Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 May 1877 — A Mouse Killed by a Music. [ARTICLE]

A Mouse Killed by a Music.

The following strange facts I have often related to friends, who, after hearing the story, have asked me to send the facts to some paper. This being Monday—ministers’ play-day —I will divert my mind by giving you the following account of the writer's experience in killing a mouse by music. Thera are five or six living who were eyewitnesses of tho death scene of that poor mouse. It was in the spring of 1872, when I was pursuing my studies at Ceuter College, Danville, Ky. At one time during the fall previous an attempt was made by sobs® tsfiscroasts-to bi'-m JiLc nfiw and splendid college building, which was then advancing toward completion. Tbe dastardly attempt was a failure, through lack of kindling wood, to give it a good start. For the security of the building I was given a small room in it, w here soon I took up my abode. Imaginations of the building burning down over my head some night, while asleep, gave me a few wakeful nights. Furnished with an old carbine by Mr. J , I loaded it two-thirds full of beans, com and fine shot. With that behind the door I sett quite safe, and began to sleep soundly. Being alone, I became interested in a couple of mice which frequented my room. They lived in a small closet adjoining, and when in the evenings I would play on my violin the little creatures would come forth from their hiding-place and sit down in the shadow of the stove, on their haunches, holding up their paws like a squirrel eating. At first I thought they were eating, but soon found to mv sur prise they were not eating, but only listening. To be certain of this, I would occasionally stop playing, and make an attempt to move, when they would scamper away, but return again as soon as I commenced playing. Having chased them in and played them out as often as five or six times in one evening, and they always taking the same position every time, I became thoroughly convinced that it was the music they were after. I began to tell friends of the amusement I was having with the mice. They would all smile an incredulous answer. I played for my little companions some three weeks, and they enjoyed it so much, and so did I. I often noticed two things: 1. That high piercing notes or sounds seemed to give them pain: as evidence of this, they would turn their heads to one side and shrug their shoulders. 2. That having remained afew minutes under the sound or influence of music upon approaching them, they' seemed stupid, slowly running away. During the three weeks’ playing for them, one of them attempted more than once to crawl up my pants leg while I was playing. One evening I invited some gentlemen to my room to plav with me ana witness the capers of the mice. The gentlemen having arrived, and we were all seated round the room, I turned the light of the lamp low, and said: “ Boys, be quiet now through the whole scene, without speaking a word nor laughing out, and I’ll call my mice out, and let you see what they’ll do.” In a moment all was stiil. I began to play softly the Nattali Waltz. Presently the mice came and took their usual posi tion on the floor, holding up their little paws. This performance was so funny, they all laughed right out. It was now proposed that we all play. We had four instruments—two violins, a flute and violoncello. We played one piece, and it seemed to have a new charm for the mice. It was agreed then that we play four pieces through without stopping. This would take about ten minutes or more. The word was given, and we were off. Presently the mice appeared for the last time to perform their tragedy. When the pieces were all played through, all was silence again. After a few momenta of perfect quiet, I made a noise with my foot on the floor. The mice were motionless. I rose and advanced toward them, when one of them crawled stupidity and slowly away; the other I carefully paced on my open hand and carried it to the light*and while we were yet looking at it sitting on my hand, it aropped over dead. Its mate I never saw after that evening.— Ben. 8. V. White, in Interior, Chicago.