Trees and their Associatio?is 



281 



In more recent times we are told by Miss 

 Strickland that when Queen Catherine Parr's 

 coffin was last opened the temples of the 

 royal lady were found sun-ounded by a wreath 

 of ivy leaves. From the fact of this plant 

 being associated with Bacchus the god of 

 wine, we owe the antient custom of its use 

 as a vintner's sign. This can scarcely be 

 termed as a "religious association." When 

 times were young, as the poets say, the Grecian 

 priests presented newly married couples with 

 a wreath of ivy as a symbol of the closeness 

 of the tie which ought to bind them together, 

 and it continues a favourite emblem of con- 

 stancy among the people of our day. A 

 modern writer speaking of this custom, says : 

 — " It very appropriately reminds them of the 

 closeness of the tie which binds them, and of 

 the constant love which should survive the 

 changes of time and adversity, lasting even 

 through the winter of old age." The close 

 manner in which the ivy clings to any tree 

 or shrub to which it may attach itself is often 

 a subject for our naturalists. They have been 

 known to die prematurely by the ivy clasp- 

 ing them too closely in its folds, rocks to be 

 displaced by its roots. 



Continuing the subject of its many virtues, 

 we find that in the list of gods known to 

 the classic antients, that the ivy was con- 

 secrated to Apollo ; but I am not able to say 

 through what cause. It was a common belief 

 that the associations of this plant with the 

 wine cup prevented any ill effects on the 

 brain of those that indulged in its potent 

 draughts. It was also held that iv>- possessed 

 wonderful medicinal properties, especially as 

 a remedy for the plague. Bearing these 

 many associations of the ivy in mind, we are 

 led to the conclusion that it has played an im- 

 portant part in festive scenes, but from the 

 fact of its being an evergreen it has not 

 escaped being used as a symbol of immor- 

 tality. In medieval times, it was sti-ewed 

 upon the coffins of the dead, and planted on 

 the graves. Many people associate the ivy 

 with scenes of gloom, from its inherent love 

 for old sepulchres and ruined buildings; 

 Pliny has remarked, that " it courts retirement 

 and the shade," and we are as familiar with 



the churchyard ivy as we are mth the yews. 

 Perhaps it is here that we can invest the ivy 

 with religious associations. Be it thus gay or 

 sad, we are all pleaders for it when threatened 

 by ruthless hands, and how few are those 

 who cannot see a beauty in its sombre hue of 

 Avinter, or its cheerful green of spring. Ruins 

 of monastic piles, which form such lovely 

 features in our landscape, would, if divested of 

 its fond protection, stand out upon the green 

 sward as huge deformities, possessing reali- 

 ties too real. There are some who have 

 moralized upon the ivy in its course through 

 life, who will speak of it approaching some 

 lordly tree as an insignificant weed, that it 

 will seize upon its outward form, and thus 

 gain an altitude that it could not of its own 

 constitution maintain. Thus will it grow 

 in height and strength until it has clothed its 

 arms with dense masses of foliage, which leave 

 it open to the prostrating force of tempestuous 

 wintry winds. Should it resist these destruc- 

 tive forces, it has to endure its deadly embrace, 

 and it is accused of absorbing its nourishment 

 by means of innumerable root-like tendrils, 

 until "it only reigns, it only lives." Could 

 this lord of the forest be invested with power 

 of speech, it would exclaim : — 



" He was the i\'y which had hid ray princely trank, 

 And sucked my verdure out." 



Others Avill maintain that the i\y does not take 

 nourishment from the plant on which it hangs, 

 in vindication of this charge it may say : — 



" They blame me, they blame me, 

 Who understand me not ; 

 They say I suck the green boughs blood 

 Till all its leaflets rot. 



" They say my xoots beset the bark, 

 Until 'tis little worth ; 

 'Tis but my tendrils that there cling, 

 My roots are in the eailh." 



The virtues and vices of the ivy have proved 

 a long standing theme for our English poets. 

 In the old Christmas carol, written in prase 

 of the holly, that I have previously alluded 

 to, the ivy is spoken of with indifference. Its 

 evergreen nature makes it a great favourite at 



