THE IVY. 



291 



enlivened by but few bright days^ an Ivy-bush 

 in full bloom suggests the idea of anything 

 but gloom. All the trees of the forest are 

 plainly intimating that their glory is in the 

 wane ; a few pale flowers are scattered here and 

 there, evidently the produce of exhausted plants 

 — the whole insect world, with the exception of 

 drony evening beetles, has either perished or 

 retired to secure winter quarters,^ — when, after 

 some days of storm and cloud, there comes 

 a flash of calm, clear sunshine : then, hasten 

 to the nearest Ivy-bush, and be convinced that 

 summer has not taken its departure without 

 giving one day as an earnest that it will come 

 again. Every twig of Ivy terminates in a clus- 

 ter of fresh, timely flowers, which, sober though 

 they may be in hue, shew no symptom of de- 

 cay, and, at the same time, lengthen the ex- 

 istence of myriads of insects. The Red Admiral 

 butterfly especially, is sure to be a guest at this 

 banquet, but is far from being alone ; the Painted 

 Lady regales herself close by ; and flies of all 

 sizes and shapes, hornets, wasps, bees, all flock 

 hither in wonderful harmony to enjoy once more 

 a full feast before they submit to the necessity 

 of their long winter's fast. 



A few months later, and the banquet is spread 

 again on the same table for another winged tribe. 

 Blackbirds, thrushes, and wood-pigeons know w^ell 

 where Ivy -berries grow, and, now that they have 

 stripped the Hawthorn and Mistletoe bare, resort 

 to the Ivy-bush in quest of food by day, and 

 shelter by night, and many a cluster of barren 

 stems shews how keen was their appetite ; while 

 the abundance yet left tells as plainly of the 



