How pure is the air, how spicy is the scent from the fallen leaves on such an autumn day! In Spring, truly, white and rose-red, blue and yellow chequer the green turf; but now gold and crimson are bright in the tree tops, and on the service trees.

The distance is clearer than before, and fine silver threads wave in the air as if to catch us, and keep us in the woods whose beauty is so fast fading.
The sunny autumn air was right full of these threads when on St.
Maurice's day--[September 22nd]--Ann and I went forth to our duty of fetching in the birds which had been caught in the springes set for them.
When birds are early to flock and flee Hard and cold will winter be, saith the woodman's saw; and they had gathered early this year--thrushes and field-fares; many a time the take was so plentiful that our little wallets could scarce hold them, and among them it was a pity to see many a merry, tuneful red-breast.
The springes were set at short spaces apart on either side of two forest paths.

I went down one and Ann down the other.

They met again nigh to the road leading to the town.

Balzer set the snares, and we prided ourselves on which should carry home the greater booty; and when we had done our task as we sat on a grassy seat which the Junker had made for me, we told the tale of birds and thought it right good sport.