The day was passed in receiving visits of ceremony, arranging our new quarters, rigging hammocks, (which we obtained, at but little more than twice their actual value, at the “Maison de” Commerce of the Viscomte,) and dragging to light and air our mildewed wardrobes. We thought of consigning our soiled linen to the women at the lagoon; but the sturdy blows of their clubs still sounded in our ears, and we trusted to the future; but the future brought rough stones in place of the smooth canoe! That night we passed comfortably in our new quarters, interrupted only by various droppings from the roof, which the active fancies of sundry members of the party converted into scorpions and other noxious insects. All slept, notwithstanding, until broad daylight next morning, when every one was roused by the firing of guns, and a great noise of voices, apparently in high altercation, combined with the cackling of hens, the barking of dogs, and the squealing of pigs; a noise unprecedented for the variety of its constituent sounds. “A revolution, by Jove!” exclaimed M——, whose brain was full of the news from the interior; “it has got here already!” The doors were nevertheless thrown open, and every unkempt head was thrust out to discover the cause of the tumult. The scene that presented itself passes description. There was a mingled mass of men, women, and children, some driving pigs and poultry, others flourishing sticks; here a woman with a pig under one arm and a pair of chickens in each hand; there an urchin gravely endeavoring to carry a long-nosed porker, nearly as large as himself, and twice as noisy; there a busy party, forming a cordon around a mother pig with a large family, and the whole excited, swaying, screaming mass retreating before the two policemen in white, each bearing a sword, a pistol, and a formidable looking blunderbuss. “They are driving out the poor people,” said M——; “it is quite too bad!”