Your “Allergater in de brake” song may do for the Southern States, with their rhythmetical-and-stolen-from-the-African-coast slaves; but to apply it to this country would disgrace the most idiotic “What-is-it” ever imported. Of naturally wild quadruped animals there is not so much as a squirrel. Birds are without number. * * * * * Stanley is himself again! One and a half hours’ ride, two fords of the river, (rising,) and we are at the mouth of the famous Isabella. The river is here, but the town of Isabella has passed away forever. The delta is covered with mahogany timbers; two schooners stand out in the distance awaiting to transport them to Europe; and with these exceptions--and with these alone, unless it be the absence of the Indians--were Columbus to arrive here again to-day, he would not find a particle more of improvement than was found here over three centuries and a half ago. A boat load of oarsmen coming down the river, the captain leading in a song, and all hands joining in the chorus; a splash is heard on the other side of the water, as if broken by a fish or clumsy sea-turtle; but except these sounds a death-like stillness pervades the entire valley. To get a better view, you must cross the promontory (the northernmost point of the island) to where Columbus first landed. From thence you see the Haytien frontier stretching away in the dim blue distance, and the scene is enchantment. Over the rocks we go, led on by a Spaniard on a little bay mule, that climbs over the cliffs with an agility creditable even for a mountain goat. The señor’s horse falters. One misstep, and they both go to eternity! We are on the beach. My zeal to commemorate the landing of Columbus by gathering a few tiny tinted shells reconciles the señor to sit in the sun and hold my horse for a minute; but I have no doubt he had rather see me as expert at gathering peas or picking up potatoes. “Ah! H.,” says he, “leave off writing books and gathering shells; get married, and come to farming.” So I will--all but the married. But you will want to know what, after all, is the matter with the port. It is shallow. Vessels of a hundred tons burthen cannot get within as many rods of a harbor. In fact, the only question is, why a man of Columbus’ sense ever stopped there at all. It is not worth the pen and ink it would take to describe it. CALLED AT THE FIRST HOUSE FOR DINNER. “Come, let the fatted calf be slain,” was complied with to the very letter, except that in this instance it happened to be a _goat_. Nevertheless, it was worth the return of any prodigal son.