7. With December a new era began for the dogs. A large snow house was built for them outside the ship, in which were placed their kennels, well filled with straw. The name of each dog was written on his house. And here let me remark, that the winter quarters of the dogs should always be on the ice. To keep them under the deck-tent is unhealthy and inconvenient, and would be an impossibility if their numbers were great. Every morning Haller opened the door of the snow house, and out rushed the dogs, with their tails in the air, to begin forthwith a general fight. No shouts, no blows, not even the discharge of a rifle could separate the combatants. Pouring water over them at a temperature of -35° F., though a somewhat barbarous way of producing peace, was successful only with the younger dogs. When the fight was over, the next object was to find out their special patron, and the instant they recognised him they rushed upon him, tugged at his clothes, and thrust their noses inquiringly into his pockets. Each then made his morning round, visiting the places where he had hid in the snow a piece of bread or covered up a bit of seal. When they had satisfied their appetite, it was curious to observe how they would make it smooth over the hole in which they deposited their treasure, all the time cunningly turning their eyes right and left to see whether they were observed. [Illustration: PEKEL, SUMBU, AND JUBINAL.] 8. Their violence and eagerness having somewhat abated, we may observe the members of our pack one by one. The red giant there, who offers his paw as huge as a bear’s, is named after a god of the heathen days of Lapland, “Jubinal;” and not a few legends surrounded the accounts of his early life. A Siberian Israelite, so it was said, brought him from the north of Asia over the Ural. He was the victor in all fights, the leader of the sledge team, and could drag four men on a hard level path without any effort. The day before we sailed from Bremerhaven he tore a sheep to pieces. Every summer when he changed his coat, the sailors clad him in a canvas dress. Bop was his inferior in strength, but his superior in wisdom; Matoschkin surpassed him in gravity. The latter used to sit for hours in a moody manner on a pile of chests looking at the ice world. Bop and Matoschkin were Newfoundlands; the first died of cold in our first winter, the latter, as our readers may remember, was carried off by a bear and torn to pieces. We had also two Newfoundland bitches, who were called respectively “Novaya” and “Zemlya;” the former died in the first year, the latter, though she was of little use in sledging from her laziness, may claim indisputably the merit of being the mother of her hopeful son, “Torossy,” who grew to a considerable size, and was the pride of the whole crew. He knew no other world than the frozen ocean, and no other destiny than to draw a sledge; and to this work he had devoted himself zealously since the commencement of winter. In the