How delightedly did the eye of Christobelle rest upon the matronly form of Isabel! She was clasped in her arms, as she descended the steps of the chaise at Brierly.

"Well, I never saw such a beautiful creature in my life! My dear Christobelle, who would have thought you would turn out so very pretty? My dear Mr. Boscawen, were you not surprised at Christobelle's beauty, when you first saw her?"

"I was not so overcome at your sister's handsome face, as I am astonished at Isabel's neglect of her long-absent husband," replied Mr. Boscawen, smiling. Isabel flew towards him.

"I can't think how I came to be so wicked; but, indeed, it was the sight of my sister's face. My dear Boscawen, I have so longed for your return, and so have the children! I was obliged to tell the dear things papa was gone a long way off, for some cakes and their pretty aunt, or they would not have been comforted. I did not know what hour you would arrive, therefore I was wise enough not to say a word to them about it."

"They shall be summoned after dinner, Isabel. We are hungry travellers now, and a meal will be most gratefully welcomed."

"My love, ring the bell, and order it in now, if you please, while I escort my sister to her room. Follow me, dear Christobelle. Well, I declare I never saw such a change in a human being! You are tall and handsome, and have such beautiful ringlets! I shall certainly have ringlets too. I can't fancy you are the little, jumping Chrystal, who was dressed out so fine at my wedding, five or six years ago. Well—and don't you think I am changed?"

Isabel was changed. Her sylph-like figure had swelled into a stout form: her waist had increased materially in breadth, and her dress was rather disordered.

"The children are so playful, Chrystal, that my collars have always a ragged appearance; and corsets of any kind are so very painful, because I am getting large, that I never wear them. Boscawen, though, does not mind my appearance: he is not particular. He allows me to do just what I like, and I am so happy! Ah! do you remember my geography days, Chrystal? How I detested that dreadful map of the world! I am determined my little Bell shall be happy and ignorant, as I was before her. She is called Bell after you, dear—not your long name, but simply Bell. I hope she will be as pretty as you; but what does it signify? Who can be happier than I am, with my broad waist and rumpled collars?"

The moment the servants had withdrawn, after dessert was placed upon the table, Isabel continued her happy prattle.

"I have so much to tell you, of one kind or the other, dear Bell, that I don't know where to begin. What shall I tell first, my dear Boscawen? Oh! Bell, such things are whispered of Julia!—I don't believe a word of them—not one word. However, you will find Anna Maria more French than ever, for the Count de Nolis has been staying every Christmas at Hatton, and FÉlicÉ does lay on the rouge terribly. It's quite amusing to hear Tom Pynsent boast of his wife's bloom, when it's rouge all the time. I think I wrote you word, that odd Mrs. Hancock had a paralytic stroke some time ago?"

"No, indeed, Isabel, I never heard of it."

"Didn't you? Oh! it's the case, I assure you—her mouth is all on one side. Poor Miss Tabitha is not dead yet, Bell: I don't think she means to die at all; and Mrs. Ward writes word, she finds fault with every thing, poor soul, that is said or done. Shall I ring for the darlings, my dear Boscawen? I am sure Chrystal is dying to see her little boy, whom she nursed so carefully. Ring the bell twice, my love, and the little wild things will soon rush in."

"Do not give Tom wine, Isabel; I have a dislike to children taking wine so early in life."

"No, my dear Boscawen, certainly not. I think, with you, that wine is very improper for children—but little Tom has such a winning way of coaxing his poor mother!"

The children soon burst into the room, and ran bounding round the table. Isabel was all triumphant pleasure. "Now, Charles—my dear Charles, go quietly to papa, and ask him how he does, and whether the cakes are come from merry Scotland. Ah, ha, Charley goes for his cakes. Tom, my beauty, come to mamma; and Bell, go to your aunt—your new aunt, and admire her pretty hair."

Christobelle endeavoured to attract her little fat niece to her side, but she hid her face in Isabel's lap.

