strange picture of the household—father, mother, son, and even poor Aunt Anna—all day in the streets in the thick of this rough business, and the boy packed off alone to school in a distant quarter on the very morrow of the massacre.
They had ail the gift of enjoying life's texture as it comes; they were all born optimists. The name of liberty was honoured in that family, its spirit also, but within stringent limits; and some of the foreign friends of Mrs, Jenkin were, as I have said, men distinguished on the Liberal side. Like Wordsworth, they beheld
France standing an the top of golden hours
And human nature seeming born again.
At once, by temper and belief, they were formed to find their element in such a decent and whiggish convulsion, spectacular in its course, moderate in its purpose. For them,
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
But to be young was very heaven,
And I cannot but smile when I think that
