Central Park 



Clambering over low shrubbery is the scarlet-fruited 

 nightshade or bittersweet, more brilliant but less abun- 

 dant than the orange fruit of the other bittersweet or wax- 

 work. Late in September the brilliant berries of the 

 spice-bush gleam like coals of fire amid the dark foliage. 

 This plant has already done considerable of its work 

 for next year, for the branches are thickly strewn with 

 flower -buds for early spring display. Hanging from a 

 rocky wall, drooping, or prone on the ground are the 

 long branches of the matrimony-vine (Lycium) with a 

 medley of unseasonable blossoms trying to make it sum- 

 mer again, and a harvest of oblong, pink-scarlet berries, 

 and the flowering dogwood begins to glow in leaf and 

 fruit. 



A sharp surprise is the winterberry that, having had 

 nothing particular to say thus far in the season, has 

 wisely kept silent, but now suddenly comes out with 

 some felicitous after-thoughts, in the shape of a prodigal 

 abundance of bright red berries, the size of a pea. 

 This and its near relative the inkberry find their way 

 into florists' windows to help the suffering rich to endure 

 the severities of winter. Now the mountain-ash is 

 heavily laden with its large clusters of dull red, and 

 the various thorn-trees are beginning to please the eye 

 and to prepare a winter's feast for hungry birds, which 

 ignore the thorn-berries at first, but become less fastidi- 

 ous toward spring, and have learned from experience or 

 from Shakespeare that hunger is the best sauce. In 

 October the black haw, last May in bridal robes, seems 

 almost in mourning, so thickly hang its blue-black clus- 

 ters. For weeks and months snowberry and coral- 

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