Musmys

THE SINGING MOUSE.
Have you ever heard of singing mice? There are such creatures, you must know, or you will not believe what my verses will tell you. Yes, indeed: it was only the other day that I heard of one that was kept in a little cage, like those used for squirrels, and sang so delightfully that her owner used to have her by his bedside to charm him to sleep. She was a wood-mouse. Wood-mice are the best singers. Whether the one about which you shall hear came from the woods or not, I cannot say; nor how she happened to be in my friend C.'s house: but there she certainly was; and this is the story of what she did there. I call it,

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SERENADE.
A certain friend William I have, who's so nice,

He's charming to every one,—even to mice.

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You ask how I know it? Well, listen: I'll tell

Of something which proves it, that lately befell.

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One night, when young William was snugly in bed,

A very queer notion came into his head.

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He woke from his slumbers, quite sure that he heard

The musical warbling of some little bird.

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He listened a moment: all silent, and then

The sweet little songster was singing again.

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A lamp, dimly burning, gave light in the room:

Will raised his head softly, and peered through the gloom.

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The door was wide open; and there, on the sill

(It's true, on my word: let them doubt it who will),

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A mite of a mousie sat singing away

As sweetly as bobolink on a June day.

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Erect on her haunches, her head in the air;

That Pussy might catch her she seemed not to care,

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But sang till her sweet serenade was quite done;

Then ran away swiftly as mousie could run.

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Now, said I not truly, that Willy's so nice,

He's charming to every one,—even to mice?
000000000000000000 S. C. R.