precarious sea, who was miraculously rescued by four daring men, whom I trust the Humane Society will reward for their extraordinary courage and humanity. His preservation caused much joy on board, and those who saved him have been lions since. When 700 miles from Chagres, the thermometer was 95 in the shade on deck, and in the sun or cabin the heat was almost intolerable. The intense heat made us stare, and wonder what was in store for us when we first mounted the fiery steed of the equator. Some of the passengers were very languid, and gasped for breath like Peytona when leading Fashion a span on the fourth heat. Chagres is the Five Points in miniature, consisting of the very dregs of filth, squalid penury and human degradation. I have been reading Blunt’s Coast Pilot, and found on page 476 the following consolatory narrative of Chagres and its fatal harbor, from the pen of Captain G. Sidney Smith, of Her Majesty’s sloop Bastard: “Chagres is more sickly than the same latitude on the coast of Africa. The bar of Chagres harbor has two and a-half fathoms on it at low water. The entrance is rather difficult, and at all times requires a fair wind, but when in you are perfectly safe. (O, me! O, Jonah!) I would not recommend its being entered if the measure could possibly be avoided, or suffer the boats to be there at night. It is, perhaps, the most unhealthy place known. The Bastard’s cutter was, by stress of weather, obliged to stay at night in the harbor. The consequent loss was a Lieutenant and seven men. Only one of the number attacked recovered. This happened between the 27th and 30th of November, 1827.” We approached Chagres this morning, amid torrents of rain. The land for 20 miles was high and undulating, with occasional bluffs towering high above the general elevation, and rocks some distance from the shore. The American Consul arrived to-day, at Chagres, and in crossing the Isthmus sunk into the mud nearly up to his hat, mule and all. There are about 50 huts at Chagres, with a population of about 300. An alligator snapped at our boat, near Moro Castle, while approaching the shore, and we learn that the banks of the river are literally covered with hideous reptiles. The Castle is very dilapidated, and about 200 years old, and has within its dismal walls some 80 brass pieces, with no soldiers, and a family of natives. A large sample of all the abominable reptiles with which these fatal latitudes abound, lurk within and around it. Board at Chagres is $5 per day, in a common hut. We are about to draw lots for the first opportunity of ascending the river. I shall endeavor to be faithful in my narratives, during my entire pilgrimage. Adieu. STEPHEN H. BRANCH. LATOON, twelve miles from Chagres, 6, P. M., in the doorway of a hut.