They seem to be of very uncertain temper, sometimes standing stupidly glaring at their assailants, whetting their horns against their fore legs; at other times, they will rush furiously against their hunters.

Captain Mecham discovered very great numbers of musk-oxen near the head of Hardy Bay, Melville Island. On one plain he observed as many as seventy grazing within a circuit of two miles; on his approach, they divided into herds of about fifteen each, headed by two or three enormous bulls. Their manœuvres, he says, were so quick and regular that they might be more fittingly compared to squadrons of cavalry than anything else he could think of. One herd moved forward at a gallop, several times within rifle-shot, and formed in perfect line with bulls in the van, presenting a formidable array of horns. The last time they advanced at a gallop until within about sixty yards, when they formed in line, the bulls snorting wildly, and tearing up the snow. But as soon as Captain Mecham fired they wheeled round promptly, rejoined the main body, and made off out of sight, only waiting occasionally for the wounded animal.

The following graphic account of an encounter with a musk-ox is given by Captain M’Clintock:—

“We saw and shot two very large bulls—a well-timed supply, as the last of the venison was used up; we found them to be in better condition than any we had ever seen. I shall never forget the death-struggle of one of these noble bulls; a Spanish bull-fight gives no idea of it, and even the slaughter of the bear is tame in comparison. This animal was shot through the lungs, and blood gushed from his nostrils upon the snow. As it stood fiercely watching us, prepared yet unable to charge, its small but fixed glaring eyes were almost concealed by masses of shaggy hair, and its whole frame was fearfully convulsed with agony; the tremulous motion was communicated to its enormous covering of tangled wool and hair; even the coarse thick mane seemed to rise indignant, and slowly waved from side to side. It seemed as if the very fury of its passion was pent up within it for one final and revengeful charge. There was no roaring; the majestic beast was dumb; but the wild gleam of savage fire which shot from his eyes, and his menacing attitude, were far more terrible than the most hideous bellow. We watched in silence, for time was doing our work, nor did we venture to lower our guns until, his strength becoming exhausted, he reeled and fell.

“I have never witnessed such an intensity of rage, nor imagined for one moment that such an apparently stupid brute, under any circumstances of pain and passion, could have presented such a truly appalling spectacle. It is almost impossible to conceive a more terrific sight than that which was presented to us in the dying moments of this matchless denizen of the northern wilds.”

It seems doubtful whether the wolf, which is naturally a most cowardly creature, can act on the offensive against the musk-ox; and most Arctic navigators seem of opinion that it attacks only lame or sickly cattle.

The activity of these oxen, and-their goat-like power of climbing, is very remarkable, and much at variance with their clumsy appearance. They have been seen making their way, when frightened, up the face of a cliff which defied all human efforts, and going down the precipitous sides of ravines by alternately sliding upon their hams, or pitching and arresting their downward course, as Sherard Osborn remarks, by the use of the magnificent shield of horn which spreads across their foreheads, in a manner to excite the liveliest astonishment of the spectator.

The Arctic Fox (Canis lagopus) cannot compare with either of the preceding animals in importance or interest, yet it figures very largely in the journals of our Arctic explorers. It is smaller than the common European fox; has a sharp nose, and short rounded ears, almost concealed in its fur; the legs are short, and the toes covered both above and below with a thick soft fur; the tail is shorter than that of the common fox, but more bushy. Its range is very extensive, for it is found in the lands bordering on the Polar Sea in both continents. As winter approaches, its coat of hair grows thick and ragged; until at length it becomes as white as snow—the change of colour taking place last on the ridge of the back and the tip of the tail. Its food consists of various small quadrupeds,—such as the Arctic hare and the lemming,—on all kinds of water-fowl and their eggs, on the carcasses of fish, shell-fish, and the refuse of the young seals killed and devoured by the Polar bear. In the track of the latter it seems to hunt systematically. It swims with dexterity, and will cross from island to island in search of prey. Its fur is light and warm, though not very durable, and for the sake of this fur it is pursued both in Arctic Asia, Greenland, and Hudson Bay. It is a wary animal, however, and not easily caught.

