THE IVY. 



283 



unwilling to admit the answer that my mind 

 seemed to give. The Ivy is a dependent plants 

 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 mo- 

 nastic 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 in- 

 terest 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 

 w^as expressed 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 in- 

 stances, from many that might be advanced, ma- 

 nifest that Ivy most frequently gives to these 

 ancient edifices the idea of beauty, and contributes 

 chiefly to influence our feelings when viewing 

 them. The ruins of a fortress or warlike tower 

 may often historically interest us, from the renown 

 of its founder or its possessor, some scene trans- 

 acted, some villain punished, hero triumphant, or 

 cause promoted to which we wished success ; but 

 the quiet, secluded monastic cell or chapel has 

 no tale to tell ; history hardly stays to note even 

 its founder's name ; and all the rest is doubt and 