"Oh, Bell, I'm ashamed of you!—your pretty aunt, too—oh, fie! My dear Tommy, don't touch mamma's glass. No, no wine, Tommy—papa says no. A few strawberries, my dear little boy, and a biscuit, but no wine."

Tommy, however, advanced his mother's wineglass to his lips, watching her countenance with a cunning glance.

"Now, my little, good Tommy, mamma will be angry, very angry, if you do what she tells you not to do. Bell, my love, go to your aunt, like a good girl."

Isabel took some pains to persuade her little girl to raise her head, but her appeals were useless. In the mean time, Tommy had silently quaffed the remainder of the contents of her glass. Mr. Boscawen rose, and took him from Isabel's knee.

"My dear Boscawen, what are you going to do with Tommy? he is very good with me, my love."

"I am going to banish him, Isabel, for disobedience."

"Oh, my dear Boscawen, it was the least little drop of wine in the world! it was scarcely a teaspoonful—pray don't punish Tommy for that little drop, my love."

"The disobedience was the same in the action, Isabel. I shall send him into the nursery. I shall take him there myself."

Isabel's eyes suffused, as Mr. Boscawen left the dining-room with the crying recreant Tommy. She turned to her sister.

"Oh! Chrystal, was it not severe to carry away that dear child, for one drop of wine only?"

"Boscawen was quite right, my dear Isabel."

"Do you really think so? Do you really think he was right to banish the darling child, when it was such a pretty, coaxing trick? Did you see his little, cunning, dear eyes?"

"Boscawen justly thinks, Isabel, that cunning habits and disobedience will increase, if it is not checked."

"Oh! I hope it won't increase—dear child—I should be sorry to see him grow sly." Mr. Boscawen returned. "My love, did Tommy cry? Was he very much hurt—poor dear? Did you leave him crying?"

"My dear Isabel, you have brought this upon him, by not checking disobedience in the first instance. You have allowed the child twice to steal your wine."

"My dear Boscawen—steal! indeed, that sounds dreadful! I hope my children will never steal! It was indeed my fault! Poor, dear child!—I dare say he is crying dreadfully now. Let me beg for my child, Boscawen."

"Let him remain where he is, Isabel: he has been very naughty."

"But I have taught him to steal, and I ought to suffer for him, dear Boscawen. Let me go to my child, my love!" The tears stood in Isabel's eyes, and Boscawen was still under their influence. He soothed his lady as fondly as when in earlier days she wept for the drooping ostrich feather.

"My dear Isabel, when we retire into the drawing-room, your child shall come down again. Don't weep, my love. I cannot wonder at your fondness, but he was very naughty. Wait a few moments, Isabel, and the child shall join us in the drawing-room. Don't let me see you weep—stay, I will bring him down to you."

Isabel smiled, and little Tommy was restored to her arms, as he entered the drawing-room. Mr. Boscawen felt he had acted unwisely by his child; but how could he resist Isabel in tears? Things were totally changed at Brierly. A tear from the bright blue eye of Isabel melted Boscawen's best resolves, and operated against the excellence of his own system of education. Isabel held the reins of government in her hands. She never argued with her husband—she never offered a word of opposition to his wishes—but she ruled by submission, and won his acquiescence by her tears and gentle self-upbraidings. Fortunately, her children possessed her own sweet disposition, which defied indulgence, or they might have suffered through Isabel's inability to check their budding faults. As it was, they loved her too well to persist in offending a parent so devoted; and it must have proved a very serious offence, ere the light-hearted Isabel could lament conduct which was ever palliated by her affectionate heart. She was indeed the happiest of wives and mothers.

Mr. Boscawen and Christobelle resumed their occupations instinctively, as if years had not intervened since they last walked and read together at Brierly. Isabel was delighted.

"Ah, there you go again!—read, read, talk, talk, all day long. I like to hear you argue, when I have time to devote to you both; but the children require so much attention, and the dear little things love to be with me so often, that dear Boscawen has been a great deal alone, haven't you, Boscawen? It is such a pleasure to have you here, Chrystal—my poor, dear husband won't have to endure my ignorance."

