Those are very good finds.

Amelia seems very forward and playful like Mary Crawford, but where Anhalt was Amelia's tutor it seems Fanny is Amelia. Of course Edmund is Anhalt, except this maybe...

Anhalt. Understand you!—As to that—I am not dull.

snort!

Ah, back to the purpose. Anhalt was supposed to come and talk to her about matrimony, the good and bad.

Anhalt. When two sympathetic hearts meet in the marriage state, matrimony may be called a happy life. When such a wedded pair find thorns in their path, each will be eager, for the sake of the other, to tear them from the root. Where they have to mount hills, or wind a labyrinth, the most experienced will lead the way, and be a guide to his companion. Patience and love will accompany them in their journey, while melancholy and discord they leave far behind.—Hand in hand they pass on from morning till evening, through their summer's day, till the night of age draws on, and the sleep of death overtakes the one. The other, weeping and mourning, yet looks forward to the bright region where he shall meet his still surviving partner, among trees and flowers which themselves have planted, in fields of eternal verdure.

After reading this I think that Fanny's love of nature is no accident- perhaps symbolism for finding beauty in life and in marriage. Contrast that with Mary's I see no wonder in this shrubbery equal to seeing myself in it.

Fanny
ch. 9
“to sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment.” ...
ch 22
You will think me rhapsodising; but when I am out of doors, especially when I am sitting out of doors, I am very apt to get into this sort of wondering strain. One cannot fix one’s eyes on the commonest natural production without finding food for a rambling fancy.

Now look at Anhalt's picture of bad matrimony.
...When convenience, and fair appearance joined to folly and ill-humour, forge the fetters of matrimony, they gall with their weight the married pair. Discontented with each other—at variance in opinions—their mutual aversion increases with the years they live together. They contend most, where they should most unite; torment, where they should most soothe. In this rugged way, choaked with the weeds of suspicion, jealousy, anger, and hatred, they take their daily journey, till one of these also sleep in death. The other then lifts up his dejected head, and calls out in acclamations of joy—Oh, liberty! dear liberty!

It seems clear to me that this is what lies ahead if Edmund and Mary get married. And they are acting these parts together. You'd think one of them would wise up when reading the part. Both find something wrong in the other and want it to change.