The Toledo chronicle. [volume] (Toledo, Tama County, Iowa) 1873-1924, 1874-07-16
Mosquitoes.

" lsE ptOpIc tell us THAT everything
was made for our good, and we would
be much obliged to any Of these wise
acres who would explain to us satisfac-
torily the good Of the mosquito
Little, low-lived, thief in the night,
sneaking rascal! How we do detest
him! Wouldn't we like to have him and
every other member of his tribe in the
world packed into one vast cistern with
Niagara Of boiling-hot water at our
command just over that same cistern,
and nothing for us to do but turn the
faucet?
He abounds and flourishes best in June
that month of which poets sing SO de-
lightfully and the man who wants to
sell you house in the country wakes SO
enthusiastic.
On some sweet and balmy evening in
this delightful month you find yourselves
settled in your country home.
Dean Dick is visiting you, and it is so
pleasant you resolve to do a little Of the
sentimental on the east piazza, where
the woodbine clings SO gracefully to the
pillars and the full moon pours down
such silver rain of glory
So you don your very thinnest white
muslin and your gossamer stockings, and
those exquisite new bronze slippers, and
you know you will look lovely in the
moonlight, and you and Dick are just
discussing Tennyson, when that ominous
buzz from regions of the air assails your
ears.
Low, monotonous, long drawn out, as if
the singers spirits were at lowwater
mark, and as if he were not quite sure
whether or no his call would be agreea-
BILE, but was determined to make the best
of it.
In less than minute, thousands of
other voices join in the chorus, and you
are attacked at all points as was GULL
yer by the Liliputians You strike here,
and strike there, and switch round your
head with a branch Of honeysuckle, and
try to listen 10 what Dick is saying, and
to feel interested in his recitation of
Break Break, Break" but those mos.
quitoes arc puncturing you from head to
foot, and myriads of their friends are
lowering near, waiting for their turn.
But it is after you retire to your bed
for the night that the mosquito becomes
the most serious torment.
No matter how careful you may be-
no matter how many window screens you
may have, there will always be a mos
quito or two hidden away in the curtains,
ready to begin his nocturnal dirge as soon
as you are about falling asleep.
First thing you know he settles on
your cheek, and his sharp bill goes into
your flesh and you start and slap the
cheek with all your might, and feel a
grim satisfaction in the thought that,
though he has stung you, you have settled
him! Only for moment is this salts
faction yours! Directly, you hear him
buzzing away again as unconcerned as
though he had not just escaped a dread
full fate, and you prepare yourself for
fresh demonstrations of hostile
character.
But your enemy is alert and strategic,
and understands all the ms and outs of a
siege. He tacks, and rises, and falls, and
darts forward and backward, and you
ie there with sweat on your brow, and
your hand uplifted ready to strike, and
your tormentor's music goes on For
ever, ever p
You scarcely sleep for the night, but
you feel sure you have kept your mos
quito hungry by your watchfulness; but
when you look in your glass in the morn
ing you will see red blotches on your
forehead, and on your nose and on your
arms, which will go far toward increas-
ing your respect for the bloodsucking
of the mosquito.
It is, perhaps, consolation to know
that the mosquito preys upon all alike
that he is no aristocrat in his tastes
that he would as soon bite a beggar as
king, and that he never stops to inquire
into mans moral character before bit
ing him.
Of all the nuisances on the face of the
earth there is none we more thoroughly
detest than the mosquito nuisance, but
it is one Of those things which must be
Thorn, IN Nem York Weekly.