"Wish to goodness I'd brought a hammock," said my uncle, at last. "I did try whether I couldn't lash the curtains together last night, but they're too weak." "I should think so, indeed," exclaimed my mother. "That chintz, too. How can you be so foolish, Joe?" My uncle smoked on, apparently thinking with great disgust of the comfortably-furnished bedroom in which he had to sleep, as compared with the main-deck of his frigate. "But 'taint cold," he all at once burst out. "Three or four degrees of frost, at all events," said my father. "Pooh; what's that?" said my uncle. "That's hot weather, that is. How should you like to sleep where yours and your mate's breath all turns into a fall of snow, and comes tumbling on to you? How should you like to nibble your rum as if it was sugar-candy, and never touch nothing of iron for fear of burning your fingers like, and leaving all the skin behind? This ain't cold." "Here, draw round close," cried my father; "throw on another log or two, and Uncle Joe will spin you a yarn." The fire was replenished, and as the many-hued flames leaped and danced, and the sparks flew up the chimney, every face was lit up with the golden glow. The wind roared round the house, and sung in the chimney, but the red curtains were closely-drawn, the table was well spread with those creature comforts so oft seen at the genial season, and closing tightly in--chair against chair--we all watched for the next opening of Uncle Joe's oracular lips. And we had not long to wait; for, taking his pipe out of his mouth, he began to point with the stem, describe circles, and flourish it oratorically, as he once more exclaimed-- "'Taint cold; not a bit! How should you like to spend Christmas up close aside the North Pole?" No one answering with anything further than a shiver, the old tar went on:-- "I can't spin yarns, I can't, for I allus gets things in a tangle and can't find the ends again, but I'll tell you about going up after Sir John Franklin." "Hear, hear!" said my father, and Uncle Joe tasted his grog, and then winked very solemnly at my father, as much as to say "That's it exact." "Little more rum?" hinted my father. Uncle Joe winked with his other eye and shook his head and went on:--