88 MY STUDIO NEIGHBORS 



an opening in this shadowy foliage came a glimpse 

 of the hill-side slope across the valley upon whose 

 verge my studio is perched, and as my eye pene- 

 trated this pretty vista it was intercepted by what 

 appeared to be a shadowed portion of a rose branch 

 crossing the opening and mingling with the bit- 

 tersweet stems. In my idle mood I had for some 

 moments so accepted it without a thought, and 

 would doubtless have left the spot with this im- 

 pression had I not chanced to notice that this 

 stem, so beset with conspicuous thorns, was not 

 consistent in its foliage. My suspicions aroused, 

 I suddenly realized that my thorny stem was in 

 truth merely a bittersweet branch in masquerade, 

 and that I had been "fooled" by a sly midget 

 who had been an old-time acquaintance of my 

 boyhood, but whom I had long neglected. 



Every one knows the climbing- bittersweet, or 

 " waxwork " {Celastrus scandens), with its bright 

 berries hanging in clusters in the autumn copses, 

 each yellow berry having now burst open in thin 

 sections and exposed the scarlet -coated seeds. 

 Almost any good-sized vine, if examined early in 

 the months of July and August, will show us the 

 thorns, and more sparingly until October, and 

 queer thorns they are, indeed ! Here an isolated 

 one, there two or three together, or perhaps a 



