THE JERSEY COAST. 135 
** No, [had no time for that; I landed them, hand 
over hand.” 
“ Well, after that story it’s time we went to bed; 
so good-night.” 
During that night the mosquitoes, bad as they 
had been, were more terrible than at any time pre- 
vious. Favored by the late frequent rains, they 
had become more numerous than had ever been 
known on the beach; and being consequently com- 
pelled to subdivide to an unusual degree the -ordi- 
narily small supply of food, they were savagely 
hungry. Sleep was out of the question, and after 
trying all sorts of devices from gunpowder to mos- 
quito-nets, the party wandered out of doors, and, 
scattering in search of a place of retreat, afforded an 
excellent representation of unhappy ghosts on the 
banks of the Styx. The shore, near the surf, and the 
bathing-houses had heretofore been tolerably secure 
resorts, but, on this unprecedented night, a special 
meeting of mosquitoes seemed to have been called in 
that neighborhood. 
Those that tried the ground, and covered them- 
selves carefully from head to foot, found that the 
enterprising long-legs disregarded the customary 
habits of their race, and consented to crawl down 
their sleeves, up their pants, or through the folds of 
the blanket. The sand-fleas also were numerous 
and lively, bounding about in an unpleasantly active 
way; and where there were neither mosquitoes nor 
sand-fleas, the nervous sufferer imagined every grain 
