to the ocean, compared with
the ceaseless tumult of her present abode. Here everybody was noisy,
every voice was loud (excepting, perhaps, her mother's, which resembled
the soft monotony of Lady Bertram's, only worn into fretfulness).
Whatever was wanted was hallooed for, and the servants hallooed out
their excuses from the kitchen. The doors were in constant banging, the
stairs were never at rest, nothing was done without a clatter, nobody
sat still, and nobody could command attention when they spoke.

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

CHAPTER XL

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 come. In her present exile
from good society, and distance from everything that had been wont to
interest her, a letter from one belonging to the set where her heart
lived, written with affection, and some degree of elegance, was
thoroughly acceptable. The usual plea of increasing engagements was made
in excuse for not having written to her earlier; "And now that I have
begun," she continued, "my letter will not be worth your reading, for
there will be no little offering of love at the end, no three or four
lines _passionnees_ from the most devoted H. C. in the world, for
Henry is in Norfolk; business called him to Everingham ten days ago, or
perhaps he only pretended to call, for the sake of being travelling
at the same time that you were. But there he is, and, by the bye, his
absence may sufficiently account for any remissness of his sister's in
writing, for there has been no 'Well, Mary, when do you write to Fanny?
Is not it time for you to write to Fanny?' to spur me on. At last, after
various attempts at meeting, I have seen your cousins, 'dear Julia and
dearest Mrs. Rushworth'; they found me at home yesterday, and we were
glad to see each other again. We _seemed_ _very_ glad to see each other,
and I do really think we were a little. W