The Tragedy of the Dancing Mouse

A correspondent reports on a mouse that made a perfect nuisance of herself in a friend's house. Various traps were tried to get rid of her, but she was too smart for them, and nibbled around in her small world in high glee over the fact that neither trap nor cat could catch her. But alas for mice! It happened with her as with so many others in this world: pride got the better of prudence. One fine evening the lady whom she nightly tormented with her sharp teeth had company—a gentleman who played the violin beautifully. As the friends sat enjoying the music, who should steal out of her room but a small mouse clad in gray velvet. She sat with her bit of tail curled up about her for some time, thinking the matter over. 'Ah, but that is too lovely for anything,' she said to herself, as the soft, sweet strains from the violin stole in to her. 'Why couldn't I slip out there where I could see as well as hear? I'd risk my being caught; I'm too quick-motioned for anybody to hurt me. Now he is playing that lovely tune I've danced to so many times. Dear me; I can't stand that; I just know I can dance charmingly, and I'm so tired of hopping around in this dark room with nobody to see me. I'm going out this minute. I'm not in the least afraid of being caught.' And out she went. For a time all went merrily. Miss Mousie in her gray velvet, under the shadow of a friendly rocking-chair, skipped about to the sound of the violin in a way that she imagined was perfectly charming. At last she was discovered. She came out from the shadow of the rocking chair in order to give them all a better view. Too late she discovered it. Dizzy with dancing, and grown reckless with pride, she actually whirled herself between the feet of a man with a poker. And that was her last dance.