"Who says my Isabel is ignorant?" said Mr. Boscawen, patting his lady's shoulder affectionately.

"Yes, dear Boscawen, I am very ignorant, and very unfit for you; but I do very well to play with the darlings, and superintend every thing but their education—that you will do, except for poor little Bell: let her be happy and ignorant, Boscawen. If she is half as happy as her mother, she will not require knowledge—only her husband and children. I never wish for any thing beyond you and them." Isabel cast an upward and affectionate look at Boscawen, who bent his long figure to kiss his laughing wife.

Mr. Boscawen told Christobelle he had engaged to take her for a day or two to Hatton. The Pynsents were very anxious to see her, and Mrs. Pynsent had made it a point with him to bring the "tall, gawky, good-looking girl" to her, as soon as she had rested a few days at Brierly. The Charles Spottiswoodes, also, were wishing to see her again, to contemplate the improvement which five years must have effected in her appearance. The name of Spottiswoode brought blushes into the face of Christobelle.

"My dear Bell," exclaimed Isabel, with laughing delight, "how droll it is to think you have a lover; when I saw you last, you were such a bit of a girl! Sir John Spottiswoode is just the man I would have chosen for you—just the very person I should have singled out—is he not, Boscawen?—just the sort of man, with curling dark hair and high forehead, that you ought to like, dear Chrystal!"

"I had not dark curling hair, Isabel?" said Boscawen, smiling—"I had not a high forehead, had I?"

"My dear Boscawen, your hair was always dreadfully wiry, and I thought you very plain, but I liked you for all that, you know."

"Then why ought Chrystal to choose and love such things, my Isabel?"

"Ah! I dare say I am talking nonsense again," cried the humble Isabel, "for I should really recommend no one who does not resemble you, dear Boscawen. I should advise every woman to wait till they could find a kind, dear man, like yourself, and then they would not care about wiry hair, or...." Isabel hesitated and coloured.

"Say on, Isabel." Mr. Boscawen looked amused.

"I was going to say, they would not mind great long legs. Don't be angry, my love, with me."

Mr. Boscawen laughed. "You see, Isabel, the triumph of good sense over mere personal advantages. You cannot be ignorant, since you chose me in spite of my deficiencies. I hope all your young acquaintance may exhibit your indifference to mere good looks. Miss Wetheral, when shall we visit Hatton? Isabel, will you join the party?"

"I wish I could drive over with you, my love; but Charly is cutting a double-tooth, and I think little Bell is not quite well. I think I cannot leave my little ones two days, Boscawen!"

"Then Chrystal and myself will depart to-morrow for Hatton," said Boscawen, smiling, with gratified feelings, at his wife's love of her home and her little ones.

"Yes, Bell will amuse you, dear Boscawen, and you will not miss me. You can talk away upon history and the arts and sciences, and enjoy the novelty of a clever companion, for once. I am only fit to nurse my children."

"You are only fit to be a very excellent creature, and to be my dear little roundabout wife," exclaimed Boscawen; and Isabel looked so happy! It was delightful to witness the joyous expression which revelled in her looks, whenever she spoke with her husband and children. It was such a contrast to the Isabel whom Christobelle remembered, low-spirited, in her dressing-room at Wetheral, pining over "Burnet's Reformation!" It was such a contrast to the Isabel who watched in alarm the fond, but searching, glance of her excellent, elderly husband!—Christobelle told her so, when they were alone. She laughed.

"I remember, Bell, how frightened I used to be, and there was no cause for it! Boscawen was always kind, only I was so unwilling to receive improvement, and then I fancied his anxiety was annoying. When Miss Tabitha left Brierly, every thing was comfortable to me; for then, you know, there was no one to point out my faults. But, Chrystal, tell me now all about John Spottiswoode. Boscawen told me not to be curious, but I am very curious. I want to know how it all began, and why mamma is so foolish about Lord Farnborough."

