so.

It was usual with the one sister, when company was expected, to be half
the morning dressing; while the other would give directions for the whole
business and entertainment of the day; and then go up to her
dressing-room, and, before she could well be missed, [having all her
things in admirable order,] come down fit to receive company, and with
all that graceful ease and tranquillity as if she had nothing else to
think of.

Long after her, [hours, perhaps, of previous preparation having passed,]
down would come rustling and bustling the tawdry and awkward Bella,
disordering more her native disorderliness at the sight of her serene
sister, by her sullen envy, to see herself so much surpassed with such
little pains, and in a sixth part of the time.

Yet was this admirable creature mistress of all these domestic
qualifications, without the least intermixture of narrowness. She knew
how to distinguish between frugality, a necessary virtue, and
niggardliness, an odious vice; and used to say, 'That to define
generosity, it must be called the happy medium betwixt parsimony and
profusion.'

She was the most graceful reader I ever knew. She added, by her
melodious voice, graces to those she found in the parts of books she read
out to her friends; and gave grace and significance to others where they
were not. She had no tone, no whine. Her accent was always admirably
placed. The emphasis she always forcibly laid as the subject required.
No buskin elevation, no tragedy pomp, could mislead her; and yet poetry
was poetry indeed, when she read it.

But if her voice was melodious when she read, it was all harmony when she
sung. And the delight she gave by that, and by her skill and great
compass, was heightened by the ease and gracefulness of her air and
manner, and by the alacrity with which she obliged.

Nevertheless she generally chose rather to hear others sing or play, than
either to play or sing herself.

She delighted to give praise where deserved; yet she always bestowed it
in such a manner as gave not the least suspicion that she laid out for a
return of it to herself, though so universally allowed to be her due.

She had a talent of saying uncommon things in such an easy manner that
every body thought they could have said the same; and which yet required
both genius and observation to say them.

Even severe things appeared gentle, though they lost not their force,
from the sweetness of her air and utter