78 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 



I do not allude to the ptarmigan of our mountains, which is here 

 also restricted to the glacier region, but to the much more abundant 

 willow-grouse. Wherever the dwarf-birch thrives it is to be found, 

 and it is always visible, but especially when the silence of night has 

 fallen upon the tundra, even though the sun be shining overhead. It 

 never entirely forsakes its haunts, but, at the most, descends from 

 the heights to the low grounds in winter. It is lively and nimble, 

 pert and self-possessed, jealous and quarrelsome to\fards its rivals, 

 affectionate and devoted towards its mate and young. Its life 

 resembles that of our partridge, but its general behaviour has a 

 much greater charm. It is the embodiment of life in the desert. 

 Its challenging call rings out through the still summer night, and 

 the coveys enliven the wintry tundra, forsaken by almost all other 

 birds. Its presence gladdens and charms naturalist and sportsman 

 alike. 



During summer the golden plover, which also must be described 

 as a faithful child of the tundra, is to be met almost everywhere. 

 As the swift ostrich to the desert, the sand-grouse to the steppes, the 

 rock-partridge to the mountains, the lark to the corn-fields, so the 

 golden plover belongs to the tundra. Gay as its dress may be, they 

 are the colours of the tundra which it wears; its melancholy cry is 

 the sound most in keeping with this dreary region. Much as we 

 like to see it in our own country, we greet it without pleasure here, 

 for its cry uttered day and night makes us as sad as the tundra 

 itself. 



With much greater pleasure does one listen to the voice of 

 another summer guest of the region. I do not refer to the tender 

 melodies of the blue-throated warbler, which is here one of the 

 commonest of brooding birds and justly named the "hundred- 

 tongued singer", nor to the ringing notes of the fieldfare, which 

 also extends to the tundra, nor to the short song of the snow 

 bunting, nor to the shrill cries of the peregrine falcon or the rough- 

 legged buzzard, nor to the exultant hooting of the sea-eagle or the 

 similar cry of the snowy owl, nor to the resounding trumpet-call of 

 the musical swan or the plaintive bugle-like note of the Arctic duck, 

 but to the pairing and love cry of one or other of the divers — a wild, 