Christobelle recapitulated her story to Isabel, who wondered, and was pleased, and wept, by turns, as her sister recounted all her sufferings. She clasped her arms round Christobelle.

"Never mind, Chrystal, never mind; and every thing will end as it should do. Every body knows mamma's matches have turned out shockingly; and John Spottiswoode is so loved by all his relations, so good to his mother and sister, that you are fortunate in attracting him; but you are so very handsome, dear Chrystal, you would attract every one, high and low. People are now scandalizing poor Julia, and pointing at her and Colonel Neville; but I will never believe that Julia would do wrong, though I dare say she is very unhappy, poor dear girl."

"What does Boscawen think, Isabel?"

"Oh, Boscawen never thought that match would answer. He did not like the Dowager's manners and character; and he said to me, at Julia's wedding, that if my sister fell from her high estate, the two mothers would answer for it hereafter. He said, too, that Julia was the victim of two machinating Machiavels. Of course, he meant mamma and the Dowager. Lord Selgrave was always disliked as a cruel, disagreeable boy, I hear; so he would have made you a sad husband, in spite of being Earl of Farnborough, and a trumpery Duke in expectancy."

Isabel's remarks only corroborated the observations of Spottiswoode, and Christobelle believed herself indeed saved from ruin, though she paid a severe penalty for her escape, in the angry prohibition of her mother's disappointed views. Her present pain, she felt assured, was far more bearable than the misery of an unhappy matrimony; and she was grateful beyond expression to know that she was given to a man, so loved and so well appreciated as Spottiswoode was, among her nearest friends. Their approbation must be balm to her heart; and, when her mother heard how all lips concurred to praise him, would she continue her ungenerous dislike to her presence? Would she persist in holding back her consent, and still pertinaciously revenge upon her head her dismissal of a man so little respected as Lord Farnborough? Christobelle hoped not in fear and trembling; she would hope. As her dear father observed, she had a right to hope that her prayers would be heard and answered, if she persevered in the path of principle.

Christobelle's spirits were considerably improved, by viewing the happy lot of Isabel, in the enjoyment of those tranquil domestic scenes which were so adapted to her taste and nature. In Mr. Boscawen, she met the highly-informed mind which imparted knowledge with a flow so gentle, that it did not startle or confound the listening neophite. His was a mind which fertilized as it stole along, improving all, and delighting every ear, but the ear of Isabel. To her the stream of his intellect flowed by, without a wish to understand, or kindle under its influence, one spark of sympathetic fire. Yet she gloried in her husband, and their life was peaceful and happy.

It is temper which creates the bliss of home, or disturbs its comfort. It is not in the collision of intellect, that domestic peace loves to nestle. Her home is in the forbearing nature—in the yielding spirit—in the calm pleasures of a mild disposition, anxious to give and receive happiness. In the sweet humility of Isabel, and in the indulgent forbearance of Boscawen, peace dwelt undisturbed by rival animosity; and she did not suffer those alarms which chase her timid presence from the hearth of the contentious, and from the bosom of the envious. Such was the blessed comfort and true charm of Brierly.

Isabel was all bustle and kindness, as her husband and sister prepared to depart for Hatton. "Had dear Boscawen forgotten his shaving-apparatus?—his tooth-brush? Was he sure he had his eye-glass? She hoped they would return very soon; but, at any rate, till they made their appearance again, she should live in the nursery. Dear Boscawen was to be sure and remember every thing that was said of Chrystal, for she was sure every one would admire her pretty face; and Chrystal was particularly to be amused with Tom Pynsent's remarks upon Anna Maria's borrowed bloom. Where was Charly and Bell? They had begged to ride as far as the Lodges, and she would put on her hat and meet them."

