It may be readily imagined, therefore, why until this I have never acknowledged my own proneness to expressing myself in verse.

Only two or three of my most intimate friends have been aware of the tendency, and they have been so ashamed of it that as my friends they have sought rather to suppress than to spread the report.
I quite remember the consternation with which my first effort was received in the family.

Father Adam had been reminiscing about the Garden Days, and he had made the remark that when some of the animals came up to be christened they were such extraordinary looking creatures he was afraid they were imaginary.
"Take the Ornithorhyncus, for instance," he said, "and the Discosaurus Carnegii--why, when they came ambling up for their tickets I could hardly believe my eyes, and I turned to Eve and asked her with real anxiety, whether or not she saw anything, and, of course, her answer reassured me, but for a minute I was afraid that the grape-juice we had had for lunch was up to its old tricks." This anecdote amused me tremendously, for I had myself thought the Discosaurus about the funniest looking beast except the shad, I had ever seen, and I promptly constructed a limerick which I handed over to my father.

It ran this way: There was an old fellow named Adam, Who lived in the Garden with Madam.
When the critters they came All demanding a name He thought for a minute he "had 'em!" I don't think I shall ever forget the result of my father's horrified reading of the lines.

All my grandfathers back to Adam himself were there, and wrath, fear, and consternation were depicted on every countenance when the last line was delivered, and then every eye was turned on me.