June 12.--The barometer still continues very high, but we are momentarily expecting a reaction. Already the temperature has fallen from -2° to -25° C., and it promises to fall still more. The west is black, and out of its gloom comes a half-gale with wet snow. The _Belgica_, feeling the effect of the sudden change in the temperature, is alive with weird noises. The masts, the spars, the ropes, and every projecting object have long been covered by a thick encasement of accumulating hoar-frost. Heavy pieces of this ice-plating are loosened by the warm draught of the winds and they fall to the decks below with thunderous bolts. The bark changes its position in its bed of ice somewhat like its occupants in their bunks, and this is followed by a long series of jars and groans. Altogether, the noise outside and in is maddening. We hope for a speedy return of cold weather to our favourite temperature somewhat below -20° C. June 16.--No wind; a few cirrus and stratus clouds; the stars at zenith are visible at noon. The Southern Cross over the mizzenmast is arrayed in all its glory. The sun has only five minutes more to recede before it reaches the equinox, and then it will come back slowly and perceptibly, with its life-giving rays. We are drifting eastward, but there is no sign of movement in the ice,--no cracks, no leads, no lakes. June 17.--We are still drifting eastward, slowly but steadily, which fact suggests several questions: Is there land to the eastward or southward? If so, what is its character? If not, why are the easterly and southerly winds cold and dry, and why are we checked in our drift, after passing far eastward or southward? There are but two explanations. First: It is possible that we are far off a continuous coast line, or nearly so, in which case the ice near the land, with a westerly wind, would be forced toward the point of least resistance, which would generally be north. This would explain what we have often noticed, a northerly drift with a westerly wind. But even with our checked progress we seem to move eastward too quickly for such a condition of things. The next probability seems to explain better our actual experience. The second explanation is, that the easterly drift of the ice is only checked by a few widely separated islands through which the pack is forced into the Weddell sea by the prevailing wind. When the sun returns, and the ice loosens its grasp on our bark, we hope to clear up this mystery.