The crane iz neither flesh, beast, nor fowl, but a sad mixtur ov all theze things.

He mopes along the brinks ov kreeks and wet places, looking for sumthing he haz lost.

He haz a long bill, long wings, long legs, and iz long all over.

He iz born ov one egg and goes thru life az lonesum az a lasts year’s bird’s nest.

He livs upon lizzards and frogs, and picks up things with hiz bill az he would with a pair ov tongs.

He sleeps standing like a gide board, and sumtimes tips over in hiz dreams, and then hiz bill enters the ground like a pik ax.

When he flies thru the the air, he iz az graceful az a windmill, broke loose from its fastenings.

Cranes are not very plenty in this world, but the supply, up tew this date, just about equals the demand.

The crane iz not a good bird for diet; the meat tastes like injun rubber stretched tight over a clothes hoss.

I never hav et enny crane, nor don’t mean to, untill all the biled owl in the country givs out.

I kant tell what the Sandy Hill crane waz made for, and it aint none ov mi bizzness—even a crane from Sandy Hill kan fill hiz destiny, and praize God loafing along the banks ov a kreek and spearing frogs for hiz dinner.

I hav spent mutch time among the birds, beasts, and fishes, and expekt tew spend more, and tho i couldn’t never tell exackly what cumfort a musketo waz tew the bulk ov mankind, or what kredit he waz tew himself, i am forced tew admit that enny thing so perfektly and delikately made iz, to say the least, a dredful smart job.

Cranes are very long-lived, and are az free from guile az a bread pill iz.

Cranes seldom git shot. Thare iz two reazons for this; one iz, they alwus keep gitting a leetle further oph; and the other iz, thare would be no more kredit for a hunter in bringing a ded crane home for game than thare would be a yeller dog.