Table-Talk: Mosquitos in England. Device in American Novels. An Odd Work. Birds. An Advertisement. Rural Dining-place. Charles Dickens, Jr. Supplementary Illustrations. [pp. 170-171]

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TABLE-TALK.
HOW is it, we have often wondered, that, in
a moist climate like England, there
should be no mosquitos? Almost everywhere
in America this winged pest abounds-why not
in England? or did it really exist there, we
asked, but so much a matter of course, that
literature took no note of it? But, last year,
our surmises were partly solved by the consternation expressed by some of the English
press, at the appearance of these creatures in
one of the shipping districts, brought there,
it was thought, by vessels from foreign shores.
And now we find a correspondent of a London
journal declaring that "we have millions of
mosquitos in London." He says: "Last summer I paid a visit to this city, and took up
my residence in one of the principal hotels.
At night, to my astonishment, I found, by the
well-known buzzing noise, that my old South
American foe had taken possession of the
apartment before me. I tried to dislodge the
intruder, but all in vain, and night after night
I was lanced in the most ruthless manner,
and I was only too glad to beat a hasty retreat
to our country quarters, where hitherto we
have certainly enjoyed freedom from these
tormentors. This season I returned to the
metropolis full of hope that the last winter
had been fatal to all the tribe. Alas! such is
not the case. Mr. and Mrs. Mosquito have
obtained a firm footing in this island, and
have prospered amazingly; thanks to our
railway companies, who have provided them
with fine winter palaces, in the shape of glasscovered stations, and breeding grounds arranged in their large, open tanks filled with
soft water, the surface of which is rarely disturbed, except by the insects themselves."
The complainant then goes on to say that,
"unless we are prepared to leave London entirely to them, the sooner we commence a war
of extermination the better," and asks of the
editor the best way to begin the warfare.
We certainly hope the Londoners will carry
on their "war of extermination" vigorously,
and, if they succeed in ridding themselves of
the pest, we shall be glad to be informed of
the method.
In the discussion that has taken place
in these pages in regard to art in literature,
we have not meant to complain of a lack of
device in our American novels. Art and artifice are sometimes so confounded that it is
difficult to clearly explain what is meant by
art. The highest skill in this direction is
probably only fully apparent to the close and
intelligent student. Some writers have a
literary style that is so simple, so easy, so
fluent, so luminous, that only those who have
struggled to imitate it can realize all its beauties and all its skill; to others, it, no doubt,
often seems so obvious as to be a matter-ofcourse. And the nicest art in literary construction is of the same character. The singular skill with which Robertson weaves together the incidents of his comedies, the
interest which he manages to infuse into the
simplest materials and to surround the most
ordinary story, can only be appreciated by those
who have tried to follow him. Art in these
things cannot be set down in rules. The
successful touch a painter gives his pictures
is known only to himself-known, however,
only as a perception, not as a law. If he attempts to tell you why, he will probably mistake it. It is feeling, seeing, profoundly
knowing, by some interior instinct-it cannot
be translated into a formula. Art in all things
is this; it has its laws, it is true, but it has
also something deeper than written rules,
and no one can attain art in his literary performances unless he studies to obtain this interior perception. It is somewhat singular
that in painting we parallel our literary deficiency. While having many competent painters in landscape, we have none in history or
genre; and this would seem to indicate that
our national deficiency is in a lack of dramatic perceptions or sympathies. As we
cannot write comedies, as we attain no skill
in the novel, as we have no painters with notable skill in story-telling, is it not pretty conclusive that there is a peculiar constitutional
deficiency in our national make-up, or is it all
to be attributed to social causes?