Dr. Hayes affords us an illustration of this statement.

As he and a follower, named Bonsall, on one occasion were exploring in Northumberland Island, they discovered a fox scampering away over the plain. Bonsall gave chase, but could not arrive within shooting distance. Another was then heard barking overhead at them. Dr. Hayes seized his gun, and climbing over some huge boulders which filled the bottom of the gorge, endeavoured, by crawling behind a rock, to overtake or approach the animal; but it seemed to be aware of his intentions, and scampering away, led him a wild chase across the plain. The astute Reynard first made off, so that his assailant “could not cover him upon the cliff;” and when out of danger, perched upon a stone, and barked at him in the most tantalizing manner. The doctor approached within long range. Immediately, as he was about to bring his gun to his shoulder, it dropped behind the stone and fled to another, where it set up the same rapid chatter,—a shrill “Huk! huk! huk!” sounding like a mixture of anger and defiance. Again Dr. Hayes tried to approach it, but with no better success; round and round it ran, until at length, weary of following it, Dr. Hayes fired. Some of the shot probably touched it, for it screamed loudly; but it fled with remarkable rapidity, and finally baffled its pursuer.

As the flesh of the fox is by no means to be despised, and, indeed, ranks as a dainty in the bill of fare of an Arctic navigator, a hot pursuit of it is often maintained, and traps are constructed to ensure its capture. These are usually built on much the same principle as a rabbit-trap. Selecting a smooth level rock, the trappers arrange some flat stones of about six inches thick, so as to enclose on three sides an area of six inches by two feet and a half. Over this enclosure other flat stones are laid; and between the two used to close up one of the ends a peg is inserted, so as to project about an inch within the trap.

To this peg, by means of a loop, is loosely hung a small piece of meat; and to the same peg, outside, is attached another loop made at the end of a cord, the cord being carried up through the rear of the trap, and over the top to the front, where it is fastened round a thin flat flag of slate, which moves freely up and down, being guided and held by a couple of large blocks placed one on either side of the entrance.

The way in which this machinery works is very simple:—

The fox enters under the slide or trap-door, advances to the rear, seizes the bait, and attempts to back out. The bait, of course, is pulled from the peg, and with it the loop supporting the door comes off. As soon as its support is removed down comes the door, and Master Reynard is entrapped. Everything now depends on the manner in which the cracks have been closed up; for if the animal can thrust its little nose between a couple of stones, it will assuredly effect its escape. Nor is it less important that the enclosure should not be sufficiently large to enable the fox to turn round; for in that case it generally contrives to loosen the door, and depart in infinite glee.

The Arctic fox is described by Dr. Hayes as the prettiest and most provoking of living creatures. One which he unsuccessfully chased for fully three hours was about the size of a domestic cat, round and plump, white as the snow, with a long pointed nose, and a trailing bushy tail, which seemed to be its particular pride. It was quite evident that it enjoyed the perplexities of its hunters, as it leaped from rock to rock, or circled round and about them, and showed the utmost indifference to the miseries of their famished condition. It rolled and tossed about among the loose drift, now springing into the air, now bounding away, now stopping short, and now cocking its head to one side and elevating one foot, as if listening, seeming all the time to be intent on exhibiting its “points” to its enemies, for whom it did not care the value of the minutest part of its very pretty tail. Weary and exhausted, Dr. Hayes abandoned the pursuit, and returned to his camp, followed by the fox, though always at a safe distance; and when they last caught sight of it, as they looked back from the rocks above the hut, it was mounted on an elevation, uttering its shrill sharp cry, in apparent mockery of their defeat.