Isabel ran off to the nursery, and returned with her three children. Tommy was a soldier, and a drum was appended to his neck. Charly had a new fiddle in his hand, and little Bell was sorted with a trumpet, that she might approach as nearly as possible to her brother's style of amusements. Isabel placed them in the carriage. "Now, Charly and Tommy, don't make a great noise; and don't snatch your sister's trumpet from her, my loves. Papa will put you out at the Lodge, and mamma will be ready to take you. Charly, don't squeeze your aunt's pretty dress; and, Bell, my love, don't push back your bonnet—I don't like to see little girls push back their bonnet. Chrystal, give my love to every body, and say I could not leave the little ones; I should have done nothing but think of them. My dear Boscawen, come back very soon; and, Chrystal, don't stay long."

"Any thing more, Isabel?" demanded Boscawen. "Any thing about curled heads and high foreheads?"

"Ah, you are laughing at me, now, wicked man! I believe I talk a great deal of nonsense, but little Bell will not have her mother's infirmities, I hope."

"I hope she will possess all of them," replied Boscawen, "and only inherit half her mother's sweet temper. She will then have enough to raise my pride."

Isabel laughed gaily, and blushed at her husband's energetic speech; but she kissed her hand, with such a happy expression of countenance, as they drove from the door! How pleasing was the sight, and how it tended to raise the spirits of Christobelle!

The children did not make more noise than usual, as they drove to the Lodge; and little Bell only lost her trumpet and her temper once, during the transit. They were then deposited with the Lodge-keeper till their mamma should join them, and Mr. Boscawen proceeded on his journey. They stopped to change horses at Bridgnorth, and, as they remained some minutes at the Crown, Christobelle remembered the appearance of Thompson, at her first visit there, and the cause of her sudden recal home. It was after the luckless elopement of Clara, that she was hurried to Wetheral, to be the companion of her mother, under circumstances most annoying to herself, connected with the very marriage she had promoted so anxiously. Christobelle was now herself the object of her anger, for declining to enter into an engagement, hateful to her heart and principles! How and when would her mother's soul be divested of its ambitious worldly anxieties?

Christobelle's reception at Hatton was gratifying to her feelings in the highest degree. She was surrounded by affectionate greetings and congratulations. Mrs. Pynsent wrung her hand with kind violence.

"Hollo, Miss Bell, so we have got you back again, and I won't ask where Sir Jacky is, because and because. Got your blushes still, Miss Bell! So much the better—and I'll be bound you have brought back your good heart. No, not your heart, but your good temper. Here, Bobby, come and look at our new beauty. I tell you what, Miss Bell, you are a finer girl than any of your sisters; not even that unfortunate, poor Lady Kerrison came up to you in good looks."

"Come, come, I'll match my little wife with the best of you," exclaimed Tom, more good-humoured, more red-faced than ever. "I'll match my little wife's bloom even against the handsome 'Bell.' Bell's fine colour comes and fades away again in an instant; but Anna Maria's cherry cheeks are everlasting. Look at them!" Tom Pynsent dragged his laughing wife before Christobelle.

"Ay, ay," replied Mrs. Pynsent, winking her eye, "we know Anna Maria's bloom is the right sort—renewable at pleasure. Look at Bobby, screwing up his eyes.—What's the matter, Bobby?"

Mr. Pynsent never did, and never could appear to advantage, under the ridicule which his lady's address always threw around him; but he did not observe the de haut en bas manner, or else long custom had taken away all feeling upon the extraordinary nature of her remarks. Probably he had long felt assured the evil was irremediable. His own manner was very courteous, but Mr. Pynsent was not a man of many words. He surrendered all speech quietly into the hands of his lady, and contented himself with silently listening to the remarks of others, without adventuring his own. Mr. Pynsent took no notice of her question.

"What's the matter, Bobby?" repeated Mrs. Pynsent. "Can't you admire Miss Bell, without screwing up your poor old pair of greys? It's a fair face to look upon, isn't it, after gazing upon poor Sal. Miss Bell, poor Sally Hancock is in a precious pickle."

"I heard of it from Isabel."

"You never saw such a poor thing!—all over with Sal, Miss Bell; but the poor creature is so cast down! She has a room here now, to be amused by the children, and watch their antics; and, luckily, you know, she can't speak plain, to put bad words in their mouths. Poor Sally! I could not let her remain at Lea, in that state; and I think she is very comfortable here with the children and Bobby."

