The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1877-11-22
The Last Mosquito.

The last mosquito has folded his
gauzy little wings and succumbed to the
inevitable. You will miss his little ca
rol at eventide-the buzzing hum-drum
little madrigal with which he tried so
hard in his bustling way to tighten your
burdens. No more will you feel the
soft, gentle pressure of his tiny lips upon
your flesh, pumping out the very best
blood in your veins. No more will his
wiry little toe-nails, as be promenades
your cheek barefooted, remind you that
the results of hasty blow are generally
the reverse of your expectations. Yes,
the sweet child of nature has gone, and
you will have to get through the dull
winter months without him. The indis-
eliminating frost was his bitter enemy,
and rather than have any fuss, he laid
in all the provisions he could carry aid
went hence. The place of his destina-
tion is sealed book. Weknow not where
the innocent bird has winged his fight.
If we did we should take another route.
We can spare him. We have no lack of
attention to report against him. We
never found him remiss in that respect.
He was always on deck during his busi
ness hours. While others complained
of dull times and constrained idleness he
found plenty to do. Energy and per-
severance were his cardinal virtues.
The cornerstone of his success was the
same as that of the detectives" Never
Sleep" No one ever saw him with his
eyes shut. In presenting bill he has
been excelled by few and surpassed by
none. He was the best collector the
world ever knew. He got mans
acceptance" every time. AS bill
sticker he was also A l, and like the
rest of the profession his charges were
immoderate. Likewise as a free luncher
he had few compeers. He Jared sumptu-
ously every night and raided fine linen.
In some respects he was greater rogue
than Boss Tweed. The Boss bled only
New York, but he bled all creation,
without distinction of race, sex or color.
He differed from the Boss in some things.
The study of Tweed's life is how to
get on the outside of the "bars." He
was ALWAYS trying to get inside of them.
He feasted frequently upon lawyers, but
the lawyers have grown fat on the Boss.
Both were great rogues----Tweed and the
mosquito, we mean, but if the reader
prefers, lawyers may also be included
without dissenting vote on our part.
He differed from our Hibernian brother.
The latter goes through "cuts" with a
crowbar to fill his stomach, but the
mosquito would cut through bar :"
to fill his gizzard and then crow. He
would as soon lunch on Presbyterian
deacon as Methodist preacher, if both
were equally fat and juicy. Jew
or gentle, saint or sinner, it was all
one to him if the meat was clear
grained. But he didn't like the taste of a
hard-shell Baptist. This fact generally
known wouldn't leave standing room in
that denomination. He had fellow
feeling with the Jews-he wouldn't
touch pork----but he kept no fast days.
He had no reverence for a priest, and
could not therefore have been Catho-
lie. He was a free-lover---and some
times made so free with lovers that their
blood was mingled in his haversack.
He was good soldier---powder couldn't
scare him, as the marked face of many
a fashion belle could attest. He was
never afraid to advance, and always re-
treated in time to save his bacon. He was
also something of surgeon. He could
tap an artery and raise blister
The same pole might likewise be used tc
poke him and many editors----everythine
he put in his "form" was stolen from
others. That's the way he made hi.
| living, H-