The bat is a winged mouse.
They live very retired during the day, but at nite cum out for a frolik.
They fli very mutch unsartin, and ackt az tho they had taken a little
too mutch gin.
They look out ov their face like a young owl, and will bite like a
snappin turkle.
What they are good for i kant tell, and dont believe they kan tell
neither.
They dont seem tew be bird, beast, nor insek, but a kind of live hash,
made out ov all three.
If thare want enny bats in this world, i dont suppose the earth would
refuse tew revolve on its axis, once in a while, just for fun.
But when we cum to think, that thare aint on the face ov the earth, even
one bat too mutch, and that thare haint been, sintz the daze ov adam, a
single surpluss muskeeters egg, laid by acksident, we kan form sum kind
ov an idea, how little we know, and what a poor job we should make ov
it, running the machinery of kreashun.
Man iz a phool enny how, and the best ov the joke iz, he don't seem tew
kno it.
Bats hav a destiny tew fill, and i will bet 4 dollars, they fill it
better than we do ours.
Bats liv on flies, and hawks liv on bats, but who livs on the hawks, i
kant tell.
Biled hawk may be good, i never herd enny boddy say it wasn't, but i
dont hope i shall ever be called upon tew decide it.
Tew save life, i would eat biled hawk, but if it tastes az i think it
duz, i wouldn't ask for a seckond plate ov it.