Of the supposed relations between the bear and the fox, Dr. Kane remarks that he once thought his observations had confirmed them. It is certain that they are frequently found together; the bear striding on ahead with his prey, the fox behind gathering in the crumbs as they fall; and Dr. Kane often saw the parasite licking at the traces of a wounded seal which his champion had borne off over the snow. The story is that the two hunt in couples. This may well be doubted, though it is clear that the inferior animal rejoices in his association with the superior, at least for the profits, if not the sympathy it brings to him. “I once wounded a bear,” says Dr. Kane, “when I was out with Morton, and followed him for twelve miles over the ice. A miserable little fox travelled close behind his patron, and licked up the blood wherever he lay down. The bear at last made the water; and as we returned from our fruitless chase, we saw the fox running at full speed along the edge of the thin ice as if to rejoin him.”

A welcome addition to the meagre fare of the Arctic navigator is furnished by the Arctic Hare (Lepus glacialis), which, like the reindeer, collects in herds or troops as winter approaches. As many as two hundred have been seen at a time; and at one of their favourite haunts—Cape Dundas, Melville Island—might be seen a complete highway, three yards broad, which the tread of their numbers had beaten through the snow. In winter they seek their food and burrow for protection under the snow-crust. Captain M’Clintock states that they are ubiquitous in the Polar Regions, but that, of course, they are most numerous where the pasture is most abundant, as on Banks Land and Melville Island. The sportsmen of the two discovery ships, Resolute and Intrepid, shot one hundred and sixty-one hares in a twelvemonth on Melville Island; their average weight, when fit for the table, was seven pounds, and from ten to twelve pounds including skin and offal.

In the warm brief summer the hare takes refuge from the pursuit of beasts of prey under large boulders, or in the steep face of rocky ravines. It is then found in groups of from twelve to twenty. So delicate is their skin, that though the winter fur is of exceeding beauty and brilliant whiteness, it cannot be applied to any purpose of utility. They do not hibernate; and our explorers generally found them amongst the heavy hummocks of the floe-ice, as if they fled to that rugged ground from the wolves or foxes.

In the range of the Altaï, and extending even into Kamtschatka, we meet with the Alpine Hare (Lagomys Alpinus); a small rodent, scarcely exceeding a guinea-pig in size, and measuring in length nine inches only: it has a long head, with short, broad, and rounded ears. Its favourite places of sojourn are among the rocks and cataracts of wild wooded regions, where it forms burrows beneath the rocks, or inhabits their fissures. When the sky is bright, and the sunshine genial, they seldom leave their holes in the daytime; but in dull weather they may be seen bounding among the rocks, and making the echoes resound with their low whistle or bird-like chirp. In the autumn they make ready against winter need by collecting a large assortment of the most nutritious herbs and grasses, which, after drying in the sun, they arrange in heaps of various sizes, according to the number of animals engaged in the task; and as these heaps are often several feet in height and breadth, they may be easily distinguished even through the deep snow, and frequently prove of great service to the Siberian sable-hunters, whose horses would perish but for the supplies thus strangely afforded. Hence, wherever a Siberian or a Tartar tribe is found, the Alpine hare possesses a distinctive name,—and, notwithstanding its diminutiveness, is highly valued.

Another rodent which deserves to be remembered in these pages, is the Arctic or Hudson Bay Lemming (Myodus lemmus), which is found in Labrador, and on all the American mainland washed by the cold waters of the Arctic Ocean. It has been described as “a perfect diamond edition of the guinea-pig.” In habits it resembles the hare very closely, except that it is more gregarious, and is generally found in large families. In summer it is of an ashy colour, with a tawny tinge on the back, a dusky streak along its middle, and a pale stripe on either side. It has the repute of being exceedingly inoffensive; and is tamed so easily that, when caught, it becomes reconciled to its captivity in a day or two, and will soon show itself sensible of its master’s caresses. In winter it is perfectly white,—white as snow, from which it can be distinguished only by the keen scent of the fox or the Eskimo dog.

