this habit was, that whenever the hour of ten drew nigh, I naturally felt the inclination for sleep; and the habit had grown so fixed, that, notwithstanding the change of circumstances, it still continued. This I was not slow to observe. I felt the desire to sleep come upon me at regular periods, and I concluded, therefore, that whenever I had this feeling upon me it was about ten o'clock of the night. I had discovered, too, by registering the time with my watch, that I usually slept about eight hours, and then I felt no desire to remain asleep any longer. When I awoke it would be six in the morning; and, in this belief, I regulated my watch to that hour. So convinced was I of these facts, that I felt confident I could have counted the days without the watch; but fearing that some change might occur in my habitual hours of rest, in consequence of the altered circumstances in which I was placed, I resolved always to keep the time-piece going. Ever before lying down to sleep, I took the precaution to wind it up to the full length of its chain, and on awaking I repeated the operation, so that there might be no danger of even a moment's stoppage. Though satisfied that I could tell night from day, I have said that it mattered little, or not at all. It was of importance, however, that I should know when each twenty-four hours had ended, for it was only by that means I could have any knowledge of the progress of the voyage. I took especial care to count the hours; and whenever I perceived that the hour-hand had completed two circuits around the dial, I cut a fresh notch in a piece of stick, set aside for this especial purpose. I need not say that my registry was kept with the greatest care. The only part of it on which I could not depend was that referring to the first days after my departure, when I had taken no notice whatever of the time that had passed. By guess I had put down four notches against those days and nights, and I afterwards found that my memorandum was correct. Thus for several days--nearly a week--passed I the hours--the long hours--long, and dark, and irksome: ever more or less miserable, at times sadly dejected, but never positively despairing.