Atalapha, a Winged Brownie 
sensibilities of the Bat are perhaps unequalled 
in the animal world, how fine none know that 
have not been confronted with much evidence. 
There was once, long ago, a cruel man, a student 
of natural history, who was told that a Bat has 
such marvellous gift of nerves, and such a tactile 
sense that it could see with its wings if its eyes 
were gone. He did not hesitate to put it to the 
proof, and has left a record that sounds to us like 
a tale of magic. 
There was sickness in the small settlement, and 
the doctor calling, learned of the children’s captive. 
He knew of Spallanzani’s account and was minded 
to test the truth; but he was not minded to rob a 
fellow-being of its precious eyesight. He could 
find other means. 
Opening the cage, he seized the fur-clad prisoner, 
then dropping deftly a little soft wax on each 
eyelid, he covered all with adhesive plaster so 
that the eyes were closed, absolutely sealed; there 
was no possibility of one single ray of entering 
light. And then he let the captive fly in the room. 
Strong once more on the wing, Atalapha rose at 
once, in wavering flight, then steadied himself 
and, hovering in the air, he dashed for the ceiling. 
But a moment before striking he wheeled and 
skimmed along the cornice, not touching the wall, 
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