About the end of May, or early in June, it leaves the land and seeks the floating ice; for what purpose does not seem as yet to be accurately ascertained. Is it due to an instinct of migration, such as the Norwegian lemming so powerfully exhibits? It may be that the thaws force them from the land, or that, as the seamen say, “Them blessed little lemmings must be arter salt!” They have often been found steering off shore from the north coast of Melville Island, leaving comparative plenty in their rear; and, so far as could be made out, on a clear day, from land of considerable height, there was nothing in the shape of terra firma in the direction they were taking. When thus exposed upon the open floe, owls, gulls, and foxes pick them up for food. Can it be that Providence occasions, or has ordained this exodus for the purpose of feeding these creatures, and of thinning down the numbers of an animal which would otherwise multiply exceedingly, and devour all the vegetation of a naturally barren region?

From an Arctic journal it would appear that the lemmings are preyed upon by the Polar bear. We transcribe a graphic passage in further illustration of the habits of that remarkable carnivore:—

“Seeing some drift-wood lying about,” says a gallant navigator, “which it was important should be examined, I halted and encamped, dispersing the men along the beach to bring all in they could find. Walking landward to obtain a view from a hill, I was startled to see a she-bear and two cubs some distance inland. Watching them carefully, I was not a little interested to see the mother applying her gigantic muscular power to turning over the large blocks of sandstone which strewed the plain, and under which the unlucky lemmings at this season take shelter. Directly the she-bear lifted the stones, which she did by sitting upon her hams and pulling them towards her with her fore paws, the cubs rushed in and seized their prey, tossing them up in the air in their wantonness. After repeating this operation until the young fry must have made a very good meal, I was glad to witness the bear’s mode of suckling her young—a sight, I should think, rarely seen. Seated on her haunches, with the backbone arched, so as to bring the breasts (which were situated between the shoulders) as low as possible, the youngsters sucked away in a standing attitude. Anxious to secure this family-party, we proceeded to burn all sorts of strong-smelling articles; and at last she brought her babes down, though very warily, and when more than one hundred yards off turned away, evidently suspicious.”

In the sub-Arctic regions are found some of those animals which furnish commerce with the costliest furs. They all belong, however, to the family Mustelidæ, represented in temperate climes by the common weasel (Musteles).

The marten of North America is, in fact, the cousin-german of the weasel, and not less ferocious in its habits. In the forests of fir and birch which it loves to frequent, it preys upon the small rodents, the birds, and, if its appetite is very keen, upon the reptiles. It scales trees as nimbly as the cat; and its flexible body enables it to insinuate itself into the smallest openings, where a cat could not pass, and into the burrows and hollows of the trees or rocks in which its victims seek shelter. It is, however, a pretty animal, with vivacious ways, an astute physiognomy, and a rich coat of fur.

In the wooded zone which borders on the desert region of the Polar World are found both the Pine Marten (Mustela martes) and Pennant’s Marten (Mustela Canadensis). The fur of the former is of a very superior quality, and its skin forms a great article of commerce. It burrows in the ground, and feeds upon mice, rabbits, and partridges. The Canadian marten is larger than the preceding; longer and stronger. It lives in the woods, preferring damp places to dry; and climbs with a remarkable amount of ease and dexterity.

The Sable (Mustela zibellina) is much more highly esteemed for its fur than any other of the weasel tribe. It has long whiskers, rounded ears, large feet (the soles of which are covered with fur), white claws, and a long bushy tail. The general colour of the fur is brown, more or less brilliant, but the lower parts of the throat and neck are grayish.

A vivacious and nimble animal is the sable, which dwells in the remotest recesses of the forests, beneath the roots of trees, and in holes of the earth, and penetrates to the very borders of the realm of perpetual snow. Prodigious numbers are killed in Siberia, during the months of November, December, and January. The hunters assemble in large companies, and make their way down the great rivers in boats, carrying sufficient supplies of provisions for a three months’ absence. On reaching the appointed place of rendezvous, the different companies, each under the direction of a leader, fix upon their respective quarters, erect huts of trees, and build up the snow around them. In the neighbourhood of these they lay their snares; and then, advancing another mile or so, they set a further quantity; and thus they proceed, until they have covered a considerable area of ground; building huts in each locality, and returning in due order to each set of snares to collect their prey. These snares are of the simplest construction; nothing more than small pits or cavities, loosely covered with rough planks or branches of trees, and baited with fish or flesh. When the game grows scarce, the trappers follow the sable to their retreats by tracking their footprints over the fresh-fallen snow; place nets at their entrances; and quietly wait, if it be for two or three days, until the animals make their appearance.

