CENTRAL PARK 
‘* No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes, 
As still are wont t’ annoy the walled towne, 
Might there be heard: but carelesse Quiet lyes, 
Ht 
Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enemyes. 
—SPENSER. 
N admirable feature of Central Park is the fine 
adaptation everywhere displayed. Each tree, 
shrub, and vine, with artful ingenuity, is made 
to show its best. Here, the water-loving hornbeam 
hovers over the lake as if nature had put it there, and 
the tall cottonwoods bathe their roots at its brink. 
Yonder, staghorn sumachs, in October’s crimson, are 
gloriously massed, as they so like to be upon the hill- 
side; the graceful drooping white birch stands solitary 
in an acre of greensward ; a large cluster of magnolias 
gives a touch of tropical luxuriousness; the group of 
buttonwoods is a noble bit of forestry; black haw, 
honeysuckle, and viburnum shrubs are scattered with un- 
studied effectiveness ; stony embankments have allured 
bittersweet, trumpet-flower, matrimony-vine, wistaria, 
and ampelopsis to trail in graceful profusion, and double 
rows of grand old elms on each side of the Mall are col- 
onnades and vaulted roof to frame the finest vista in the 
Park. 
The flowering wonder of spring in these spacious 
29 
