Io6 JOHN BURROUGHS 



several species of pedicularis, then a yellow anemone and 

 many saxifrages. A complete list would be a long one 

 of flowers blooming here within sixty miles of the Arctic 

 circle, in a thin coat of soil resting upon perpetual frost. 

 There were wild bees here too, to cross-fertilize the 

 flowers, and bumble-bees boomed by very much as at 

 home. And mosquitoes, how they swarmed up out of the 

 grass upon me when in my vain effort to reach a little vol- 

 canic cone that rose up there before me like a haystack in 

 a meadow, I sat down to rest. I could not seem to get 

 nearer the haystack, though I sometimes ran to get away 

 from the mosquitoes. The tundra proved far less smooth 

 to the feet than the eye had promised. It was wet and 

 boggy. A tundra is always wet in summer as the frost 

 prevents any underground drainage. But it was very 

 uniform and the walking not difficult; moss, bogs, grass 

 and flowering plants covered it everywhere. The Sa- 

 vanna sparrow and the longspur started up before me as 

 I walked, and, as I descended toward a branch of the 

 little creek after an hour's tramp, a new note caught my 

 ear. Presently I saw some plovers skimming over the 

 ground in advance of me, or alighting upon tussocks of 

 moss and uttering a soft warbling call. They proved to 

 be golden plovers; I had evidently invaded their breeding 

 grounds and they were making their musical protest. At 

 times the males, as they circled about me, warbled in the 

 most delightful manner — truly a rich warble. There 

 was in it, underneath its bright joyousness, a tone of soft 

 pleading and entreaty that was very moving — the voice 

 of the tundra — soft, alluring, plaintive, beautiful. The 

 golden plover is mottled black and white with a rich 

 golden tinge on his back. It is a wonderful flyer. We 

 found it near the Arctic circle; six months later probably 

 the same birds might have been found near the Antarctic 

 in Patagonia. 



