HE Esquimaux are that extraordinary people who line the coasts of the northern seas for nearly 5,000 miles, from the Straits of Bellisle, far westward, to the North Pacific, beyond Behring's Straits.

Secluded from other tribes of the great American continent, with whom they have but little intercourse, they are not shut out from the care of Him whose "tender mercies are

over all His works." They are singularly adapted, in constitution and habits, to the regions they inhabit, where even the summer

wears a wintry aspect, and the traces of its presence are sparse indeed. The permanency of winter cannot be said to be interfered with, where, even in the month of August, the frozen subsoil is to be found everywhere at eighteen or twenty inches beneath the surface. Summer influences of such a superficial character produce only a scanty vegetation. The stern ascendancy of cold-as if repentant of having intermitted even for a moment its severityencroaches early on the brief summer. Towards the end of August, the keen east winds bring the snow showers, and the new ice begins ra

pidly to seal up the waters. The hardy reindeer, assembling themselves in large bands, begin to remove from these lands-too wintry even for them-to more southern localities. Yet man remains behind, and women and children brave a temperature too low for one of the hardiest of beasts.

Unlike the unthinking Indians, the Esquimaux spend their short summer in diligent provision of food against the winter. They waylay the deer, in their transit southward, at narrow passes by the rivers or lakes; or, armed with the katteelik, pursue the whale in their light kayaks; or retire for a season from the coast to the interior lakes, where the salmon abounds. In the beginning of September they abandon their tents, and retreat within their winter houses. Some of these are of permanent construction, framed strongly of drift-wood, or if this be not available, of the bones of whales, the whole covered thickly with earth. A low door in the side, or a trap-door from the roof in localities where the snow lies deep, gives access to these windowless habitations, in which a lamp, placed on a stone in the centre of the timbered floor, serves to give light and cook their food-a process by no means essential to these people, whose European name, Esquimaux, is by some thought to be a corruption of the Abenaki term, Eskimantik, which signifies eaters of raw flesh.'

But even if drift timber, or the bones of whales, be not available, there are other materials to be found in these regions which suffice to the Esquimaux for the construction of a house. The snow which lies so thickly around is made subservient to his use. It is this which enables him, with the approach of spring, when the hard-frozen stock of food, the results of his summer labours, is nearly exhausted, to move seaward on the ice to hunt the seal. At that season-when the intensity of the cold precludes the use of tents, and the shifting nature of his occupation is irreconcileable with any permanent habitation-the snow house precisely responds to his require. ments, combining facility of erection with. sufficiency of warmth. The white snow, pure under the influence of keen winds and frosts, has become firmly indurated, and, as light as it is hard, presents an admirable building material, "with which the Esquimaux mastermason erects most comfortable dome-shaped

* Vide Frontispiece, showing the mode of carrying the kayak.

houses."+ The following description of this singular architecture is taken from Sir W. E. Parry's" Account of the Esquimaux of Melville Peninsula," &c.

"The work is commenced by cutting from a drift of hard and compact snow a number of oblong slabs, six or seven inches thick and about two feet in length, and laying them edgewise on a level spot, also covered with snow, in a circular form, and of a diameter from eight to fifteen feet, proportioned to the number of occupants the hut is to contain. Upon this, as a foundation, is laid a second tier of the same kind, but with the pieces inclining a little inwards, and made to fit closely to the lower slabs, and to each other, by running a knife adroitly along the under part and sides. The top of this tier is now prepared for the reception of a third, by squaring it off smoothly with a knife; all which is dexterously performed by one man standing within the circle, and receiving the blocks of snow from those employed in cutting them without. When the wall has attained a height of four or five feet, it leans so much inward as to appear as if about to tumble every moment; but the workmen still fearlessly lay their blocks of snow upon it, until it is too high any longer to furnish the materials to the builder in this Of this he gives notice by cutting a hole close to the ground in that part where the door is intended to be, which is near the south side, and through this the snow is now passed. Thus they continue till they have brought the sides nearly to meet in a perfect and well-constructed dome, sometimes nine or ten feet high in the centre; and this they take considerable care in finishing, by fitting the last block or key-stone very nicely in the centre, dropping it into its place from the outside, though it is still done by the man within. The people outside are in the meantime occupied in throwing up snow with the pooalleray, or snow-shovel, and in stuffing in little wedges of snow where holes have been accidentally left.

manner.

"The builder next proceeds to let himself out by enlarging the proposed doorway into the form of a Gothic arch three feet high, and two feet and a half wide at the bottom, communicating with which they construct two passages, each from ten to twelve feet long and from four to five feet in height, the lowest being that next the hut. The roofs of these passages are sometimes arched, but more generally made flat by slabs laid on horizontally. In first digging the snow for building the hut, they take it principally from the part where the passages are to be made, which purposely brings the floor of the latter considerably lower than that of the hut, but in no part do they dig till the bare ground appears.

