up the war-hatchet for bloody fight. The other
acre is laid out in a series of kitchen-gardens,
which yield a bountiful crop of most of the
vegetables known in Europe, and of several others
which the English climate is not sunny enough
to produce in the same excellence and profusion.
Among others, the oyster-plant, the egg-plant,
the tomato, and the ochra; the latter famous as
the main ingredient of a delicious soup called
"gumbo." The verandah—the pleasantest part
of the house, and which in these American
cottages and villas is the favourite resort of
the family in the sultry afternoons of summer
—is overgrown with roses and creeping vines
of almost every variety, among which the
bignonia, or trumpet-vine, is conspicuous for its
beautiful red flowers.

As we are new to the country, this being our
first summer in these sunny latitudes, we notice
many things that escape the attention of the
natives, as we sit in the verandah, look towards
the ocean, and survey the scene around us.
Most lovely is the clear blue sky, without a speck
of cloud to relieve the monotony of the deep
cerulean. The mercury in the thermometer
stands at ninety-six degrees in the shade, and
were it not for the whiff of the pleasant wind
that creeps over the waters of the Atlantic,
laden with freshness, the heat would be oppressive.
As it is, the ice-pitcher is a valued friend,
and the fan an inseparable companion, not only
for the sake of the coolness which its motion
imparts, but for its utility in driving away
mosquitoes. Were it not for these intolerable
plagues, the climate would be greatly preferable
to that of England; but mosquitoes are a
daily and a nightly misery. "There is a soul
of goodness in things evil," I said to a neighbour,
an American lady of English parentage who
had come to our verandah; "and the all-wise
Creator has made nothing in vain. Yet with
the fullest faith in this doctrine, I could never
find out of what use the mosquito was, or what
were its purposes in the great scheme of the
world." "Perhaps, not," replied the fair one;
"but may not that be your own fault, Mr.
Philosopher? In the first place, mosquitoes
breed in the marshes. May they not warn us
of the necessity of draining the marshes, and
carrying off the stagnant waters, so as to
increase the arable surface of the land? In the
second place, mosquitoes, in countries where
there are no marshes, breed in the running
streams; the larvae of the mosquitoes are the
favourite food of young trout. And if you are fond
of trout, why should the trout not have his dinner
of mosquito larvæ, to be fatted for your enjoyment?
In the third place, the sting of the mosquito
inoculates, as I have heard say, against the
attacks of fevers that are prevalent in all marshy
and undrained countries; and surely a mosquito-
bite is better than a fever, Mr. Philosopher?"
It is always in vain to argue with a lady, so I
said no more, inwardly content that so much
could be urged in behalf even of the pestilential
little creature, which was in those days a
veritable thorn in the flesh of me and mine.

The mosquito has the treacherous habit of
flying low. If you sit in your drawing-room
(parlour it is always called in the United States)
in your slippers, or in your library or study, if
you are fortunate enough to possess one, in your
dressing-gown and slippers, you will not be
aware, if you are a new comer in the land,
what brings the blains and swellings upon your
instep, and all the portion of the leg and foot
of which the stocking is the only defence. The
cause is the mosquito. He flies near the carpet,
sees with microscopic eye through the interstices
of the woollen fabric, inserts his tube of
suction into the flesh, and draws out as much
blood as he needs for his thirst. If it ended
there, no great harm would be done; but after
he has drunken at your expense, he drops a
little venom into the pore which he has
opened; and the result is irritation, which you
are prompted to relieve by counter-irritation,
and constantly increasing inflammation of the
envenomed part. The best alleviator is spirits
of hartshorn—a phial of which most people
who know the bane and antidote take care
to have in readiness both at bed and board.
As for me, I was compelled to relinquish the
wearing of slippers, and retain my boots to
the last moment before going to bed; not
exonerated even then from the mosquitoes,
which maliciously fastened upon the space—if
I sat cross-legged—between the top of the
boot and the trousers, and sucked and poisoned
at their will. Ladies, less protected, suffer more
than men in this respect. It is not to be understood
that the mosquitoes confine themselves to
the floor. They fly in every stratum from floor to
roof; and bite whenever they get a chance. At
night, sleep would be liable to painful disturbances,
were it not for the mosquito-nets, which
envelop the beds of all prudent sleepers. Even
then, the difficulty is to prevent a mosquito or two
from getting under the net while the bed is being
made. If one enters, there might as well be a
hundred. The evil is done; and if the intruder
be not expelled, sleep is impossible. He peals
a triumphal horn in your ear as he settles upon
your forehead; and you might almost as
successfully attempt to catch a flash of lightning in
your hand, as to try to catch a mosquito.

The only way to be freed of this persecution
is to hunt them by daylight. They generally
settle upon the walls and ceiling, where a
sharp and experienced eye can readily detect
them. The most approved and successful
mode of dealing with them is to get a common
hair broom, and tie over the hair a wet cloth
towel, and dab the implement suddenly
against the mosquito. This kills him, and
does not alarm his fellows. With a little
patience, keeping the doors and windows closed
meanwhile, that none of the same tribe may
enter, a careful servant or housewife can
effectually clear a bedroom in ten minutes or a
quarter of an hour, and render sleep possible.
In the Southern States the mosquito is
developed in the swamps into the gallinipper—a
great torment to the human race, but a greater