238 A MILD AUTUMN 



one attains the stature of a small tree, possibly of a 

 big one, for I speak with experience of nothing more 

 than forty years old, and there are several here be- 

 tween thirty and forty feet high. It is semi-evergreen, 

 but its glory consists in its fruit, with masses of which 

 at the present time its branches are weighed down. 

 It is neither scarlet, like holly berries, nor crimson, 

 like haws, but an intermediate vermilion, making a 

 perfect contrast with the foliage, which is of the flat, 

 opaque tint represented by the pigment known to 

 painters as terra verte. The berries are very bitter, 

 and are scrupulously avoided by birds until they are 

 driven by famine to consume them. Many of our 

 high roads might be redeemed from monotony by 

 planting this tree along the waysides, for it stands 

 wind exposure well, casts no great shadow to collect 

 damp, and, besides its berries, bears pretty corymbs of 

 white flowers in June. Set alternately with laburnums, 

 trees of much the same stature, the effect is very 

 charming. 



Talking of laburnums, they are behaving as irra- 

 tionally this autumn as the thrush aforesaid. Many 

 young trees in the woods here are quite thickly hung 

 with golden tresses, to the detriment, I expect, of 

 the display next Whitsuntide ; for no tree can afford 

 to burn the candle at both ends. 



Quite the most brilliant shrub just now is an 

 American beauty, Vaccinium corymbosum, which I 

 obtained some years ago from Messrs. Veitch's Combe 

 Wood nursery. Curiously enough, it was not its 

 autumnal brilliance which first attracted me, for it was 



