THE OWL, THE BAT, AND THE BUMBLE-BEE.

The brown owl sat on the caraway tree, A ruffed-up, great big owl. Who so learnéd and wise as he? A puffed-up, eminent fowl. The black bat hung by a twig of the tree, A blinking, blind old bat. And buzzing anear was the bumble-bee, Crinkling, yellow, and fat. “Ho!” said the owl, “but the sun is so bright, So torrid, blazing away!” “Oh,” said the bat, “for the shades of night, This horrid dazzling day!” “Psho!” said the bee. “If that is all, Blundery, blind old bat, Yonder’s a cloud coming up at your call,— Thundery,—black as a hat.” “Ah!” cried the bat and the owl together, “Tumbling great black Cloud, Bring us some fine dark thundery weather, Rumbling fierce and loud!” Up came the cloud, flying far and wide, Wizardly weird and strong,— Brisk little hurricane sitting inside, Blizzardly bowling along. Off went the owl like a thistle-down puff, Ruffled-up, rolled in a ball! Off went the bat like a candle-snuff, Shuffled-up, toes and all! Off went the twig and off went the tree, Scurrying down to the ground! Nothing was left, save the bumble-bee, Worrying thus to be found; Yet snug as a bug in the roots of the tree, Where he grumbled; “What a catastrophe! I was simply thunder-struck!” said he. “And I’m very sure I prefer the glare Of the hottest day to that whirling air! Such a draught! I hope I have not caught cold! But I know I was over and over rolled. Am I really safe and sound?”

Ho! ho! quoth a jolly old knight, Pray what is the meaning of Fright? But his friends only smile For they know all the while He is sadly addicted to— Flight.