Mosquitoes immigrated to this country in the year one. They are the smallest fowl that navigate the air. Although not soaring so high as other fowls, they make some fouler sores than any other bird dreamed of.

As songsters they are a success, making some of the sweetest sounds ever heard. We are sometimes constrained to lay awake all night and listen to their strains, even if its ever so confounded straining on us. If any one does not like it he can lump it, and failing to do so, they can lump him, and if he "gets on his ear" about it, such a proceeding is foolish, for they are very accommodating and will ger on his ear for him.

I like their music better than anything about them. Many a time have I laid upon my downy bed and listened to them as they sung,

"Come where my love lies dreaming,"

" We won’t go home till morning,"

and such like, till I have been so carried away (and I wish I was carried still further) that I’ve joined in the melody, singing "Shoo Fly," and cheering them by clapping my hands together in the hope of giving the little suckers an affectionate squeeze. -

Maryborough Chronicle 21st of February 1874.