An unclouded sky was awaiting the sun of the 4th as we strolled along the river-bank at Serpa, recalling the clustering associations connected with the day, and thinking of the present occupations of friends at home. It was a magnificent place for fireworks and tar-barrels, and that beautiful island opposite was the very spot for a pic-nic. We had quite a mind to have a celebration on our own account, for the purpose of demonstrating to the benighted Amazonians how glorious a thing it is to call oneself free and independent; but, alas! our powder was precious, and barrels of tar not to be had for love or money. The sun peeped over the tree-tops, flooding in beauty the wild forest, and gilding the waters that rushed and foamed like maddened steeds. The birds were making the air vocal with a hundred different notes, and fishes were constantly bouncing above the water in glee. And was it a fancy that one red-coated fellow, as he tossed himself up, greeted us with a “viva” to the independence of America?

Serpa was a pretty place after all, and our impressions of the night before had been formed after a long day and a scorching sun. And the people of Serpa were a happy people, and we almost wished that our names were in their parish register. The river teemed with the best of fish, and half an hour's pleasure would supply the wants of a week.