BIRD-LIFE IN POMERANIA. 407 
iridescent green heads shine like emeralds in the evening sun; 
many-coloured Sheldrakes (Brandenten) perpetually moving ; 
Common Teal (Kriikenten); Shovellers (Loffelenten), whose 
beauty is spoilt by their unshapely bill; and still further on 
some Red-breasted Mergansers (Sdgetaucher). All the numerous 
winter visitors to our sea-shore have returned to the undisturbed 
breeding-places of their northern home, to visit us next autumn 
in increased numbers. 
In the meantime the sun has sunk below the horizon into the 
sea, dyeing the firmament and water with brilliant purple tints 
as a last farewell. Twilight falls upon the earth, and warns us to 
turn our steps homeward. We wend our way back through the 
old forest, through which the dark shadows are already creeping. 
Tired and silent we wander on, now and then roused from our 
reverie by stumbling over some projecting root of a tree. Every 
object melted into vague indistinct outlines; and the profound 
silence of the forest—interrupted only by the crackling of the dry 
twigs on which we tread, or the movement of the branches lightly 
stirred by the wind, and the croaking of the frogs heard afar off 
through the lovely May night—excites the fancy, and makes the 
mind susceptible to the influence of things apparently super- 
natural, whose origin cannot be accounted for. Suddenly the 
stillness of the wood is broken by sounds which fall on the ear 
like ghostly voices from the air and branches above us: ‘‘ komm 
mit, komm mit” (come with us), these invisible spirits of the wood 
seem mockingly to say. While still listening in wonderment, 
another curious noise comes from a tree near us; aloud “ whirr,” 
as if a spinning-wheel was being turned quickly; and as soon as 
it ceases on one side of us, it is heard again on the other. Have 
we lost our way in the domains of some angry forest fairy, who has 
banished a party of spinning maidens to the place to disturb the 
silence of the night with their humming ? 
To our relief, we learn from wiser mouths that the first voice 
we heard was that of the Little Owl (Steinkauze), whose cry is 
interpreted by the common people as an announcement of death ; 
and it in consequence receives the name of the “ Death-bird” 
(Todtenvogel), The whirring noise we heard is made by the 
Nightjar, or Goat-sucker (Nachischwalbe), which acts as the 
night-police of the wood, keeping a sharp look-out for insects 
which prowl about in the dark, and punishing them summarily. 
