tentions, and followed
the same course of life; nay, were scarcely to be distinguished as
two different persons.

Mrs. Hemans writes, on the eve of the removal of her brother George
to Ireland, "I fear I shall feel very lonely and brotherless, as I
have always been one of a large family circle before. I could laugh
or cry when I think of the helplessness I have contrived to
accumulate." And then she adds, with reference to her sister-in-law,
"In her I shall be deprived of the only real companion I ever had.
She is to leave me on Saturday next; and I am haunted by those
melancholy words of St. Leon's guest, the unhappy old man with his
immortal gifts, Alone! Alone!"

THERE is also another unspeakably important class of womanly
friendships; namely, those subsisting between sisters. In the fourth
book of the Aeneid, Virgil powerfully paints this union in the
example of Dido and Anna. Scott has drawn an impressive picture of
such a friendship, in the characters of Minna and Brenda Troil; and a
still more affecting one in the story of Jeannie and Effie Deans.
Thrown into constant intimacy, with an endearing community of
inheritance, duties, and associations-multitudes of sisters must
become ardent friends. The failure of that result, in consequence of
base qualities, irritating circumstances, or cold and meagre natures,
is a great misfortune and loss in a household: the fruition of it is
a blessing worthy of the most earnest gratitude of its subjects.
Perhaps there is no species of friendship more sure to elude
publicity. It plays its undramatic part in domestic scenes, avoiding,
rather than asking, the notice of the world. We need not wonder, that
there are so few examples of it sufficiently exciting and public to
induce the historian or biographer to narrate their stories.

Hannah More and her four sisters were a group of happy friends, who
kept house together for more than half a century. The union of Hannah
and Martha was especially one of entire admiration and fondness. In
Wrington churchyard the remains of the five sisters rest together
under a stone slab, enclosed by an iron railing, and overshadowed by
a yew-tree.

Mary and Agnes Berry, who were such widely courted favorites, in the
most intellectual society of the time of their ardent friend, Horace
Walpole, dwelt together, for over eighty years, in entire and fervent
affection: and they now sleep side by side in their grave at
Petersham.

The three wonderfu