MOSQUITOES. 349 
an early approach to the finish. Carefully I backed out, 
step by step, feeling cautiously the inequalities of the 
ground, till I stood on terra firma. My attendant per 
mitted excitement to cause him to act too precipitously, 
and the splash of the net instilled fresh vigor into my vic- 
tim’s now exhausted frame. Game ‘to the last, another ef- 
fort was made for life, and with an impetuous rush he again 
started for his time-honored, watery haunts. With a nerv- 
ous grasp on my rod, I was prepared to give him line; but 
imagine my astonishment when the slack returned to my 
hand, minus hooks and leader! The swivel had parted— 
one I had actually purchased in the Strand, London—and, 
with a rueful countenance, I stood the picture of despera- 
tion. I doubt if the physiognomy of Marius over the ruins 
of Carthage could have looked more doleful. On my way 
home, talking the matter over with my jidus Achates, we 
agreed upon the verdict of “served me right,” for attempt- 
ing to immolate so noble a victim in such an ignoble man- 
ner; and doubly was I convinced of the time-honored French 
adage, “ L’homme propose et Dieu dispose.” 
But let not the enthusiast run away with the idea that 
in Maine there are no drawbacks to pleasure, that sport is 
found without an alloy, for the pests of every new land here 
swarm — black flies, mosquitoes, and sand-flies; but fortu- 
nately their reign of terror does not exist over six weeks. 
The first (the black fly), which is about the size of a small 
house-fly, and not dissimilar in appearance, is a perfect can- 
nibal, refusing to be driven away, willingly immolating him- 
self in his thirst for blood, and drawing blood whenever he 
van obtain a footing: up your trowsers, down your shiit- 
sleeves or collar, everywhere he will get at his victim. Kill 
them by thousands, the phalanxes, apparently undiminish- 
ed, will return to the attack; and even domestic animals do 
“not escape. The unfortunate cow that had been driven up 
