always several persons who are anxious to be heard, it is a positive virtue.  In Miss Constantia’s intonation of her favourite ‘impossible!’ it seemed to me that there mingled a dash of sadness, a kind of musical and melancholy cadence, which was followed by an unconscious absence of mind, evidencing the fact, that her thoughts were what is vulgarly termed ‘wool-gathering.’  On mentioning this impression to Mrs Smith, she complimented us on our keen observation, since, in truth, a tinge of the romantic did attach to the history of the fair Constantia; and she then sketched the following outline, leaving all details to be filled up by the imagination of the auditor:—­

The Misses Bonderlay, it seems, had attained the age of womanhood, when, by the decease of their surviving parent, a man of high moral rectitude, but a stern disciplinarian, they were left in possession of a comfortable independence, fully equal to their moderate wants.  They had been governed with such an iron rule, and treated as such absolute automata from their childhood, that when the hand of death released them from the despotic sway, its effects still continued apparent in the constraint which habit had rendered second nature.  They continued to reside in their native town, only removing to a smaller house, and pursued undeviatingly the routine they had always been accustomed to—­a routine which might well bear comparison, in its monotony and apathy, with that of monastic seclusion.  Rumour, with her thousand tongues, had never singled out these vestal ladies as objects of matrimonial schemes; no suitors darkened their doors or disturbed their peace; they made no enemies, and, perhaps, no very enthusiastic friends.  They listened to the gossip retailed by their neighbours, as in politeness bound, but the imperturbable ‘Really!’ Indeed!’ and ‘Impossible!’ gave no encouragement to gossip:  they never asked questions, never propagated reports, but listened and ejaculated, and ejaculated and listened, giving and receiving no offence.  It never was positively ascertained whether the Misses Bonderlay conversed among themselves; but popular opinion maintained, that they did not, assigning the ill-natured reason, that they had nothing to say.  Being neither oral inquirers nor readers, what could they have to talk about?  Still, popular opinion is often wrong, and perhaps it was so in this instance.  At anyrate, if they did not exchange confidential sentiments, quarrels were avoided; and smoothly the three fair sisters sailed down the troublous stream of time.

It was a great and stirring event in their tranquil lives, when a maternal uncle, as if to vindicate the fidelity of old romance, did actually return from India to his native land with a large fortune.  Mr Elliston, a childless widower, took up his abode at a watering-place, and sent for his eldest niece, Miss Bonderlay.  She promptly obeyed the summons, and of course it was generally reported, and with some