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
colouring, that the bulk of the nabob's fortune would be hers if she
'played her cards well.' But she did not play her cards well, as the
event turned out; for the old splenetic Indian tired very soon of the
monotonous 'Really!'--the sole response to his wonderful narratives of
tiger-hunting and Eastern marvels in general. At length, Mr Elliston
bluntly gave his visitor to understand that he wished to see Miss
Paulina; and poor, crestfallen Miss Bonderlay returned home, and Miss
Paulina departed in her turn to fill the vacant place at the nabob's
board. She remained a considerable time longer than her elder sister
had done; and it was surmised that 'Indeed!' had proved more agreeable
than 'Really!' But, alas! for human foresight and conjecture, the
second Miss Bonderlay re-appeared in her native town for the purpose
of despatching the third relief in the person of Miss Constantia. 'The
young one will have a human tongue,' muttered the choleric Indian: 'I
want a companion, not a parrot.' The poor gentleman never imagined
that there could be three parrots in one family; and he naturally
concluded, that his choice had fallen on the right niece at last.

When he found out his mistake--and we need hardly say that he was not
long about that--his chagrin and consternation may be imagined.
Indeed, had it not been for the presence of a certain Major George,
there is no doubt that when he heard the sweet 'Impossible!' of Miss
Constantia, he would instantly have consigned her to the banishment
and oblivion of her sisters. But Major George's quiet influence
restrained the threatened ebullition of wrath; though when his best