264 FROM LONDON TO OMSK 



of the snow upon the ground is, of course, a sufficient 

 explanation why birds cannot live there in winter. 

 Occasionally we saw small flocks of snow-buntings, whose 

 only means of subsistence appeared to be what they could 

 pick up from the droppings of the horses on the road. 

 These charming little birds often enlivened the tedium of 

 the journey, flitting before the sledge as we disturbed 

 them at their meals. They were rapidly losing their 

 winter dress. They only moult once in the year — in 

 autumn. In the winter the general colour of the snow- 

 bunting is a huffish brown. After the autumn moult each 

 feather has a more or less broad fringe of huffish brown, 

 which almost obscures the colour of the feather lying 

 below it. The nuptial plumage is assumed in spring by 

 the casting of these fringes, which appear to dry up and 

 drop off, whilst at the same time the feathers appear to 

 acquire new life and the colour to intensify, as if in spring 

 there was a fresh flow of blood into the feathers, some- 

 • what analogous to the rising of the sap in trees, which 

 causes a fresh deposit of colouring matter. The snow- 

 buntings we saw on the sledge-track across the steppes 

 had nearly lost all the brown from their plumage, their 

 backs were almost black, as were also the primary quills 

 of their wings, whilst the head and under-parts were 

 nearly as white as the snow itself, and at a distance one 

 might often fancy that a flock of black butterflies was 

 dancing before us. The snow-bunting had an additional 

 charm for us from the fact that it is a winter visitor to 

 England whose arrival is always looked for with interest, 

 and a few pairs even remain to breed in the north of 

 Scotland. It is remarkable as being the most northerly 

 of all passerine birds in its breeding range, having been 

 found throughout the Arctic Circle wherever land is known 

 to exist. The only other birds we saw on the steppes were 