"Where are the children? Where is Tom, and where is Moll and Bab?" asked Tom Pynsent. "Bell must see the children—Bell will want to see the children—I thought I heard them screaming just now, somewhere."

"They were fighting over a brush just now in the second hall," replied his mother, "and they nearly killed the baby. I expected the poor little thing would have got a broken head in the scuffle, but he fought like a fury, and sent his fist into Moll's eye."

"They do fight dreadfully," observed Anna Maria.

"Let them alone, I won't have them checked," cried their grandmother; "when they have had thumps enough, they will be quiet. Moll is worse than the baby; but their spirits are so high, I won't have them cowed."

"Bell," said Tom Pynsent, with a tone and look of honest pride, "you have pretty scamps for your relations. Tom rides a Shetland after the hounds, and Moll runs up a tree like a young squirrel. Bab and the baby are improving, too, by their example. Tally ho! I hear them!" he ran to the door, and opened it. "Tally ho, there! Tom and Moll, bring the litter this way!"

The four children burst into the drawing-room like a pack of hounds, and the baby, a stout child of a year old toddling in, he fell down, and the others ran over him. Tom Pynsent caught up the sturdy boy.

"Don't give tongue, you young rascal, but fight 'em, Bill—here, double your fists at them all."

The child mechanically closed his little fists, and his father placed him before Miss Bab.

"Battle her well, Bill, rattle her."

The child, who had not yet cast his cap, dealt a blow at his sister, which Miss Bab returned by knocking him down. The child did not attempt to cry at the blow, but, rising from the floor, he again doubled his infantine fists for the battle. Tom Pynsent was delighted.

"Well done, Bill, well done, my sharp lad! Come, that's enough at a time! Live to fight another day, Bill!"

"Come to your granny, my sharpshooter," cried Mrs. Pynsent; "I have something in my pocket for stout-hearted men!"

Billy toddled to his grandmother, who drew a box of sugarplums from her capacious pocket, and rewarded his prowess by a shower of sweets. Tom and Moll were likewise engaged in a controversy, which threatened to end in an engagement. They were quarrelling over Christobelle's parasol, Moll demanding it to walk with, and be a lady, like aunt Bell, while Tom insisted upon shouldering it like a bayonet, as the Count de Nolis had taught him. The dispute ran very high.

"Tom, dear, don't let the children fight," said Anna Maria, as she examined the make and material of her sister's silk pelisse, "they have been fighting all day."

"Aunt Bell, mayn't I have it?" screamed little Moll, as she struggled with her brother for the possession of the parasol.

"I will have it first!" roared Tom, dragging the handle from her grasp.

Mr. Boscawen extricated the parasol from their hands, and kept possession of it during their stay in the drawing-room, but no one else attempted to release Christobelle's property from the struggle. Tom Pynsent called their attention from their defeat.

"Now, Tom, catch papa if you can, and show your aunt whether your legs are as stout as your lungs. Moll! Bab! Bill! now for it!"

The drawing-room became a scene of dreadful confusion. Tom Pynsent, delighted to show off his children, and always the foremost to give them pleasure, threaded the mazes of the tables and chairs, while the little ones raced screaming and hallooing after him. Mr. Boscawen sought a retreat from their deafening shouts by quitting the room, and even Anna Maria half closed her eyes, as she assured her sister they made really more noise that day than ever, in compliment, she supposed, to her arrival. Mrs. Pynsent sat with the box of sugarplums on her lap, enjoying the din of voices, and inciting them forward, by clapping her hands and exclaiming:—"Hurrah, my lads and lasses, catch him! Round the chair, Bill!—down you go—up again—well done, my hearty! Halloo there, Moll! Bab, you be hanged!" Mr. Pynsent looked overpowered, but he said nothing.

Such were the sports of Hatton. The commotion continued till both parties, the chaser and the chased, became wearied with their exertions, and then the children wished to go and ride their rocking-horses. Mrs. Pynsent loaded them with sweetmeats and good advice, as she dismissed each from her presence.

