SOURRÉ AND SALVATERRA.
"We were not able to visit any of the estancias, but confined our inspection of Marajo to the villages of Sourré and Salvaterra, on the southern side of the island, at the entrance of the Igarapé Grande. They are picturesquely situated on opposite banks of the igarapé, Sourré being a little farther inland than its sister place with the longer name. We crossed the Para River on a steamer that rolled viciously under the effect of the wind blowing in from the Atlantic, and long before we reached the other shore more than half the passengers were overcome with sea-sickness and unable to move.
"The accommodations were not of the best, but we were accustomed to rough life, and had no reason to complain. Both these places are filled from August to January by many people from Para, to whom Sourré and Salvaterra are as Newport or Long Branch to New-Yorkers. The tide brings in a fine flow of sea-water, and the breezes are stronger and cooler than at the capital city. There is a good beach for bathing, and when it is not occupied by the fashionables it is the scene of a great deal of activity on the part of the natives. We hired a boat and a couple of Indians to paddle us two or three miles up the igarapé and back again. The banks are lined with gardens, from which many vegetables are sent to the market of Para.
"In the interior of the island there are farms and plantations where sugar-cane, cacao, cotton, rice, and mandioca are grown, but the greatest industry of Marajo is in the exportation of cattle. The trade is said to reach about ten thousand head every year; horses are scarce, and a good riding animal brings a high price.
"We returned from Sourré by the way we went, and reached Para one day before the steamer was due which would carry us down the coast. This letter will go to New York by the next steamer, and so for the present we will say good-bye.
"Frank and Fred.
"P. S.—Our account of Para would be incomplete without an allusion to snakes. In many houses they have snakes of the boa-constrictor family—of the kind we saw on the Amazon—to keep the place clear of rats and mice. They do their work very well, and live on terms of quiet friendship with the biped inhabitants. At Sourré we saw the household snake coiled up in a corner very much as we might see a cat in a New England dwelling; when we manifested a curiosity to look at it one of the servants took the reptile by the neck and held it up to full view until we declared ourselves satisfied with the inspection. The creature did not seem at all angry at his treatment, for as soon as he was released he returned to his corner and resumed his nap.