You ask for a yarn, my friends. I’ll spin you one with all my heart. You are all agreed that Christmas is a merry time. It ought to be so with you who have many kind friends around you, a warm, blazing fire, plenty of roast beef and plum-pudding, and other satisfactory things; and good houses, and warm clothing, and numberless other blessings, spiritual as well as temporal. But, I say boys, that should not allow us to forget that there are thousands of our fellow-creatures, and of our fellow-countrymen, too, who are perhaps at this moment starving and freezing—dying of cold and hunger. Those who have never suffered themselves are apt not to think of the sufferings to which others are exposed. I, however, can never forget a winter I spent—where do you think? In Scotland. Oh, no. Shetland? Further north. Iceland? Further north still. At the North Pole, or, at least, not far off it. I went to sea in the old “Grampus,” Greenland whaler, from Hull, for a summer trip, hoping to be back with my friends by the end of October. The old “Grampus” was barque-rigged, 350 tons burden, carried six whale-boats, three hung up on each side, and a crew of fifty men, all told—consisting of harpooners, boat-steerers, line-managers, coopers, carpenters, foremast-men, landsmen, and apprentices. Each man was to have a share in the profits on every whale caught, so that all were interested. The ship was very strongly built, with ice-knees to withstand the pressure of the ice. When I examined her, and observed that her bows were one mass of wood, I thought that nothing could harm her. I little knew, at that time, the tremendous power of masses of ice when grinding together, though no storm is raging over head, and the sea beneath may seem calm as a mill-pond. Our courses, that is our lower sails, were differently shaped to those of an ordinary merchantman, being narrow at the foot, and fitted with booms, so that they would swing round of themselves when, as was often the case, a few hands only were left on board to work the ship. But an important feature in our ship, in common with other whalers, by which she might be known at a distance, was the “crow’s nest” at her maintop-gallant-mast head. It was like a big cask, and contained a seat, and a place for a telescope, a speaking-trumpet, a flag, and a few other articles. Here an officer was stationed, when whales were supposed to be near, to watch for their appearance. Our boats were different to those in general use aboard trading vessels, the stem and stern were alike, and were about twenty-six feet long. Each carried six whale-lines, of 120 fathoms in length, and harpoons and lances, an axe for cutting the line should it foul, and many other articles. The boats pulled from four to six oars. The captain, or one of the mates, acted as harpooner, the boat-steerer ranked next to him, and the line-manager took the third place. The crew were formed into divisions according to the number of