er, earth, or air.
The Hen, "Cut, cut, cut-dah-cut!" cried,
For all to cut at the thing she spied;
While the taunting Duck said, "Quack, quack, quack!"
As her muddy mouth to the pool went back,
For something denser than sound, to show
Her sage disgust, at the quack to throw.
The old Turk strutted, and gobbled aloud,
Till he gathered around him a babbling crowd;
When each proud neck in the whole doomed group
Was poked with a condescending stoop,
And a pointed beak, at the prostrate Bat,
Which they eyed askance, as to ask, "What's _that_?"
But none could tell; and the poults moved off,
In their _select circle_ to leer and scoff.

The Goslings skulked; but their wise mamma,
She hissed, and screamed, till the Lambs cried, "Ba-a!"
When up from his straw sprang the gaping Calf,
With a gawky leap and a clammy laugh.
He stared--retreated--and off he went,
The wondrous news in his voice to vent,--
That he had discovered a _monster_ there--
A _bird four-footed, and clothed with hair_!
And had dashed his heel at the sight so odd,
It looked, he thought, like a _heathen god_!

The scuddling Chicks cried, "Peep, peep, peep!
For Boss looks high, but not very deep!
It is not a fowl! 'tis the worst of things,--
low, mean beast, with the use of wings,
So noiseless round on the air to skim,
You know not when you are safe from him."

There stood by, some of the bristly tribe,
Who felt so touched by the peeper's gibe,
Their backs were up; for they thought, at least,
It aimed at them the _low, mean beast:_
And they challenged Chick to her tiny face,
In their sharp, high notes, and their awful base.

Then old Chanticleer to his mount withdrew,
And gave from his rostrum a loud halloo.
He blew his clarion strong and shrill,
Till he turned all eyes to his height, the hill;
When he noised it round with his loudest crow,
That 't was none of the _plumed_ ones brought so low.

And, "Bow-wow-wow!" went the sentry Cur;
But he soon strolled off in a grave demur,
When he saw on the wonder, _hair_, like his,
_Two ears_, and a kind of _doubtful phiz;_
And he deemed it prudent to pause, and hark
In silence, for fear that the sight might _bark_!

At last came Puss, with a cautious pat
To feel the pulse of the quivering Bat,
That had not, under her tender paw,
A limb to move, nor a breath to draw!
Then she called her kit for a mother's gift,
And stilled its mew with the racy lift.

When Mole of the awful death was told,
"Alas!" crie