[Illustration: Clifton and the Avon.] Any one watching her face as she bent over Piers' treasures, and examined his drawings, would have scarcely believed that she was the mother of four children, to whom she was devoted. Piers was seated at his table, and she was standing over him, with one hand upon his shoulder, while, with the other, she now and then stroked back his hair, as in old days. It is strange to think how the quiet, happy life of home, and home interests may go on, while the storm of political strife, and religious controversy rages without. It was thus with Sir Thomas Browne, the philosopher and physician, of Norwich, who produced his great work, the "Religio Medici," when England stood on the eve of the greatest storm, which ever burst over her. It was thus with many less distinguished and simple souls, who went about their accustomed duties and pleasures, and took up their daily burden of cares and toil, and gave but little heed to the jarring elements without. Presently Joyce said: "I must go to mother now and get ready for dinner. How has mother been lately?" "Oh! very well," Piers said. "She does not _care_ very much for anything, that is the worst of it. She always talks of her day being over, and that she has nothing now to live for; but she has, all the same," Piers continued, laughing. "She bustles about every morning, rubbing and dusting, and then she is knitting socks enough to last Falcon till he is twenty, and all kinds of things for your baby." "Does she get on with the servants now?" "Oh! pretty well. Of course, there is a good scold every day of one or the other of them, but both the maids know by this time, as we all do, that mother's bark may be sharp, but her bite is nothing." "I hope you are not very dull, darling Piers?" Joyce asked. "Dull! No, thank goodness! I don't know what dullness means. I see you have brought Charlotte with you; she is as languishing as ever." "Poor Charlotte!" Joyce said; "she, at any rate, knows very well what dullness means. But I must not stay; remember you and mother are to spend Christmas with us in Great George Street." The Clifton of fifty-five year's ago might not present such an appearance of gaiety on a fine afternoon as it does now; but, nevertheless, the Downs and Observatory were sprinkled with people, well dressed, in carriages, or Bath chairs, or on foot.