At 8 o’clock, three villages appear in the south. From N.N.W. we turn a sharp angle to the south. The creepers form, from the shores already deserted by the water, a beautiful rim of flowers down and into the stream. We row and sail slowly round the before-named corner, not to S., but to S.S.E., as the wind somewhat freshens; immediately, however, S.W. by W. and a short tract S.E.; but, about nine o’clock, to N. with Libàhn. The north-east wind has set in with such strength, that we can drift along without sails for half an hour in a south-westerly direction. At ten o’clock, to N.E. Libàhn; and at half-past, to S. in a bend—God knows where—to W., and again without sails. We make five miles, when the fore-sail is let out in a slackened bow. To the right—still in the bend mentioned just now to N.W., and in this direction we have a pretty long tract before us. Happy are those who have time, or take time, to sleep, when they feel inclined: I really must praise myself for holding out, from early in the morning to late in the evening, sometimes aloft, sometimes below, with such a continual scribbling of “on the right,” “on the left,” and describing all kinds of winds and weather—which is perfectly necessary, but may be as tedious to my future readers as it is to myself. From N.W., with some trouble, Libàhn to E. At twelve o’clock we sail gradually to S.E. and S., and make five miles, although the river has one mile rapidity; but at half-past twelve E. by S. and S.E., and at one o’clock again E. by S.; at half-past one S.S.W.; a quarter of an hour later S.E. by S.