It don’t kost a muskeeter mutch for hiz board in this world; if he kant find enny boddy to eat he kan set on a blade ov swamp meadow gras and liv himself to deth on the damp fog.
The musketo is a gray bug and haz 6 leggs, a bright eye, a fine busst, a sharp tooth and and a reddy wit.
He dont waste enny time hunting up hiz customers, and alwus lights onto a baby fust if thare iz one on the premises.
I positively fear a musketo.
In the dark, still nite, when every thing iz az noizeless az a pair ov empty slippers, to hear one at the further end ov the room slowly but surely working hiz way up to yu, singing that same hot old sissing tune ov theirs, and harking to feel the exackt spot on yure face whare they intend tew lokate, iz simply premeditated sorrow tew me; i had rather look forward to the time when an elephant waz going tew step onto me.
The musketo haz no friends, and but phew associates; even a mule dispizes them.
But i hav seen human beings who want aktually afraid ov them; i hav seen pholks who had rather hav a muskeeter lite onto them than to have a trakt peddler lite onto them; i hav seen pholks who were so tuff aginst anguish that a muskeeter mite lite onto them enny whare and plunge their dagger in up tew the hilt in vain.
I envy these people their moral stamina, for next tew being virtewous i would like tew be tuff.
This life iz phull ov pesky muskeetos, who are alwus a looking for a job, alwus reddy tew stik a thissell into yu sum whare, and sing while they are doing it.
Dear Mr. ——, pardon me for saying so mutch about the cursid muskeeto, but ov all things on this arth that travel, or set still, for deviltry, thare aint enny bug, enny beast, or enny beastess, that i dred more, and luv less, than i do this same little gray wretch, called cursid muskeeter.