"I say, you young Tommy, don't suck your fingers, but look to that poor morsel of a Bill, and don't run over him. If he falls, pick him up, and wipe his nose, like a little gentleman. Here, my Moll in the wad, look at your torn frock, and don't thump Bab upon the back so hard. Never mind, Bab, here's six sugarplums for that thump, and you must give it Moll well, to-morrow. What, Bill, old boy! you must have sugarplums, too, must you? There then, and toddle after them, my sharpshooter. Go all of you to old aunt Hancock."

When the children were gone, Christobelle had time to give her attention to Anna Maria. The elegance of Miss Wetheral had in a great degree lost its tone, but Mrs. Tom Pynsent was fashionably French still in her dress and appearance. Rouging very highly gave an unnatural brilliance to her eyes, and her figure had become enlarged, though not in the same proportion with Isabel: Christobelle thought her handsome and striking, but she was not the pale, still, and interestingly elegant woman, who had volunteered her affections to the stout, good-looking, red-faced Tom Pynsent. Many might have considered Anna Maria improved by the change which had gradually taken place in her appearance; but Christobelle had admired her so greatly in her more youthful days, that her eye could not reconcile itself to her present style. There was, she thought, something too garish in the deeply-rouged cheek and glittering eye of her sister.

Her affection for her husband was quite unchanged: she still spoke of him with powerful affection, and dilated upon his unvaried kindness and good temper with vivacity. During Christobelle's long absence, Tom had never changed towards her in indulgence and interest. Mrs. Pynsent was all that could be desired in a mother-in-law, for her warm heart never fancied she could do enough for those she loved; and poor Mr. Pynsent was in nobody's way. Anna Maria doted upon her children, and she confessed herself to be "the happiest woman in the world, when the children did not fight, but they certainly did fight furiously, and Tom and his mother encouraged it."

Christobelle asked after the health of FÉlicÉ.

"Oh, FÉlicÉ is very well, but she cannot comprehend a word of English, stupid girl, and I am losing my French. Every body borrows FÉlicÉ, and she travels all round the county before any public meeting takes place. FÉlicÉ is always borrowed by Pen Spottiswoode before the races, and, when she appears, you would declare her clothes were cut out by the Lidham cook, instead of FÉlicÉ. Pen never dressed well, you know, Bell."

"Miss Bell," cried Mrs. Pynsent, from a distant corner of the drawing-room, "have you heard any tidings from Bedinfield? because there is a rod in pickle for somebody in that quarter. Your poor sister has made a sorry concern of that grand match, which was to her so desirable. Not much better a business than Lady Kerrison's! Report is saying the deuce and all of poor Miss Julia and that colonel. That dowager never was liked by any one, for her acquaintance was always a blight upon the poor soul who made it."

Christobelle asked if her sister had been in Shropshire, since their removal into Scotland.

"No, my dear; Lady Ennismore has never suffered her son to bring your sister into Shropshire, since her return to England. She has her own reasons for it. I know what I could call her, only I have promised Sally Hancock never to use large words, now her own mouth is stopped, poor thing! If your sister elopes with that moustache fellow, it will be the fault of those who married her to such a poor creature as my lord."

"Have you heard any thing in particular about Julia, my dear Anna Maria?" asked Christobelle, in a low voice.

"Reports only," was her reply, "but they begin to assume a form. There are very strange reports about Colonel Neville, but we do not hear from Julia; she has never written to me since I went to the altar with her, and I was tired with writing unanswered letters. Papa told us when he returned with you from Bedinfield, that it was vain to hope she would ever be withdrawn from the dowager; and if she did discover treachery, it would only make her wretched, without a hope of escape. Lord Ennismore is devoted to his mother, and Julia would suffer, he thought, by any complaints on her side. We hear Lord Ennismore is in a poor way, but we know nothing: Julia might as well be in another hemisphere, since we neither meet nor correspond. How miserably Clara and Julia have been in their choice, Bell! I cannot be too thankful I won my dear Tom at last."

