It would be impossible to explain him without relating anecdotes. Is there not an illustration of the politeness of his demeanor and the grace of his infant manners in the reply renowned in his history, made at the age of four, when his mamma was endeavoring to explain some interesting point in connection with the structure of his small, plump body? It was his habit to ask so many searching questions that it was necessary for his immediate relatives to endeavor to render their minds compact masses of valuable facts. But on this occasion his inquiries had led him into such unknown depths as were beyond him for the moment—only for the moment, of course. He listened to the statement made, his usual engaging expression of delighted interest gradually becoming tinged with polite doubtfulness. When the effort at explanation was at an end he laid his hand upon his mamma’s knee with apologetic but firm gentleness. “Well, you see,” he said, “of course you know I _believe_ you, dearest” (the most considerate stress was laid upon the “believe”), “but, _ascuse_ me,” with infinite delicacy, “_ascuse_ me, I do _not_ think it is true.” The tender premonitory assurance that his confidence was unimpaired, even though he was staggered by the statement made, was so affectionately characteristic of him, and the apologetic grace of the “ascuse me, dearest,” was all his own. There might be little boys who were oblivious of, and indifferent to, the attractions of simoons, who saw no charm in the interior arrangements of camels, and were indifferent to the strata of the earth, but in his enterprising mind such subjects wakened the liveliest interest, and a little habit he had, of suddenly startling his family by revealing to them the wealth of his store of knowledge, by making casual remarks, was at once instructive and enlivening. “A camel has ever so many stomachs,” he might sweetly announce, while sitting in his high chair and devoting himself to his breakfast, the statement appearing to evolve itself from dreamy reflection. “It fills them with water. Then it goes across the desert and carries things. Then it isn’t thirsty.” He was extremely pleased with the camel, and was most exhaustive in his explanations of him. It was not unlikely that Carrie and Dan might have passed a strict examination on the subject of incidents connected with the crossing of the Great Desert. He also found his bones interesting, and was most searching in his inquiries as to the circulation of his blood. But he had been charmed with his bones from his first extremely early acquaintance with them, as witness an incident of his third year, which is among the most cherished by his family of their recollections of him. He sat upon his mamma’s knee before the nursery fire, a small, round, delightful thing, asking questions. He had opened up the subject of his bones by discovering that his short, plump arm seemed built upon something solid, which he felt at once necessary to investigate.