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1Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody,
2not greatly in fault themselves, to tolerable comfort, and to have done with all the rest. My Fanny, indeed, at this
3very time, I have the satisfaction of knowing, must have been happy in spite of everything. She must have been a happy
4creature in spite of all that she felt, or thought she felt, for the distress of those around her. She had sources of
5delight that must force their way. She was returned to Mansfield Park, she was useful, she was beloved; she was safe
6from Mr. Crawford; and when Sir Thomas came back she had every proof that could be given in his then melancholy state of
7spirits, of his perfect approbation and increased regard; and happy as all this must make her, she would still have been
8happy without any of it, for Edmund was no longer the dupe of Miss Crawford. It is true that Edmund was very far from
9happy himself. He was suffering from disappointment and regret, grieving over what was, and wishing for what could never
10be. She knew it was so, and was sorry; but it was with a sorrow so founded on satisfaction, so tending to ease, and so
11much in harmony with every dearest sensation, that there are few who might not have been glad to exchange their greatest
12gaiety for it. Sir Thomas, poor Sir Thomas, a parent, and conscious of errors in his own conduct as a parent, was the
13longest to suffer. He felt that he ought not to have allowed the marriage; that his daughter's sentiments had been
14sufficiently known to him to render him culpable in authorising it; that in so doing he had sacrificed the right to the
15expedient, and been governed by motives of selfishness and worldly wisdom. These were reflections that required some
16time to soften; but time will do almost everything; and though little comfort arose on Mrs. Rushworth's side for the
17misery she had occasioned, comfort was to be found greater than he had supposed in his other children. Julia's match
18became a less desperate business than he had considered it at first. She was humble, and wishing to be forgiven; and Mr.
19Yates, desirous of being really received into the family, was disposed to look up to him and be guided. He was not very
20solid; but there was a hope of his becoming less trifling, of his being at least tolerably domestic and quiet; and at
21any rate, there was comfort in finding his estate rather more, and his debts much less, than he had feared, and in being
22consulted and treated as the friend best worth attending to. There was comfort also in Tom, who gradually regained his
23health, without regaining the thoughtlessness and selfishness of his previous habits. He was the better for ever for his
24illness. He had suffered, and he had learned to think: two advantages that he had never known before; and the
25self-reproach arising from the deplorable event in Wimpole Street, to which he felt himself accessory by all the
26dangerous intimacy of his unjustifiable theatre, made an impression on his mind which, at the age of six-and-twenty,
27with no want of sense or good companions, was durable in its happy effects. He became what he ought to be: useful to his
28father, steady and quiet, and not living merely for himself. Here was comfort indeed! and quite as soon as Sir Thomas
29could place dependence on such sources of good, Edmund was contributing to his father's ease by improvement in the only
30point in which he had given him pain before--improvement in his spirits. After wandering about and sitting under trees
31with Fanny all the summer evenings, he had so well talked his mind into submission as to be very tolerably cheerful
32again. These were the circumstances and the hopes which gradually brought their alleviation to Sir Thomas, deadening his
33sense of what was lost, and in part reconciling him to himself; though the anguish arising from the conviction of his
34own errors in the education of his daughters was never to be entirely done away. Too late he became aware how
35unfavourable to the character of any young people must be the totally opposite treatment which Maria and Julia had been
36always experiencing at home, where the excessive indulgence and flattery of their aunt had been continually contrasted
37with his own severity. He saw how ill he had judged, in expecting to counteract what was wrong in Mrs. Norris by its
38reverse in himself; clearly saw that he had but increased the evil by teaching them to repress their spirits in his
39presence so as to make their real disposition unknown to him, and sending them for all their indulgences to a person who
40had been able to attach them only by the blindness of her affection, and the excess of her praise. Here had been
41grievous mismanagement; but, bad as it was, he gradually grew to feel that it had not been the most direful mistake in
42his plan of education. Something must have been wanting within, or time would have worn away much of its ill effect. He
43feared that principle, active principle, had been wanting; that they had never been properly taught to govern their
44inclinations and tempers by that sense of duty which can alone suffice. They had been instructed theoretically in their
45religion, but never required to bring it into daily practice. To be distinguished for elegance and accomplishments, the
46authorised object of their youth, could have had no useful influence that way, no moral effect on the mind. He had meant
47them to be good, but his cares had been directed to the understanding and manners, not the disposition; and of the
48necessity of self-denial and humility, he feared they had never heard from any lips that could profit them. Bitterly did
49he deplore a deficiency which now he could scarcely comprehend to have been possible. Wretchedly did he feel, that with
50all the cost and care of an anxious and expensive education, he had brought up his daughters without their understanding
51their first duties, or his being acquainted with their character and temper. The high spirit and strong passions of Mrs.
52Rushworth, especially, were made known to him only in their sad result. She was not to be prevailed on to leave Mr.
53Crawford. She hoped to marry him, and they continued together till she was obliged to be convinced that such hope was
54vain, and till the disappointment and wretchedness arising from the conviction rendered her temper so bad, and her
55feelings for him so like hatred, as to make them for a while each other's punishment, and then induce a voluntary
56separation. She had lived with him to be reproached as the ruin of all his happiness in Fanny, and carried away no
57better consolation in leaving him than that she had divided them. What can exceed the misery of such a mind in such a
58situation? Mr. Rushworth had no difficulty in procuring a divorce; and so ended a marriage contracted under such
59circumstances as to make any better end the effect of good luck not to be reckoned on. She had despised him, and loved
60another; and he had been very much aware that it was so. The indignities of stupidity, and the disappointments of
61selfish passion, can excite little pity. His punishment followed his conduct, as did a deeper punishment the deeper
62guilt of his wife. He was released from the engagement to be mortified and unhappy, till some other pretty girl could
63attract him into matrimony again, and he might set forward on a second, and, it is to be hoped, more prosperous trial of
64the state: if duped, to be duped at least with good humour and good luck; while she must withdraw with infinitely
65stronger feelings to a retirement and reproach which could allow no second spring of hope or character.
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