SO IVIED RUINS. 



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possess ; yet it is difficult satisfactorily to answer 

 why we have this regard for it. As a lover of the 

 lone, the ivy- mantled ruin, I have often questioned 

 with myself the cause and basis of my regard for 

 that which was but a fragment of what might have 

 been formerly splendid, and intrinsically possessed 

 but little to engage admiration, yet, wreathed in the 

 verdure of the ivy, was admired ; but was never 

 satisfied, perhaps unwilling to admit the answer 

 that my mind seemed to give. The ivy is a de- 

 pendant plant, and delights in waste and ruin. We 

 do not often tolerate its growth when the building 

 is in repair and perfect ; but if time dilapidate the 

 edifice, the ivy takes possession of the fragment, 

 and we call it beautiful ; it adorns the castle, but 

 is an indispensable requisite to the remains of the 

 monastic pile. There is an abbey in the north of 

 England, which has been venerated by all its late 

 possessors. It is trimmed, made neat, and looks, 

 perhaps, much as it did formerly, except being in 

 ruins. The situation is exquisite, the remains are 

 splendid, yet with many it fails to excite such inte- 

 rest as it should do. It is a bare reality. A ruin 

 in the west of England once interested me greatly. 

 The design of revisiting and drawing it was ex- 

 pressed at the time. A few days only elapsed, but 

 the inhabitant of a neighbouring cottage had most 

 kindly laboured hard in the interval, and pulled 

 down " all the nasty ivy, that the gentleman might 

 see the ruin." He did see it, but every charm had 

 departed. These two instances, from many that 



