WHENE’ER companions don’t agree,
They work without accord;
And naught but trouble doth result,
Although they all work hard.
One day a swan, a pike, a crab,
Resolved a load to haul;
All three were harnessed to the cart,
And pulled together all.
But though they pulled with all their might,
The cart-load on the bank stuck tight.
The swan pulled upward to the skies;
The crab did backward crawl;
The pike made for the water straight —
It proved no use at all!
Now, which of them was most to blame
’Tis not for me to say;
But this I know: the load is there
Unto this very day
THE tricksy monkey, the goat, the ass, and bandy-legged Mishka, the bear, determined to play a quartet. They provided themselves with the necessary instruments — two fiddles, an alto, and a bass. Then they all settled down under a large tree, with the object of dazzling the world by their artistic performance. They fiddled away lustily for some time, but only succeeded in making a noise, and no more.
“Stop, my friends!” said the monkey, “this will not do; our music does not sound as it ought. It is plain that we are in the wrong positions. You, Mishka, take your bass and face the alto; I will go opposite the second fiddle, Then we shall play altogether differently, so that the very hills and forests will dance.
So they changed places, and began over again. But they produced only discords, as before.
“Wait a moment!” exclaimed the ass; “I know what the matter is. We must get in a row, and then we shall play in tune.”
The advice was acted upon. The four animals placed themselves in a straight line, and struck up once more.
The quarter was as unmusical as ever. Then they stopped again, and began squabbling and wrangling about the proper positions to be taken. It happened that a nightingale came flying by that way, attracted by their din. They begged the nightingale to solve their difficulty for them.
“Pray be so kind,” they said, “as to stay a moment, so that we may get our quartet in order. We have music 21 and we have instruments; only tell us how to place ourselves.”
To which the nightingale replied:
“To be a musician, one must have a better ear and more intelligence than any of you. Place yourselves any way you like; it will make no difference. You will never become musicians.”