affording
any repose to herself.
    Such was the home which was to put Mansfield out of her head, and teach her
to think of her cousin Edmund with moderated feelings. On the contrary, she
could think of nothing but Mansfield, its beloved inmates, its happy ways. Every
thing where she now was was in full contrast to it. The elegance, propriety,
regularity, harmony - and perhaps, above all, the peace and tranquillity of
Mansfield, were brought to her remembrance every hour of the day, by the
prevalence of every thing opposite to them here.
    The living in incessant noise was to a frame and temper, delicate and
nervous like Fanny's, an evil which no super-added elegance or harmony could
have entirely atoned for. It was the greatest misery of all. At Mansfield, no
sounds of contention, no raised voice, no abrupt bursts, no tread of violence
was ever heard; all proceeded in a regular course of cheerful orderliness; every
body had their due importance; every body's feelings were consulted. If
tenderness could be ever supposed wanting, good sense and good breeding supplied
its place; and as to the little irritations, sometimes introduced by aunt
Norris, they were short, they were trifling, they were as a drop of water to the
ocean, compared with the ceaseless tumult of her present abode. Here, every body
was noisy, every voice was loud, (excepting, perhaps, her mother's, which
resembled the soft monotony of Lady Bertram's, only worn into fretfulness.) -
Whatever was wanted, was halloo'd for, and the servants halloo'd out their
excuses from the kitchen. The doors were in constant banging, the stairs were
never at rest, nothing was done without a clatter, nobody sat still, and nobody
could command attention when they spoke.
    In a review of the two houses, as they appeared to her before the end of a
week, Fanny was tempted to apply to them Dr. Johnson's celebrated judgment as to
matrimony and celibacy, and say, that though Mansfield Park might have some
pains, Portsmouth could have no pleasures.
 

                                   Chapter IX

Fanny was right enough in not expecting to hear from Miss Crawford now, at the
rapid rate in which their correspondence had begun; Mary's next letter was after
a decidedly longer interval than the last, but she was not right in supposing
that such an interval would be felt a great relief to herself. - Here was
another strange revolution of mind! - She was really glad to receive the letter
when it did