Alas! for Clarence! Courage was not in him. The fearless infant boy chiefly dwells in conventional fiction, and valour seldom comes before strength. Moreover, I have come to the opinion that though no one thought of it at the time, his nerves must have had a terrible and lasting shock at the accident and at the sight of my crushed and deathly condition, which occupied every one too much for them to think of soothing or shielding him. At any rate, fear was the misery of his life. Darkness was his horror. He would scream till he brought in some one, though he knew it would be only to scold or slap him. The housemaid’s closet on the stairs was to him an abode of wolves. Mrs. Gatty’s tale of _The Tiger in the Coal-box_ is a transcript of his feelings, except that no one took the trouble to reassure him; something undefined and horrible was thought to wag in the case of the eight-day clock; and he could not bear to open the play cupboard lest ‘something’ should jump out on him. The first time he was taken to the Zoological Gardens, the monkeys so terrified him that a bystander insisted on Gooch’s carrying him away lest he should go into fits, though Griffith was shouting with ecstasy, and could hardly forgive the curtailment of his enjoyment. Clarence used to aver that he really did see ‘things’ in the dark, but as he only shuddered and sobbed instead of describing them, he was punished for ‘telling fibs,’ though the housemaid used to speak under her breath of his being a ‘Sunday child.’ And after long penance, tied to his stool in the corner, he would creep up to me and whisper, ‘But, Eddy, I really did!’ However, it was only too well established in the nursery that Clarence’s veracity was on a par with his courage. When taxed with any misdemeanour, he used to look round scared and bewildered, and utter a flat demur. One scene in particular comes before me. There were strict laws against going into shops or buying dainties without express permission from mamma or nurse; but one day when Clarence had by some chance been sent out alone with the good natured housemaid, his fingers were found sticky. ‘Now, Master Clarence, you’ve been a naughty boy, eating of sweets,’ exclaimed stern Justice in a mob cap and frills. ‘No—no—’ faltered the victim; but, alas! Mrs. Gooch had only to thrust her hand into the little pocket of his monkey suit to convict him on the spot.