Text: Edgar Allan Poe, "The Gold-Bug" (D), The Works of the Late
Edgar Allan Poe, 1850, -----------------------------------------
--------------------------------------- What ho! what ho! this
fellow is dancing mad! He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.All
in the Wrong. MANY years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a
Mr. William Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and
had once been wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had reduced
him to want. To avoid the mortification consequent upon his
disasters, he left New Orleans, the city of his forefathers, and
took up his residence at Sullivan's Island, near Charleston,
South Carolina. This Island is a very singular one. It consists
of little else than the sea sand, and is about three miles long.
Its breadth at no point exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is
separated from the main land by a scarcely perceptible creek,
oozing its way through a wilderness of reeds and slime, a
favorite resort of the marsh-hen. The vegetation, as might be
supposed, is scant, or a