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?"