Meanwhile our old Swedish cook had gone half crazy, and the steward kept him company. To prepare a lunch for ladies in these high latitudes was not within their conception of the hard-fisted requirements of exploration dignity. They "could _not_ understand it." The steward contrived, however, to stow away in the bunks the seal-skins which encumbered the cabin, and thus got rid of all our Greenland rubbish but the odor. But it was not until the clean white table-cloth, which he produced from some out-of-the-way locker, was covered with the smoking dishes which his ingenuity had contrived, that his face was lit up with any thing approaching the kindly. Being, however, in a general way a mild-mannered man, his ferocious looks did not materially affect the progress of the preparations; and the solemn face with which he predicted, in great confidence, to the cook that "such folly would bring us all to ruin, indeed it would," at length wore a ghastly smile, and finally exhibited decided manifestations of a forgiving disposition. Indeed, he was in the end very proud of his "spread." [Sidenote: A LUNCH ON BOARD.] In truth, the spread was a very creditable affair. The contents of our hermetically sealed cans furnished a welcome variety to these dwellers in the land of seals; the lakes of Greenland supplied some noble salmon, and my lockers contributed something from sunny France and golden Italy, and the materials for an excellent punch from Santa Cruz. At first we got on badly with the conversation, but by and by English, Danish, German, and bad Latin became mixed harmoniously together like the ingredients of the punch; healths were drunk,--to the King, to the President, to all good fortune, to ourselves, and speeches were made, in which were duly set forth the glorious memories of the children of Odin. The merriment was waxing warm. Some one, stimulated perhaps by a recent tribute of praise to the valiant Harold and the Russian Maiden, and the fights and loves of the vikings generally, had just proposed that best toast of the sailor, "sweethearts and wives," and obtained a fitting response, when the heavy thump of a pair of mammoth sea-boots was heard on the companion-ladder, and the master's mate broke in upon us like the ghost of Banquo. "The officer of the deck directs me to report, sir, that the dogs are all aboard, sir, and that he is hove short on the anchor, as ordered, sir." "How's the wind?" "Light, and southerly, sir." [Sidenote: FAREWELL TO UPERNAVIK.]