Abstract
WITH the mosquito as he is, and as he has been for forty-six years, in the territory on both sides of the Mississippi River from Memphis, Tenn., to New Orleans, and along the Gulf of Mexico for five hundred miles, in the cypress swamps, palmetto and cane-brakes, on the lower river lands, winter and summer, following my business of telegraphy, I am intimately acquainted; and from this long and varied experience can say definitely for myself that I have no immunity from their attacks. Every bite yesterday, or forty-six years ago, produced a wound, generally a white, callous swelling from one quarter to three-quarters of an inch in diameter, and as high as a quarter of an inch, which remains forty-five to sixty minutes, with more or less pain in all, and fever in many cases. And this whether it was the bite of the fierce gallinipper of the swamps, which stings through a flannel shirt, or the little zebra-legged thing—the shyest, slyest, meanest and most venomous of them all—which invades the heart of the city, away from the foliage, the common haunts of the other varieties.
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FLANERY, D. Immunity from Mosquito Bites. Nature 56, 53 (1897). https://doi.org/10.1038/056053a0
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DOI: https://doi.org/10.1038/056053a0
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