With one exception the winter passed without an untoward incident, the exception being the illness of the zoologist of the party, who, after being carefully nursed by the doctor and all the others, succumbed to internal complications and died on October 13. This was the only fatality during the expedition, and the loss of one out of so small a party naturally had a saddening effect on the survivors. Before he died, he indicated a spot a thousand feet up the slope of Cape Adare where he wished to be buried, and, needless to add, his comrades loyally carried out his last wishes. He died just at the time when the penguins, the study of which had so engrossed him, were returning over the ice to their nesting quarters. The first one arrived a few hours before his death, and it was taken to him, at his request. The place where he sleeps is on the line where vegetation ceases and above which the penguins do not build. It was a pity he did not live to see the return of the penguins, for they came in myriads with the approach of spring. They advanced over the ice in a long line, walking in single file, and apparently in detachments of about sixty birds in each. They must have marched for many miles, as there was no open water nearer from whence they could have come, and they are not able to fly. As soon as they reached the land they spread out in such a way as to suggest that each pair went to the nest they had occupied before. These were simple affairs, consisting of little more than a few pebbles arranged in a ring on beds of guano. As a rule, two eggs were laid in each nest, and, for a month, male and female shared the labour of sitting on them, commencing in November and remaining on the nests until the young came out in December. The chicks were fed by the parent birds until they were fairly well grown, when they were driven into packs and left to look after themselves, with only occasional help from the older birds. When they were able to look after themselves, without further assistance, the parents departed. On such occasions a curious habit was observed. The birds of a detachment seemed to wait for one another until all were ready, when they would strut, in a solemn procession, to the water's edge. Usually the white breasts of the birds were spotlessly clean, but the time they spent on the nests made them very dingy in appearance. As they strutted down to the water's edge they were all sadly in need of a bath, yet, on arrival at the edge, they would stand about, shiver, flap their diminutive wings, and manifest all the hesitation which is shown by timid bathers when about to take a plunge. Nothing would induce them to enter the water until they were ready in their own good time, attempts, on the part of the explorers, to drive them in, merely resulting in the birds turning round and strutting on to the land again. When at length the time came for the plunge, one would flap his wings, utter a cry, and take a header,