The fur of the sable is distinguished from all other furs by this singular property: the hair has no particular inclination, but may be laid down indifferently in any direction whatever.

The genus Polecat (Mustela putarius) comprehends the smallest of all known carnivores,—namely, the weasel, the ferret, and the ermine. The temperate countries of Europe possess a variety of the latter species; but the ermines of the remote North yield the fullest and softest fur. These animals, like many others in high latitudes, change the colour of their coat according to the season. They have been adopted by poets, on account of the spotless whiteness of their fur, as emblematic of purity; but, in truth, they merit that honour only in the winter: in the summer their colour is a clear maroon. The tail, at all times, is of a beautiful brilliant black.

Another carnivorous quadruped which haunts the northern forests is the Glutton (Gulo Arcticus), or Wolverine; it owes its former and more popular name to its extreme voracity. But it is at least as remarkable for its strength and fierceness, inasmuch as it does not fear to dispute their prey with the wolf and bear; and for its cunning, since it baffles again and again the most carefully devised stratagems of the hunter. It is a slow and somewhat unwieldy animal; but it is determined and persevering, and will proceed at a steady pace for miles in search of prey, stealing unawares upon hares, marmots, and birds; and surprising even the larger quadrupeds, such as the elk and the reindeer, when asleep.

The stories told of this remarkable animal’s shrewdness, which far exceeds that commonly attributed to the fox, would seem incredible, were they not confirmed by good authority. It is in allusion to its extraordinary cunning that the Indians call it Kekwaharkess, or the “Evil One.” With an energy that never flags it hunts day and night for the trail of men, which, when found, it follows up unerringly. On coming to a lake, where the track is generally drifted over, it continues its steady gallop round the shores, to discover the point at which the track re-enters the woods, when it again pursues it until it arrives at one of the wooden traps set for the marten or the mink, the ermine or the musk-rat. Cautiously avoiding the door, it effects violent entrance at the back, and seizes the bait with impunity; or, if the trap contains an animal, drags it out, and, with wanton malevolence, mauls it, and hides it at some distance in the underwood or at the top of some lofty pine. If hard pressed by hunger, it devours the victim. And in this manner it demolishes the whole series of traps; so that when once a wolverine has established itself on a trapping-walk, the hunter’s only chance of success is to change his ground, and build a fresh lot of traps, in the hope of securing a few furs before the new path is discovered by his industrious enemy.

Some interesting particulars of the habits and ways of the glutton are recorded by Lord Milton and Dr. Cheadle in their lively narrative of an expedition from the Atlantic to the Pacific (“The North-West Passage by Land”). They tell us that it is never caught in the ordinary pit-fall. Occasionally one is poisoned, or caught in a steel trap; but so great is the creature’s strength, that many traps strong enough to hold securely a large wolf will not retain the wolverine. When caught in this way, it does not, like the fox and the mink, proceed to amputate the limb, but, assisting to carry the trap with its mouth, hastens to reach a lake or river, where its progress will be unimpeded by trees or fallen wood. After travelling to a sufficient distance to be safe from pursuit for a time, it sets to work to extricate its imprisoned limb, and very frequently succeeds in the attempt.

Occasionally the glutton is killed by a gun placed so as to bear on a bait, to which is attached a string communicating with the trigger. But a trapper assured Lord Milton and his companion, that very often the animal had proved too cunning for him, first approaching the gun and gnawing in two the cord communicating with the trigger, and then securely devouring the bait.

