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136
My Studio Neighbors
·
W. Hamilton Gibson
47
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
dozen
in
a
quaint
family
circle
around
the
stem,
their
curved
points
all,
no
matter
how
far
separated,
inclined
in
the
same
direction,
as
thorns
properly
should
be.
Let
us
gently
invade
the
little
colony
with
our
finger-tip.
Touch
one
never
so
gently
and
it
instantly
disappears.
Was
ever
thorn
so
deciduous?
And
now
observe
its
fellows.
Here
one
slowly
glides
up
the
stem;
another
in
the
opposite
direction;
another
sideways.
In
a
moment
more
the
whole
family
have
entirely
disappeared,
as
if
by
hocus-pocus,
until
we
discover,
by
a
change
of
our
point
of
view,
that
they
have
all
congregated
on
the
opposite
side
of
the
stem,
with
an
agility
which
would
have
done
credit
to
the
proverbial
gray
squirrel.
This
animated
thorn
is
about
a
quarter
of
an
inch
long,
and
dark
brown
in
color,
with
two
yellowish
spots
on
the
edge
of
its
back.
Nor
is
this
all
the
witchery
of
this
bittersweet
thorn.
It
is
well
worth
our
further
careful
study.
Seen
collectively,
the
thorny
rose
branch
is
instantly
suggested,
but
occasionally,
when
we
observe
a
single
isolated
specimen,
especially
in
the
month
of
July,
he
will
certainly
masquerade
in
an
entirely
new
guise.
Look!
quick.
Turn
your
magnifier
hither
on
this
green
shoot.
No
thorn
this.
Is
it
not
rather
a
whole
covey
of
quail,
mother
and
young
creeping
along
the
vine?
Who
would
ever
have
thought
of
a
thorn!
Turning
now
to
our
original
group,
how
perfectly
do
they
take
the
hint,
for
are
they
not
a
family
of
tiny
birds
with
long
necks
and
swelling
breasts
and
drooping
tails,
verily
like
an
autumn
brood
of
"Bob
Whites"?
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