"The work just described completes the walls of a hut, if a single apartment only be required; but if, on account of relationship, or from any other cause, feveral families are to reside under one roof, the passages are made common to all, and the first apartment + Vide Frontispiece.

-in that case made smaller-forms a kind of antechamber, from which you go through an arched doorway, five feet high, into the inhabited apartments. When there are three of these, which is generally the case, the whole building, with its adjacent passages, forms a tolerably regular cross.

"For the admission of light into the huts, a round hole is cut on one side of the roof of each apartment, and a circular plate of ice, three or four inches thick and two feet in diameter, let into it. The light is soft and pleasant, like that transmitted through ground glass, and is quite sufficient for every purpose. When, after some time, these edifices become surrounded by drift, it is only by the windows, as I have before remarked, that they could be recognized as human habitations. It may, perhaps, then be imagined how singular is their external appearance at night, when they discover themselves only by a circular disc of light transmitted through the windows from the lamps within.

"The next thing to be done is to raise a bank of snow, two feet and a half high, all round the interior of each apartment, except on the side next the door This bank, which is neatly squared off, forms their beds and fireplace, the former occupying the sides, and the latter the end opposite the door. The passage left open up to the fireplace is between three and four feet wide. The beds are arranged by first covering the snow with a quantity of small stones, over which are laid their paddles, tent-poles, and some blades of whalebone; above these they place a number of little pieces of network, made of thin slips of whalebone; and, lastly, a quantity of twigs of birch and of the Andromeda tetragona. Their deer-skins, which are very numerous, can now be spread without risk of their touching the snow; and such a bed is capable of affording, not merely comfort, but luxurious repose, in spite of the rigour of the climate. The skins thus used as blankets are made of a large size, and bordered, like some of the jackets, with a fringe of long narrow slips of leather, in which state a blanket is called keipik.

"The fire belonging to each family consists of a single lamp or shallow vessel of lapis ollaris, its form being the lesser segment of a circle. The wick, composed of dry moss rubbed between the hands till it is quite inflammable, is disposed along the edge of the lamp on the straight side, and a greater or smaller quantity lighted, according to the heat required or the fuel that can be afforded. When the whole length of this, which is sometimes above eighteen inches, is kindled, it affords a most brilliant and beautiful light, without any perceptible smoke or any offensive smell. The lamp is made to supply itself with oil by suspending a long thin slice of whale, seal, or sea-horse blubber near the flame, the warmth of which causes the oil to drip into the vessel until the whole is extracted. Immediately over the lamp is fixed a rude and rickety frame-work of wood, from which their pots are suspended, and serving also to sustain a large hoop of bone, having a net stretched tight within it. This contrivance, called innetat, is intended for the

"With all the lamps lighted, and the hut full of people and dogs, a thermometer placed on the net over the fire indicated a temperature of 38°; when removed two or three feet from this situation, it fell to 31°, and placed close to the wall stood at 23°-the temperature of the open air at the time being 25° below zero. A greater degree of warmth than this produces extreme inconvenience by the dropping from the roofs. This they endeavour to obviate by applying a little piece of snow to the place from which a drop proceeds, and this adhering, is for a short time an effectual remedy; but for several weeks in the spring, when the weather is too warm for these edifices, and still too cold for tents, they suffer much on this account."

The Esquimaux winter costume, at the Whale-fish Islands, is amusingly described in M'Dougall's "Voyage of the Resolute to the Arctic Regions in Search of Sir John Franklin."

"The men are clad in jackets and trousers, made out of the skins of the deer or seal, and in the absence of caps have attached a hood to the former article of clothing. Their mittens and boots are made of the same material.

"The costume of the women is the strangest I ever saw, excepting that of the 'Bloomers,' which is nothing more than a modified Esquimaux dress.

"It consists of a sealskin frock and trousers, or rather drawers (for they do not come within six inches of the knee) and are ornamented down the sides by strips of brightly dyed leather.

"Their hair, which is of a glossy black, is carefully turned up to the back of the head, and there secured in a peculiar knot by a piece of ribbon, the colour serving to identify the social position of the wearer. The maidens are distinguished by a red ribbon only, whilst the married women, being, I presume, 'the better horse,' wear any colour they please: the fact of their wearing breeches tends to confirm this supposition."

In providing for their physical wants, these people display much ingenuity, courage, and patient endurance of fatigue. In daily peril they seek the food which is needed for this life; and in their light kayaks go forth to con. tend with the walrus, which when wounded often turns with fury on his aggressor; or, in pursuit of the seal, entrust themselves to the treacherous ice, which not unfrequently, yield. ing to the power of the tide, breaks off from the main floe, and is swept away into the sea. Yet, fearless and inured to hazard, they pursue their customary toil.

As the winter draws towards its termination, and their stock of provisions decreases, the