Hans, by the way, keeps up an establishment of his own; and, having a piece of feminine humanity, he can claim the dignity of systematic housekeeping. Within the house on the upper deck he has pitched his Esquimau tent, and, with his wife and baby, half buried in reindeer-skins, he lives the life of a true native. His wife bears the name of Merkut, but is better known as Mrs. Hans. She is a little chubby specimen of woman-kind, and, for an Esquimau, not ill-looking. In truth she is, I will not say the prettiest, but the least ugly thorough-breed that I have seen. Her complexion is unusually fair, so much so that a flush of red is visible on her cheeks when she can be induced to use a little soap and water to remove the thick plaster of oily soot which covers it. This, however, rarely happens; and as for undergoing another such soaking and scrubbing as the sailors gave her on the way up from Cape York, she cannot be induced to think of it. [Sidenote: HANS AND HIS FAMILY.] The baby is a lively specimen of unwashed humanity. It is about ten months old, and rejoices in the name of Pingasuk--"The Pretty One." It appears to take as naturally to the cold as ducklings to water, and may be seen almost any day crawling through the open slit of the tent, and then out over the deck, quite innocent of clothing; and its mother, equally regardless of temperature or what, in civilized phrase and conventional usage we designate as modesty, does not hesitate to wander about in the same exposed manner. The temperature, however, of the house is never very low, mostly above freezing. [Sidenote: MARCUS AND JACOB.]