Taüaü is one of the estates of Archibald Campbell, Esq., and by his invitation we made arrangements for spending a few days there in company with Mr. Norris. The distance from Pará is one tide, or about thirty miles nearly south, and upon the river Acará. We left the city late in the afternoon in the same canoe and with the same boatmen who accompanied us to Caripé. Just above the city the Guamá flows in with a powerful current, setting far over towards the opposite islands. Passing this we entered the stream formed by the united waters of the Mojú and Acará, and a few miles above turned eastward into the latter— a quiet, narrow river, winding among comparatively lofty banks and through large and well-cultivated plantations. The clear moonlight added inexpressibly to the charm of this voyage, silvering the trees and casting long shadows over the water. The blacks struck up a song, and the wild chorus floated through the air startling the stillness. Frequently the same song came echoed back, and soon was heard the measured sound of paddles, as some night voyager like ourselves was on his way to the city.

One cannot sail upon these streams, where unreclaimed nature still revels in freedom and beauty, without feeling powerfully the thickly clustering associations connected with them, and having often before his mind the scenes that have here transpired since white men made this the theatre of their avarice and ambition.