We have rarely been more amused
than in reading Dr. Powell's "Natural History of the Human Temperaments," recently
published in Cincinnati. Not that there is
any thing comical in the doctor's theory of
temperaments, which may, for aught we know,
be a great discovery in science; but his illustrations, taken from living persons, mostly
Western ladies and gentlemen, are given with
a frankness so unusual as almost to take away
one's breath. A certain Mr. and Mrs. King,
for example, are mentioned, and their residence pointed out, who have had eleven children, several of whom have died. The eldest
son died last spring of phthisis. The worthy
couple, adds the author, "have another son,
who will probably leave them in the same way,
if he shall live long enough.... The judge,
we think, may save one, and probably two, of
his children-a small saving, at best, out of
so many." Let us hope that things are not
quite so bad as represented-that three children, for example, may be "saved." The
woodcuts with which the text is illustrated
would seem to indicate that the engraver's
art has not yet reached perfection beyond the
Alleghanies. "Figure sixty-two represents
Miss Cockerell, whose constitution is that
of her father. We must remark here that a
wood-engraving cannot so favorably represent
this lady as she deserves. We hope that
some highly-vital gentleman will capture her.
Now, Miss Cockerell, please to allow us to address a word or two to you privately. Do not
give yourself to any gentleman who is not essentially vital in his constitution," etc. If the
young lady in question, who appears to be
really modest and quite good-looking, aespite
the badness of the woodcut, will allow us to
address a word or two to her privately, it will
be to box the author's ears.
- Whether birds are a benefit or an
injury to crops remains an open question.
From some sources we hear the assertion that
birds destroy more insects than fruit or grain,
and hence, instead of being enemies to the
farmer, are his best benefactors. We are
even assured that crows when killed will
grain; and we listen to earnest appeals to
farmers to spare their ancient enemy. Before
doing so, it would be well for them to inquire
whether the truth is ever accurately stated in
this controversy. We are inclined to believe
that the agriculturist maintains his best interest by seeking to establish a sort of balance between the birds and the insects. If
encouraging unduly the multiplication of the
former, the insects will soon disappear, and
his feathered friends will have recourse to his
cherry-trees and corn-field for their daily repasts. On the other hand, if he makes war
upon the birds too ruthlessly, the insects will
rapidly multiply, and ravage his crops. Sparrows were brought to New York to rid us of
the inch-worm; the worm has vanished, and
the birds must now have other means of subsistence. Our farmers, if they would cultivate their fields in peace, must, like wily
politicians, seek to establish a balance of
power between these two forces, taking care
that neither becomes too powerful nor too
feeble.
"Servants" have long been obsolete,
and even "helps" are now out of fashion.
The current word is person,s. Moreover, one
does not hire them, but inducements are held
out to persuade them to become members of
one's family. The following, which we cut
from a recent newspaper, shows what we are
coming to in these latter days:
WANTED-A RELIABLE, INTELLI V GENT person to be one of the family.
Must be fond of children, and to have the care
of them; ages, four to ten. Also, to do sewinlg,
and to take an interest generally.
Best of reference required.
Address "Banker."
The amount of wages-we beg pardon.
salary-is not mentioned. Probably the "person," being one of the family, would be allowed to call for whatever pocket money she
wanted. As for duties, in old times they
would have been those of child's nurse, seamstress, and maid-of-all-work. But these terms
involve the idea of domestic service, an idea
inadmissible in a free country. Hence, the
reliable, intelligent Bridget is respectfully
informed that she must be fond of children,
and "to" have the care of them; also, "to"
do sewing, and-whatever else she is told to
do. This last requirement, however, is by no
means expressed in such brutal words as we
have chosen, but is wrapt up in a model
euphemism, the polite phrase being "to take
an interest generally." Is it not about time
now for those Chinese to come along, of
whose qualities as house-servants one. has
heard so much?
-We suggested, recently, the erection cf
a luxuriously-fitted-up swimming-bath in midstream, as a plan certain to afford New Yorkers an agreeable summer recreation. We
also pointed out the want of a suitable summer theatre. We are glad to see these suggestions attracting attention; and we note,
also, in some of our contemporaries, other
hints as to our summer needs. The World
asks why we cannot have in New York an
agreeable rural dining-place-something which
answers to the Greenwich and Richmond of
England? It suggests the erection of a
often exhibit a crop full of insects instead of "prandial paradise" on Staten Island. "It
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