Sontag, on the same day, had his perilous incident. He had climbed to the top of a glacier by cutting steps in the ice. Across the ice was a crack, bridged over with thin ice, but entirely concealed by it. Stepping on this he broke through and fell into the chasm; fortunately it was a narrow one, and the barometer which he carried, crossing the creek, broke the fall and probably saved his life. On what a slender thread hangs this mortal existence! During this sledging season Dr. Hayes visited the homes of our old acquaintance at Etah, which was only four miles from the schooner; but they were deserted. Near the huts was a splendid buck, busily engaged in pawing up and eating the moss from under the snow. He seemed so unsuspecting, and withal so honestly engaged, that the doctor, though he had crept on the leeward side, within easy range, was reluctant to fire. Twice he aimed, and twice dropped his gun from its level. Bringing it to sight the third time he fired, and the ball went crashing through the noble animal. We hear nothing of compunction in eating him on the part of any on shipboard, and probably the pitying reader would have had none. Our old friend Hans does not appear so favorably in the present narrative as he did in that of Dr. Kane. His five years of chosen exile among his purely heathen countrymen does not seem to have left many traces of his Christian education. Some allowance, however, must be made for a difference of estimate of his character by his former and present commander. In Dr. Hayes's judgment, "he is a type of the worst phase of the Esquimo character." Hans's domestic relations are represented as not of the most happy kind. His wife's name is Merkut, but is known to the sailors as "Mrs. Hans." She passes for a "beauty," as Esquimo beauty goes; has a flush of red on rather a fair cheek when, exceptionally, she uses soap and water enough for it to be seen through the usual coating of dirt. Their baby, ten months' old, bears the pleasant name of Pingasuk--"Pretty One." Hans has a household of his own. He pitched a tent, when the schooner went into winter-quarters, under the roof of the upper deck. The Esquimo Marcus and Jacob make a part of his family. Here, wrapped in their furs, where they choose to be, they huddle together, warm "as fleas in a rug," though the temperature is seldom higher than about the freezing point. Little "Pretty One" creeps out of the tent about the deck, having for covering only the ten months' accumulation of grease and dirt, not unfrequently accompanied by its mother, who on such occasion is guiltless of "costly array," or much of any whatever. Hans's gentlemen lodgers were taken on board as dog-drivers, but they seemed to have been of no possible use except to give occasion for the mirthful jokes of the sailors.