THOREAu's jouRNALl THE LIGHTS OF NOVEMBER 325 



This nattirally ends the story of Kaiser, but another chapter 

 is needed to tell about the yellow hen. She drooped and acted 

 lonely for a day or two, then she began to look about in search 

 of a new outlet for her affections. This she found in a tiny white 

 chicken, the only child of its mother, and for that reason, of course, 

 dearly beloved. No well-balanced hen would have tried to take 

 that chick from its mother, but this hen, did try. You could 

 not expect the mother of an only child to stand quietly by and see 

 the child taken from her. So the white hen fought the yellow 

 hen. Being well-matched in size and strength, first one gained 

 the victory, then the other. As for the chicken, it looked out for 

 itself while the battles were in progress, and at their close it went 

 with the victor. For a week or more this state of affairs continued, 

 then some sort of compromise was effected. Hostilities ceased, 

 and both the hens devoted themselves to the care of the chicken 

 amiably and peaceably by day and both sang to it at night till it 

 was so large that it left them. 



The Lights of November 

 Thoreau's Journal 

 The glory of November is in its silvery sparkling lights. I think 

 it is peculiar among the months for the amotmt of sparkling whit© 

 light reflected from a myriad of surfaces. The air is so clear, and 

 there are so many bare, polished, bleached or hoary surfaces tcr 

 reflect the light. Few things are more exhilarating, if it is only 

 moderately cold, than to walk over bare pastures and see the 

 abundant sheeny light like a universal halo, reflected from the 

 russet and bleached earth. The earth shines more than in spring, 

 for the reflecting surfaces are less dimmed now. It is not a red 

 but a white light. In the woods and about swamps, also, there 

 are several kinds of twigs, this year's shoots of shrubs, which have 

 a slight down or hairiness, hardly perceptible in ordinary lights, but 

 which, seen toward the s\m, reflect a cheering silvery Ught. Such 

 are not only the sweet fern but the hazel in a less degree, alder 

 twigs, and even the short huckleberry^ twigs, also the lespedeza 

 stems. This gives a character of snug warmth and cheerfulness 

 to the swamp, as if it were a place where the sim consorted with 

 rabbits and partridges. Each individual hair on every such shoot 

 above the swamp is bathed in glowing simlight and is directly 

 conversant with the day god. 



