“They wrote about the passing of bills in Parliament,” his parent remarked, “and about wars and royal marriages; why don’t they touch on things of really vital importance?” It was at this period of existence that his papa was frequently distracted in moments of deep absorption in scientific subjects, by being implored to leave his essay upon astigmatism and revert his attention upon his offspring. “Don’t waste him!” he was besought. “He could not possibly keep up this degree of fascination always. He might grow out of it, and then just think how you would feel when you reflected that you had read medical books when you might have been watching him pretending to be looking at pictures. He ought to be economized every moment!” But the most charming feature of his character was that his knowledge of the possession of glittering accomplishments, which were innumerable, never betrayed him into forgetting that his attitude toward the entire world was one of the most perfect good-fellowship. When he was spoken to, he smiled; when he was kissed, even by unprepossessingly familiar persons, he always comported himself with graceful self-control and dignity. The trying fact, which I am sure was more apparent to no one than to himself, that there were individuals whose idea of entertaining him was to make blatant idiots of themselves, was never resented by him openly. When they uttered strange sounds, and poked his soft cheeks, or tumbled him about in an unseemly manner, it was his habit to gaze at them with deep but not disdainful curiosity and interest, as if he were trying to be just toward them and explain to himself their point of view. “It really must be rather fatiguing to him not to be able to express himself,” was his mamma’s opinion. “He has evidently so many opinions in reserve.” He was so softly plump, he was so sweet-tempered, he was so pretty! One forgot all about his Early English sister Vivien. It was as if she had never been contemplated for a moment. The word “calamity” was artfully avoided in conversation. One felt unworthy, and rather blushed if one caught sight of it in literature. When he invented a special little habit of cuddling up to his mamma in a warm, small heap, and in his sleep making for her a heavenly downy necklace of both his arms, with his diminutive palms locked together to hold her prisoner through the night, she began to feel it quite possible that his enslaving effect upon her might be such as to enfeeble an intellect even of the most robust. But she knew him by this time well enough to realize that it would be useless to rebel, and that she might as well succumb.