ture of two
very interesting figures in our family history.

I don't suppose that Cain and Abel
Were very mannerly at table.
From what I've read by those that knew 'em
They'd speak when none had spoken to 'em,
And in a manner unbefittin'
Upon their shoulders they'd be sittin',
And sundry dinosaurs be treating
With scraps the while themselves were eating.
I fear they smacked their lips while pickin'
The bones of tarpon and spring chicken,
And each the other would be hazin'
To see who got the final raisin.
The notion in my brain-pan lingers
They ate their flapjacks with their fingers--
Not that their mother fair assented,
But knives and forks were not invented.
When there was pie, I fear they grabbed it,
Unless their Pa'd already nabbed it;
And that in fashion most unmoral
O'er cakes and puddings they would quarrel.
I don't believe that either chapkin
E'er thought at lunch to fold his napkin,
And if one biscuit graced the platter
'Twas ever less than fighting matter,
Or if they'd beans--no doubt they had 'em--
They failed to snap a few at Adam.
I fear me as they ate their salade
They hummed some raw primeval ballad,
And when the Serpent came to dinner,
They made remarks about the sinner.
No doubt they criticised the cooking
And hooked the fruit when none was looking,
And when they'd soup--O my! O Deary!
The very notion makes me weary.
About these youngsters let's stop writing
And turn to subjects more inviting!

I have never been able to ascertain the authorship of this poem, but
if the poet ever sees this I hope he will be glad to know that I
heartily agree with Mother Eve's memorandum written underneath the
clipping in her book,

"I guess this scribe has had boys of his own!"

CHAPTER VI

HE CONFESSES TO BEING A POET

I do not know whether it is a part of the programme mapped out for me
that I am to live forever or not, and I realize the danger that a man
runs in writing his memoirs if he put aught down in them which shall
savor of confession. They say that confession is good for the soul,
but I have not yet discovered anybody who was profited by it to any
material extent. On the contrary, even the virtuous have suffered from
it, as witness the case of my dear old Uncle Zekel. In his extreme
youth Zekel went out one summer's day, the call of the wild