In one instance, when all the trapper’s devices to beguile his enemy had been seen through, and clearly foiled, he adopted the plan of placing the gun in a tree, with the muzzle pointing vertically downwards upon the bait. This was suspended from a branch, at such a height that the animal could not secure it without jumping; and, moreover, it was completely screened by the boughs. Now, the wolverine’s curiosity almost equals its voracity. It shows a disposition to investigate everything; an old moccasin flung aside in the bushes, or a knife lost in the snow, must be ferreted out and examined, and any object suspended almost out of reach generally proves irresistible as a temptation. In this instance, however, the caution of the glutton exceeded its curiosity and restrained its hunger; it climbed the tree, cut the fastenings of the gun, which then tumbled to the ground, and, descending, it secured the bait with impunity.

Lord Milton’s party were personal sufferers by, and witnesses to, the animal’s cunning. One day, when setting out to visit their traps, they observed the footprints of a very large wolverine which had followed their trail, and La Ronde, their trapper, at once exclaimed, “C’est fini, monsieur; il a cassé toutes nôtres étrappes, vous allez voir;” and so it proved. As they came to each in succession, they found it broken open at the back, and the bait taken; and, where an animal had been caught, it was carried off. Throughout the whole line every one had been demolished; and the tails were discovered of no fewer than ten martens, the bodies of which had apparently been devoured by the hungry and astute wolverine.

With one more illustration we must be content, and turn to another branch of our subject, though we do not suppose that our readers will weary of the relation of facts which throw so vivid a light on the intelligence, as distinct from, and superior to, the instinct of animals. And, certainly, the manner in which the glutton foils the ingenious stratagems of the trappers must be ascribed to intelligence rather than to instinct. In the following anecdote we think it is plainly shown that the latter could not have sufficed to guard the animal against the machinations of its persevering foes.

Dr. Cheadle, accompanied by an Indian boy, named Misquapasnayoo, started off for the woods, bent upon proving his superior acuteness to the wolverine. They found that the latter had renewed his visits along the line of traps, and broken all which had been reconstructed, devouring the animals found in them. Dr. Cheadle thereupon adopted a device which could not fail, he thought, to catch his enemy in his own toils. All the broken traps were repaired and set again, and poisoned baits substituted for the ordinary ones in the traps; not in every instance, but here and there along the line.

The forest was here of great extent, and seemed to stretch away to the frozen North without let or hindrance, the mass of timber being broken only by numerous lakes and swamps, or clearances which had been caused by conflagrations. The traveller always seeks the lakes; not only because they enable him to travel more rapidly, and penetrate further into the less hunted regions, but also because the edges of the lakes, and the portages between them, are favourite haunts of the fox, the fisher, and the mink. On one of these lakes a curious circumstance was noted. The lake was about half a mile in length, and of nearly equal breadth, but of no great depth. The water had seemingly frozen to the bottom, except at one end, where a spring bubbled up, and a hole of about a yard in diameter existed in the ice-crust, which was there only a few inches thick. In this hole the water was crowded with myriads of small fish, most of them not much larger than a man’s finger, and so closely packed that they could not move freely. On thrusting in an arm, it seemed like plunging it into “a mass of thick stir-about.” All around the snow had been trodden down hard and level by the feet of the numerous animals attracted to this Lenten banquet; and tracks converged to it from every side. The footprints could be recognized of the cross or silver fox, delicately impressed in the snow as he trotted daintily along with light and airy tread; the rough marks of the clumsier fisher; the clear and sharply-defined track of the nimble mink; and the great cross trail of the ubiquitous glutton. On the trees around scores of crows were sleepily digesting their abundant meals.

When Dr. Cheadle and his companion turned homewards, they found that their enemy had been in active pursuit. Along the ground they had traversed on the previous day, every trap was already demolished, and all the baits were abstracted. Dr. Cheadle at first imagined that he had at last outwitted and destroyed his enemy; but the Indian’s keener eyes discovered each of the baits which had been poisoned, lying close at hand, bitten in two and rejected, while all the others had disappeared. The baits, nevertheless, had been very carefully prepared; the strychnine being inserted into the centre of the meat by a small hole, and when frozen it was impossible to distinguish them from the harmless ones by any peculiarity of appearance. It seemed as if the animal suspected poison, and bit in two and tasted every morsel before swallowing it. The baits had purposely been made very small, so that in the ordinary course they would have been swallowed whole. That the same wolverine had followed up their path from the first, they knew perfectly well, because it was one of unusually large size, as shown by its tracks, which were readily distinguished from those of smaller animals.

