The Cricket: the Song 



start. A few brief grating sounds are heard, 

 the noise of a machine out of gear shifting 

 its parts back into their proper order. Then 

 the song begins, with its accustomed tone 

 and rhythm. 



Veil your face, O foolish experimenter, 

 overconfident in your mischievous straw! 

 You thought that you had created a new 

 type of instrumentalist; and you have ob- 

 tained nothing at all. The Cricket has 

 thwarted your schemes: he is scraping with 

 his right fiddlestick and always will. With 

 a painful effort, he has dislocated his shoul- 

 ders, which were made to mature and harden 

 the wrong way; and, in spite of a set that 

 seemed definite, he has put back on top that 

 which ought to be on top and underneath 

 that which ought to be underneath. Your 

 sorry science tried to make a left-handed 

 player of him. He laughs at your devices 

 and settles down to be right-handed for the 

 rest of his life. 



Franklin left an eloquent plea on behalf 

 of the left hand, which, he considered, de- 

 served as careful training as its fellow. 

 What an immense advantage it would be 

 thus to have two servants each as capable 

 as the other! Yes, certainly; but, except for 

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