_James Gordon Bennett_: Four of us left Chagres, at 12, M., to-day, in a canoe about 25 feet long, 3 feet wide, and 18 inches deep. Our average weight is 160 pounds. We have three boatmen averaging 140 pounds each. Our baggage weighs about 800 pounds—total, 1,860 pounds. In high water, as now, in consequence of heavy rains, the oarsmen paddle against a current of six miles. Our canoe has a thatch covering composed of bamboo leaves and canvass. You cannot sit upright with a hat on, in the canoe, but must lie or rest on your elbow. The thatch roof is about two feet six inches from the bottom of the canoe, and about eight feet long, under which four of us sit and lie in a most uncomfortable position, with the air very close, and ants, and white, green and red spiders, and gallinippers, crawling all over us, with alligators snapping at us occasionally (when we look over the sides of the canoe), with now and then a hideous water snake leaping into the canoe, when nearly on its beam ends. The rain has poured in torrents since we left, and after “_tea_,” (good heavens! what tea!) at the house, or hut, or hog-pen, of one of our boatmen, at Latoon, embark for the night on our journey towards Gorgona, Cruces and Panama. The equator children are yelling and squalling in the contiguous huts; the pigs are squealing; the hens and ducks cackling, and the reptiles on the banks of the river are breathing the most frightful sounds. Before me is Jamaica rum, cocoa nuts, oranges, lemons, sugar-cane and other poisonous substances, which my companions have eaten, and one of them has already had the gripes. Latoon has some 20 huts. From Chagres to this place I saw three or four residences on rising ground, one of which, contrasted with the dismal scenery of the Chagres, looked rather pretty, which I espied while emerging from the most sepulchral views I ever beheld. Nearly all the fruits of the earth grow in wild luxuriance on the banks of the Chagres, and the atmosphere is the sweetest I ever inhaled—fragrant even unto poison. Birds of all hues and of all climes assemble here, and fill the air with the most delightful music. And yet, with all this to cheer the traveler of these burning zones, the rain, sun, currents, shadows and malaria, and anacondas large as trees, and the ceaseless chattering of monkeys, and growls of panthers, and snaps of alligators, render the Chagres the most infernal river in the world. This is called the dry season, and, so far, it has rained or poured about twelve times a day. The lightning is so vivid and incessant as to produce the most brilliant, yet frightful illumination of the scenery and atmosphere, and the thunder sounds like the crash of ten thousand worlds. But I must close, as I now embark on my solemn journey for the night.—Adieu, STEPHEN H. BRANCH. In my canoe, on the Chagres, Jan 4, 1849.