Before there can be any romance—as I understand the word—in animal life, there must be some degree of intelligence in the romance-making animals. The question, therefore, is, at what stage in the ascending scale any conscious exertion of brain-power—any evidence of what we call a mind—begins to show itself. I say this because I have to begin somewhere, and in my selection of subject-matter to illustrate the title of this book, I had intended to pursue a plan similar in principle to that resolved on by Koko, in Mr. Gilbert’s _Mikado_, who, with a view to becoming perfect as an executioner, was going “to begin with a guinea-pig and work his way through the animal kingdom, till he came to a second trombone.” Of course _I_ must begin much lower down than a guinea-pig, and the nearest approach I can hope to make to a second trombone will be a gorilla—but the principle is the same. However, on further consideration, I think that this scheme, if rigidly followed, may prove too exacting, and also give an appearance of scientific pretension to this humble little work, which it is entirely guiltless of. I have decided, therefore, to soften and modify it by the employment, when occasion offers, of another and somewhat opposed principle, that, namely, of letting one thing link itself to another as it does in ordinary conversation, either through suggestion or association, quite irrespective of whether there is any or no natural—that is to say, systematic—connection between the two. For instance, should alligators be the theme, and should they, after lying like logs on the water, and so forth, proceed, in the dramatic development of their character, to seize and devour some unsuspecting mammal, I shall use the incident as a convenient opportunity for treating of that mammal—should there be anything to say about it—without waiting for its proper turn to be treated of to arrive, as upon the first-stated principle I should have to do. But where opportunities of this sort do not present themselves—if birds have only to do with birds, insects with insects, and so forth—then I shall be systematic, and so go on, letting the one method balance the other. A third principle—that, namely, of paying no attention to either of the other two—will also occasionally be acted upon, and if, as a result of the three, no principle at all should be discernible by the reader, I would ask him to look upon that as a merit, since “Summa ars est celare artem.” And now, having explained my system, which I think is an easy and flexible one, I will proceed to put it into practice in the best way I can.