I kant think ov enny thing God has made, more harmless than a swallo, they are as innosent az a daizy, and az pure as the air they swim in, they wont live, shut up in a cage, mutch longer, than a trout will.
THE BAT.
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.