"I say, Miss Bell," cried Mrs. Pynsent from her corner, where she sat knitting, "I say, Miss Bell, when does Sir Jacky return to us?" Anna Maria smiled at her sister's confusion. Christobelle hesitated for a moment to reply.

"Miss Bell, Sir Jacky is a great favourite of mine, and I want to hear a little about him. Come here, Miss Bell, come nearer to me, I want to ask a question."

Christobelle approached Mrs. Pynsent, amused at the idea of her intended jokes, which could not offend, since only Anna Maria was now present. The two gentlemen had sought for Mr. Boscawen when the children dispersed. She, therefore, seated herself near her.

"What have you to say to me, Mrs. Pynsent, that is not kind and pleasant at all times?"

"I have this to say," she replied, with a seriousness foreign to her usual manner, "I have to say, that, much as I liked you as a girl, I love you far better than ever, now, because you had the sense to refuse a young coroneted rascal some time ago, and choose a man who will be a jewel to you. You showed sense and spirit in refusing to be manoeuvred into wickedness, to lead the abominable life which two of your sisters have been doomed to suffer; and you showed a right woman's warm heart, in taking a man whom I like and respect next to my own Tom for comeliness and godliness. When a young woman marries such a tight lad as Jacky Spottiswoode, she knows she will be happy to the day of her death, and be respected among her friends. Now, Miss Bell, what do you say to that?"

Christobelle said nothing. Tears filled her eyes, and spoke volumes for her. She was affected with the idea that all her friends, except one, approved the connexion she was about to form. Mrs. Pynsent's remarks affected her still more, because they were spoken with unusual quietness of manner and phrase, and her words ever came from the fountain of her heart in all truth and sincerity. She spoke, too, the sentiments of those around her; Christobelle judged so, by Mrs. Pynsent assuring her of the respect of her friends. It was a deep gratification to think her attachment was sanctioned by those she loved and honoured; and it was a grateful pride to feel assured the finger of scorn or ridicule had never pointed observations offensive to the high character of her beloved Spottiswoode. Was it to be wondered at that she sat silent by the side of Mrs. Pynsent, enjoying feelings too blessed for utterance? She saw her agitation, and forbore to notice it; but Mrs. Pynsent was not wanting in real delicacy to those who did not offend her notions of right; and to Christobelle she had ever shown peculiar kindness. She addressed her daughter.

"I say, Anna Maria, we'll have old Sally Hancock to spend the evening with us, to compliment Miss Bell. It's all over with Sal now, so she won't shock the company. You need not be afraid of Sally Hancock any more, for she can't speak, if she was dying for it. I can see her poor eyes glare up sometimes; you won't mind Sally Hancock. She likes to watch the children, and when they don't pull her crutch from her, they are great friends. Moll and Bab often imitate her walk, but Sally Hancock only laughs at them."

"I wish the children would not fight so much," remarked Anna Maria.

"Fiddle diddle! my Tom fought Pen Spottiswoode like a dragon when he was their age, and he is all the better for it. I don't like to keep down their spirits. How would our little Moll climb the sycamore, if she hadn't a fearless spirit? Well, look at Bobby, between those two great monsters upon the lawn! Boscawen looks such a long animal, compared with Bobby. Don't you think Bobby is worn into half a goose, Miss Bell? He looks trussed for the spit."

"I think Mr. Pynsent looking very well—better than your letters insinuated, Mrs. Pynsent."

"Poor Bobby! no, he's nothing better than half a goose now; but Sally Hancock and myself remember him a smart lad. There goes the half-hour bell!"

"Come, then, Bell, we will depart, for my toilette is a long affair," said her sister, rising.

"I say," called Mrs. Pynsent, as they left the room, "I say, Anna Maria, don't let Bell into the secrets of the prison-house."

"Oh! Bell knows all about that!" replied the laughing Anna Maria. "Tom is the only person who does not know my secret. Every body knows I only rouge to please Tom."