The far-famed island of Marajo, a little world of itself, differing from aught else in its appearance, its productions, its birds, and its animals, had long been to us an object of the most intense curiosity. Did we inquire the whereabouts of any curious animal of the dealer in the Rua, almost invariably the answer was Marajo; or the locum tenens of some equally curious bird of the wenches on the Punto da Pedras, of course it was Marajo. Could not we catch a glimpse of an alligator? Yes, thousands on Marajo. And monster snakes and tigers? Always on Marajo. One would have thought this island a general depôt, a sort of Pantological Institute, where any curiosity might be satisfied by the going. Ever since we had been in the country we had heard of it, had seen occasionally the distant tree-tops, and had even coasted along its upper side in the galliota; but our longings for a face-to-face acquaintance and an exploration of its wonders seemed likely to remain ungratified. And yet we had been upon the eve of seeing Marajo for the last thirty days, thanks to Mr. Campbell's kindness; but the festa of our Lady of Nazareth and the slow and easy habits of the people had kept us waiting from day to day, until the Undine's arrival, and expected speedy return, bade us bend our thoughts homeward.