THE IVY. 



281 



bre hue ; it shews its flowers and strives to be as 

 gay as it can, when ahnost every other tree has 

 finished its summer course ; it loves to creep over 

 sepulchres and ruined buildings, as even Pliny has 

 remarked ; it courts retirement and the shade, and 

 if it does sometimes grow on a sunny bank, it 

 seems sickly and ill at ease, rarely rising from the 

 ground unless it can avail itself of the support 

 afforded by some decaying tree that has little 

 foliage of its own. But I am by no means dis- 

 posed to allow that the Ivy deserves this un- 

 amiable character; for though the facts are true 

 enough, a very different inference may be drawn 

 from them. It certainly does grow most luxu- 

 riantly over the ruined walls of buildings, but, with 

 its verdure never sere," rather takes from their 

 gloominess than adds to it ; and if it does begin 

 its chilly summer when winter reigns over all 

 the forest beside, surely it deserves not a little 

 gratitude for exerting itself to prolong the sea- 

 son of flowers, and to spin out the existence 

 of the myriads of insects which would certainly 

 perish were it not for the copious supply of 

 honey afforded by its abundant clusters of 

 flowers. Even if the accusation be true, that 

 it is never at ease unless it be getting up in 

 the world, its ambition is scarcely to be blamed, 

 for it mostly avails itself of the support af- 

 forded by trees whose own vigour is irrecover- 

 ably gone, and which, but for the borrowed 

 verdure of the visitor, would be stark and un- 

 sightly trunks. 



As an ingredient in the landscape it does not 

 need any apologist. The opinion of Gilpin, the 

 greatest authority in such matters, is impartial and 



