462 THE ZOOLOGIST. 



off at intervals, and our four brass guns made a welcome addition 

 to the noise. Near the Meridian Monument we saw a Magpie 

 and its huge domed nest on the top of a stack of piled poles ; 

 there was another nearer the town. Their presence seems to be 

 tolerated, but it is doubtful if they keep their pilfering beaks from 

 the drying codfish, which hung in rows upon rows from a rough 

 scaffolding, and made the place odorous with a full rich smell. 

 Mounting the hill at the back of the town, where most of the 

 inhabitants were foregathered, we turned our backs on the crowd, 

 and made our way over the moor-like ground sloping upwards, 

 boggy in places, and rocky and stony in others, and perhaps 200 

 to 300 feet above the sea. It was treeless, but some creeping 

 arctic birch trailed over the ground here and there, while thin 

 grass, Empetrum nigrum, moss, and lichen covered the soil. The 

 arctic flora was making a gay show, and the ground was brightened 

 with a yellow Viola, Armeria maritima, Dryas octopetala, Rubus 

 Chamcemorus, an Arabis, a Stellaria, and fine patches of purple 

 Saxifraga oppositifolia. But the snow had not entirely melted, 

 and still lay in large drifts in the hollows. Close to one of these 

 drifts I saw a Purple Sandpiper, running like a mouse along a 

 band of snow, in and out among the peaty hummocks of Empetrum, 

 moss, &c. It was very tame, and when flushed would not go far 

 from the spot; its note when flushed was " tree " or " chree." 

 Probably this bird, which exhibited the summer dress very well, 

 had a nest or young. But I could not devote much time to 

 looking for it, for there was still one bird whose acquaintance I 

 had not yet made in the north, and I was determined to devote 

 these last hours I should have on shore in Arctic Norway to a 

 search for it. Presently, as I made my way over a rocky ridge, 

 I caught the sound of a remarkably sweet song ; it was only a few 

 notes, but enough to inspire me with hope. I followed up the 

 sound, and in a short time made out the bird. There on a grey 

 rock, in the brilliant sunshine of the arctic night, sat a black-and- 

 white male Snow Bunting (Plectophanes nivalis). A very pretty 

 plate which appeared in 'The Zoologist' for 1881 was instantly 

 recalled to my mind, although I had not the luck to find a Snow 

 Bunting's nest. The Snow Bunting sits in an upright position, 

 but looks as if he had his shoulders up to his ears— a natural 

 attitude for a bird accustomed to cold winds and chilly mists. I 

 crept nearer and nearer, and at last got within a few yards of the 



