118 THE ZOOLOGIST. 
anxious to observe for himself what may be regarded as one of 
the most wonderful sights which can gladden the eyes of an 
ornithologist. The previously published observations of Mr. 
Gitke, of course, had already prepared him for a good deal, but 
his. preconceived ideas on the subject, it would seem, fell far 
short of what he was enabled to realise by personal observation. 
Being desirous of visiting the lighthouse at night, when large 
flocks of birds were passing over on migration, he requested that 
he might be called at the earliest opportunity which might 
present itself. He was accordingly awakened one dark night 
about half-past twelve with the news that the migration had 
commenced, and hastened at once to the shore. He thus 
describes what he saw :— 
« Arrived at the lighthouse, an intensely interesting sight presented 
itself. The whole of the zone of light within range of the mirrors was 
alive with birds coming and going. Nothing else was‘ visible in the dark- 
ness of the night but the lantern of the lighthouse vignetted in a drifting 
sea of birds. From the darkness in the east, clouds of birds were con- 
tinually emerging in an uninterrupted stream; a few swerved from their 
course, fluttered for a moment as if dazzled by the light, and then gradually 
vanished with the rest in the western gloom. Occasionally a bird wheeled 
round the lighthouse and then passed on, and occasionally one fluttered 
against the glass like a moth against a lamp, tried to perch on the wire 
netting, and was caught by the lighthouse man. I should be afraid to 
hazard a guess as to the hundreds of thousands that must have passed in a 
couple of hours; but the stray birds which the lighthouse man succeeded 
in securing amounted to nearly 300. The scene from the balcony of the 
lighthouse was equally interesting ; in every direction birds were flying like 
a swarm of bees, and every few seconds one flew against the glass. All the 
birds seemed to be flying up wind, and it was only on the lee side of the 
light that any birds were caught. They were nearly all Sky Larks. In 
the heap captured was one Redstart and one Reed Bunting. ’ The air was 
filled with the warbling cry of the Larks; now and then a Thrush was 
heard ; and once a Heron screamed as it passed by. The night was star- 
less, and the town was invisible; but the island looked like the outskirts of 
a gas-lighted city, being sprinkled over with brilliant lanterns. Many of 
the Larks alighted on the ground to rest, and allowed the Heligolanders to 
pass their nets over them. About three o’clock a.m. a heavy thunder- 
storm came on, with deluges of rain; a few breaks in the clouds revealed 
the stars; and the migration came to an end, or continued above the range 
of our vision. 
