NOVEMBER 



13 



All apples are good in November. Those which 

 the farmer leaves out as unsalable and unpalatable 

 to those who frequent the markets are choicest 

 fruit to the walker. But it is remarkable that the 

 wild apple, which I praise as so spirited and racy 

 when eaten in the fields or woods, being brought 

 into the house, has frequently a harsh and crabbed 

 taste. The Saunterer's Apple not even the saun- 

 terer can eat in the house. The palate rejects it 

 there, as it does haws and acorns, and demands a 

 tamed one ; for there you miss the November air, 

 which is the sauce it is to be eaten with. 



THOREAU: Wild Apples. 



14 



This afternoon I heard a single cricket singing, 

 chirruping on a bank, the only one I have heard 

 for a long time, like a squirrel, or a little bird, 

 clear and shrill, as I fancied, like an evening 

 robin singing in this evening of the year. A very 

 fine and poetical strain for such a little singer. I 

 had never before heard the cricket so like a bird. 

 It is a remarkable note, the earth-song. 



That delicate, waving, feathery, dry grass which 

 I saw yesterday is to be remembered with the 

 autumn. The dry grasses are not dead for me. A 

 beautiful form has as much life at one season as at 



another. 



THOREAU: Autumn. 



