IN A PALACE OF REEDS. E27 
In shape it is shorter and broader, but resem- 
bles somewhat the rock-bass. 
We sketched our fish while alive, and I find, 
among many other curious reminders of the 
palace, a pencil drawing of the great Southern 
gar, a fish with a bill much like a snipe’s. 
This specimen we did not catch, but bought it 
of an old negro, who, every Saturday, rain or 
shine, visited our camp, coming from a planta- 
tion quarter some miles up the river. He was 
a piper, a sort of African Pan, who blew lively 
pieces of barbaric tunes out of reed joints 
arranged in triangular form. He came to sell 
us eggs of the guinea fowl, which I suspect he 
stole, albeit they made very fine omelets. He 
taught us a new and ingenious method of 
snaring hares and birds. Our water-color 
sketches were wonderful to his eyes, and he 
babbled about them in a supremely droll way. 
To dwellers in the Northern and Middle 
States, it may seem strange, this out-door life, 
but it must be remembered that the hills and 
valleys of Cherokee Georgia, are dry and 
warm from April to September, dews are light, 
the air pure, and, for weeks together, the sky 1s 
cloudless day and night. I recall a perfect 
February, it must have been in 1859. Will 
and I, then mere boys, staid out during the en- 
tire month and not a drop of rain fell. Every 
day was warm and clear, the nights were cool 
and pleasant. No clouds, scarcely any wind 
—a month of rare dreamy weather, not unlike 
northern Indian summer. 
Many a night in July and August I have slept 
in the open air under a tree, preferring it toa 
cot or bed indoors. A hammock and a heavy 
blanket, for the nights are chilly even in mid- 