The distribution of Birds in the Polar Regions, is a subject on which it seems desirable to offer a few remarks, so that our readers may be able to form an accurate conception of the character and variety of the animal life peculiar to them.

Of the birds of Greenland and Iceland, it may be affirmed that fully three-fourths of the species, and a still larger proportion of individuals, are more or less aquatic, and many of the remainder are only summer visitors. The largest bird that ventures far north is the Aquila albicilla, or fishing-eagle, which builds its eyrie on the loftiest crags of the ocean-cliffs, and feeds on salmon and trout. The Falco Islandicus, or gyrfalcon, though a native of Iceland, is now very rarely met with. The snowy owl inhabits the glaciers which fill the deep inland valleys of Greenland, and its range extends as far southwards as the Orkneys. Particular kinds of grouse are confined to the high latitudes; and more particularly the ptarmigan, or white grouse, which supplies a welcome addition to the scanty bill of fare of the Arctic navigators. It is found, even in the depths of winter, on Melville Island; burrowing under the snow, perhaps, for warmth, protection, and food. But it appears to be most numerous in April, when it is found in pairs; in September it collects in coveys, sometimes of as many as fifteen or twenty birds, preparatory to their southern migration.

Of the Corvidæ, the only species which ventures beyond the Arctic Circle is the Royston crow, and that only in summer.

The raven, however, is found in all the wide Polar realm, and is larger, stronger, and more voracious in the Arctic Islands than elsewhere. It drives the eider-ducks from their nests in order to prey on their young or feast on their eggs, and it unites in flocks to expel intruding birds from their abode.

The Grallatores are more numerous than land-birds in the Arctic World. The snipe and the golden plover are only visitors; but the oyster-catcher is a denizen of Iceland, where, building its nest on the reedy banks of the streams, it wages war with the crow tribe. The heron, curlew, plover, and most of the other waders, emigrate; sand-pipers and the water-ousel remain “all the year round.”

The Cygnus musicus, or whistling swan, is specially famous for its migrations. It measures five feet from the tip of the bill to the end of the tail, and eight feet across its noble extended wings; its plumage is white as snow, with a slight tinge of orange or yellow on the head. Some of these swans winter in Iceland; and in the long Arctic night their song, as they pass in flocks, falls on the ear of the listener like the notes of a violin.

The distribution of animals is, of course, regulated by laws analogous to those which regulate the distribution of plants, insects, birds, and fishes. Each continent, and even different portions of the same continent, are the centres of zoological families, which have always existed there, and nowhere else; each group being almost always specifically different from all others. As the Arctic World includes a district common to Europe, Asia, and America, with uniform climatic conditions, the animals inhabiting the high latitudes of these continents are frequently very similar and sometimes identical; and, in fact, no genus of quadrupeds exists in the Arctic regions that is not found in all three continents, though there are only twenty-seven species common to all, and these mostly fur-bearing animals. The carnivores, as we have seen, are very few in number, and of these the most important is the Polar bear. Of the herbivores the reindeer is the most valuable; its southern limit in Europe is the Baltic Sea, in America the latitude of Quebec.

There are fully eight varieties of American dogs, several of which are natives of the far North. The lagopus, or isatis, a native of Spitzbergen and Greenland, extends over all the Arctic regions of America and Asia, and is found in some of the Kurile Islands. Dogs are employed to draw sledges in Newfoundland and Canada; and the Eskimo dogs, used for this purpose by the Arctic explorers, are famous for their strength, their docility, and power of endurance. They were mute, until they learned to bark from European dogs on board the discovery ships.