nted the home of his heart to this romantic spot in the far-off
world. It looked decidedly foreign; but its greatest beauty (to my
taste) was the background, which was composed a grand old forest of
towering pines.

In contrast with this little river, were the island which dotted
the bay, adding beauty to the scene and affording tempting attractions
to those who are fond of pic-nics. One especially--"Island Casot,"
formed by the beautiful bayou of the same name--is shaded by immense
live-oak trees, and lies just south on the border of the finest oyster
bed (for flavor) in the South. We spent a whole day there, having
first amply provided ourselves with every luxury, even to comforts and
pillows to lounge on. Your grandfather admired this beautiful little
island so much that he thought seriously of purchasing it, to improve
in a cheap and simple way, to be used as an occasional resort for
health and pleasure. He and your mother were evidently as much charmed
with Pascagoula, and its surroundings, as I was. Both were the picture
of happiness. They engaged in many amusements, of which I was
incapable, and could only look on and laugh at--such as catching
crabs, and speering flounders by torchlight. They bathed and swam,
too, (the latter with a life-preserver), but they were afraid to
venture out too far, on account of sharks, which were occasionally seen
near the shore. At a certain season of the year there was frequently
heard, near the bath-houses, a strain of music, like the Aeolian harp,
which had never been satisfactorily accounted for, although many wise
heads had pondered over it. Some supposed that it proceeded from a
certain kind of small fish, which, in their perambulations through the
mighty deep, for some secret reason best know to themselves, touched at
this point at the stated season, just to whisper a few sweet notes, and
would then retire. Other said it was only an echo borne upon the
waters (when the wind was in a certain direction), from the playing of
the waves against the sandy shore of an island, three miles distant.
There is an Indian legend, which I will relate, that gives a more
interesting account of this phenomenon than either of these. A war
party of the Pascagoula tribe, headed by their chief, having been hotly
pursued by a victorious enemy, had rushed into the bay (sooner than
submit), and were drowned, while singing a melancholy dirge, which
annually returns in token of the sad eve