Saturday, 24th. — I have often noticed when at sea the singular habit men have of awakening themselves at their accustomed hours. Let the noise be ever so great above their heads on deck, the watch below will yet sleep soundly; but the moment eight-bells has struck, they have a sort of intuitive knowledge that their turn for duty has come, and their eyes are instantly opened. Thus it was with me. I awoke next morning at the usual hour, and somewhat refreshed by my six and a half hours' nap, speedily dressed myself and went on deck. I found we were standing across to Cape Hurd on the north shore of Barrow's Straits. The breeze was moderate, and the sky was clear. Moreover, there appeared to be no large body of ice to intercept us on our way to Wellington Channel. A heavy pack, however, was observed from the “crow's nest,” extending all along the coast of North Somerset, from outside of Leopold Island on the east, to about Cape Rennell, where it appeared to enlarge and take a curvilineal direction towards Cape Hotham. But this, at present, we could not well determine. Two vessels, which were perceived to be Penny's brigs, were to windward of us, working up along shore about Radstock Bay. The American brigantine was still astern of us, and we evidently sailed, on a wind, better than she did, though this was, no doubt, occasioned by her heavier draught of water, and being so deeply laden.