It thunders, and we go with a west-wind right into the dark clouds. Half-past eleven o’clock, the rain has fortunately come on; the wind has changed from W. to N.E., and we go with oars again to E.N.E. A quarter before twelve, the wind blows freshly on the right shore of the reeds, where we make a whirl again, because the crew are tired out by their sleepless nights. Drops of rain only are falling, but the pell-mell confusion in which the vessels navigate is enough to drive one to despair: no taking to the oars—no wish to do anything—no command—the tailor-captain is sitting at his handy-work. The shores are, or form, short reeds and grass standing in the water. Twelve o’clock; to E. Half-past twelve; S.S.E. One o’clock; E. by S., a large lake to the right, scarcely separated from us. Two o’clock; with a trifling declination left to S., and in a flat arch, E.S.E. The wind has changed to the south, and we sail a little—two miles. However we see showers of rain pouring down nearly all round us, and it will be fortunate if we escape them, for where could we fly to to preserve ourselves from the rain which soaks through in these regions? Half past three o’clock; from S.E., with a few deviations to E. by N.: we make four miles, for the wind has settled in south west, whereby a few drops of rain sprinkle us from the right side, and we go then directly a short tract N.N.E., leaving behind us a _large_ floating-island, very rare here in comparison with the small ones. A quarter before four; with a short bend to E.S.E. and E., then from E.S.E.; on the right here a large lake; immediately at a quarter after four to S.E. by S., and on the left to E.S.E. and E. by N. The rain is like that of a German May. On the right shore, a somewhat scanty forest, where we halt, at a quarter to five, on account of want of wood; at five, however, we bear off again, for these little mimosas afford us no wood. From S. to E.S.E.; a large lake again on the right. How much earth must the mountains of Bari and elsewhere supply before these shallow lakes can be elevated into land and fields! Half-past six; from E. by S. to the left in E. and E. by N., where it makes a leap to E.N.E. The wind has become slack: only two miles. Six o’clock; to E. There are many swallows flying over the reeds; they seem to be making a tour of pleasure with our deadly enemies the gnats. These birds may either not anticipate the rainy season, which is close at hand, (unless they are already on the road to our home,) or they remain here entirely, and most of them perish, as we have seen in Taka, where, however, the trees protect them. Half-past seven; E.N.E. On the right a large lake: we anchor in the middle of the river, and it begins to be dark. Thermometer, sunrise, 22°; noon, not above 27°; sunset 27°.