All the members of the genus are slender and graceful in their shape and Gnatty in their general appearance.  The common mosquito is remarkable for its strong attachments.  It follows man with more than canine fidelity, and in some cases, the dog-like pertinacity of its affection can only be restrained by Muslin.  It is of a roving disposition, seldom remaining settled long in one locality; and is Epicurean in its tastes—­always living, if possible, on the fat of the land.  As the mosquito produces no honey, mankind in general are not as sweet upon it as they are upon that bigger hum-bug, the buzzy bee; yet it is so far akin to the bee, that, wherever it forages, it produces something closely resembling Hives.

Few varieties of game are hunted more industriously than this, yet such is the fecundity of the species, that the Sportsman’s Club has not as yet thought it necessary to petition the legislature for its protection.

The New Jersey Mosquito is the largest known specimen of the genus, except the Southern Gallinipper, which is only a few sizes smaller than the Virginia Nightingale, and raises large speckles similar to those of the Thrush.  Ornithologists who wish to study the habits of the mosquito in its undomesticated or nomad state, may find it in angry clouds on the surface of the New Jersey salt marshes at this season, in company with its teetering long-billed Congener, the Sandsnipe.

During the last month of summer it reigns supreme in the swamps west of Hoboken, the August Emperor of all the Rushes, and persons of an apoplectic turn, who wish to have their surplus blood determined to the surface instead of to the head, will do well to seek the hygienic insect there.

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An Apt Quotation.

The name “Louvre” has now been adopted by several places of entertainment in New York and its suburbs.  A Boston gentleman, who visited seven of them a night or two since, under the escort of a policeman, declares that, by a slight alteration of a line of MOORE’s, New York may be well described as—­

“A place for Louvres, and for Louvres only.”

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THE WATERING PLACES.

Punchinello’s Vacations.

Mr. PUNCHINELLO puts up at the Atlantic Hotel when he goes to Cape May; and if you were to ask him why, he would tell you that it was on account of the admirable water-punches which JOHN McMAKIN serves up.  To be sure these mixtures do not agree with Mr. P., but he likes to see people enjoying themselves, even if he can’t do it himself.  It is this unselfish disposition, this love of his fellow-men, that enables him to maintain that constant good humor so requisite to his calling.  In fact, though Mr. P. often says sharp things, he never gets angry.  When, on Thursday of last week, he was walking down the south side of Jackson street, and a man asked him did he want to buy a bag, Mr. P. was not enraged.  He knew the man took him for a greenhorn, but then the man himself was a Jerseyman.  It is no shame to be a greenhorn to a Jerseyman.  Quite the reverse.  Mr. P. would blush if he thought there lived a “sand-Spaniard” who could not take advantage of him.  So Mr. P. bought the bag, and because it was made of very durable canvas, and would last a great while, he paid a dollar for it.