 
 norning's rehearsal, and little vexations 
 eemed every where smoothed away. 
 
 All 
 
( 35S ) 
 
 All were alert and impatient ; the 
 ladies moved soon, the gentlemen soon 
 followed them, and with the exception 
 of Lady Bertram, Mrs. Norris, and 
 Julia, every body was in the theatre at 
 an early hour, and having lighted it up 
 as well as its unfinished state admitted, 
 were waiting only the arrival of Mrs, 
 Grant and the Crawfords to begin. 
 
 They did not Vv^ait long for the Craw- 
 fords, but there was no Mrs. Grant. 
 She could not come. Dr. Grant, pro- 
 fessing an indisposition, for which he 
 had little credit with his fair sister-in- 
 law, could not spare his wife. 
 
 " Dr. Grant is ill,'* said she, with 
 mock solemnity. " He has been ill ever 
 since ; he did not eat any of the phea- 
 sant to day. He fancied it tough — sent 
 away his plate — and has been suffering 
 ever since." 
 
 Here was disappointment ! Mrs. 
 Grant's non-attendance was sad indeed. 
 Her pleasant manners and cheerful con- 
 formity made her always valuable 
 
 amongst 
 
( 359 ) 
 
 amongst them — but 7iorv she was abso- 
 lutely necessary. They could not act, 
 they could not rehearse with any satis- 
 faction without her. The comfort of 
 the \\:liole evening was destroyed. 
 What was to be done? Tom, as Cot- 
 tager, was in despair. After a pause of 
 perplexity, some eyes began to be turned 
 towards Fanny, and a voice or two, to 
 say, " If Miss Price would be so good 
 as to 7^ead the part.*' She was imme- 
 diately surrounded by supplications, 
 every body asked it, even Edmund said, 
 " Do Fanny, if it is not very disagreeable 
 to you." 
 
 But Fanny still hung back. She 
 could not endure the idea of it. Why 
 was not Miss Crawford to be applied to 
 as well ? Or why had not she rather 
 gone to her own room, as she had felt 
 to be safest, instead of attending the re- 
 hearsal at all ? She had known it 
 would irritate and distress her — she had 
 known it her duty to keep away. She 
 was properly punished* 
 
 *' You 
 
( 360 ) 
 
 ce 
 
 You have only t0 7rad the part," said 
 Henry Crawford, with renewed intreaty. 
 
 " And I do believe she can say every 
 word of it/' added Maria, " for she 
 could put Mrs. Grant right the other 
 day in twenty places. Fanny, I am sure 
 you know the part." 
 
 Fanny could not say she did not — 
 and as they all persevered — as Edmund 
 repeated his wish, and with a look of 
 even fond dependence on her good na- 
 ture, she must yield. She would do 
 her best. Every body was satisfied — 
 and she was left to the tremors of a 
 most palpitating heart, while the others 
 prepared to begin. 
 
 They did begin — and being too much 
 engaged in their own noise, to be struck 
 by an usual noise in the other part of 
 the house, had proceeded some way, 
 when the door of the room was thrown 
 open, and Julia appearing at it, with a face 
 allaghast, exclaimed, " My father is come! 
 He is in the hall at this moment." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 G. Sidney, Printer, 
 Northumberland-street, Strand.