is, in America, for the amount of information, which, through its numerous correspondents, it has peculiar facilities for procuring. But its moral weight is not much greater than that of the "Herald."* There is, however, this difference between them. The "Herald," as everybody understands, is but the mouth-piece of a single individual, the editor himself, whose name is given in full at the head of the paper, -as is the case with all the American journals. But the editor of the "Times," sheltering his individuality behind the great mask of the paper, pours forth his oracular sentences in blustering tones, and the loud sound is mistaken by many for great sense. But either the law or the force of public opinion ought to tear off this mask, and compel the individual to show himself. The name of a responsible person should be required to be attached to this and the other British journals, as in the United States, and we should soon hear no more of the "Thunderer." The "Times" would presently fall into its proper place among the British journals, and would have only so much weight as its real ability would entitle it to; and thus its power for mischief would be in great part taken away.

* It should be a source of self-gratulation to us, that the editor of this journal is not an American, but a foreigner-I am sorry to add, a Scotchman.

ABBEY RUINS.

An other abbai is ther bi,
Forsoth a gret nunnerie ;
Up a river of swet milk
Whar is plente gret of silk.
When the summeris dai is hote,
The yung nunnes takith a bote,
And doth ham* forth in that river,
Both with orist and with stere.‡

OLD SAXON POEM, of A.D., 1150.

He

THE lovers of the picturesque have certainly cause to thank King Henry the Eighth for having provided for them so many objects of admiration. did for England what time alone has done for Greece and Italy—namely, create ruins. That monarch, selfish and unprincipled as he was, was yet, in a remarkable manner, made the involuntary instrument of rendering great services to the cause both of the true and of the beautiful. Having little or no sincere regard for religious truth, he was yet the means of breaking up the corrupt institutions and practices of popery in England, and thus of preparing the way for the establishment of the Reformation. In like manner, caring little himself, probably, for beautiful scenes and objects in nature or art, being wholly occupied with the gratifica*Doth ham, i.e., go them.

† Oars.

Rudder.

tion of his lower passions and propensities-nevertheless, it was through his instrumentality, chiefly, that the country was covered with those picturesque ruins, which are among the most famous ornaments of English scenery.

Henry's opposition to Rome was wholly personal: he hated the Pope, because the Pope opposed his private inclinations. For a similar reason he suppressed the monasteries,-because the monks were the Pope's adherents and servants, and were accused of fomenting conspiracies. Had the king been opposed to monastic institutions on principle, he might simply have removed the inmates of the monasteries, and then turned the buildings themselves to protestant uses, just as the Catholic cathedrals were left in their integrity, and are now the pride of the English Establishment. But Henry, in his violent hostility to the monks, not only ejected the occupants of the monasteries, but laid rude hands on the very edifices which had harbored them, tore off the roofs, and left them to destruction. It may be added, that the king's cupidity, as well as his violence, was an agent in producing this result. "When we view," says an English writer, "the ruins of Fountaynes and other magnificent abbeys, the glory of architecture and pride of our island, it is impossible to suppress a sigh at such Vandalic devastation, as was then committed, or to avoid wishing that some more of these stately edifices had been preserved, and a portion of their revenues appropriated to their maintenance. But the very lead which roofed them sufficed to attract the royal cupidity. The abbot's house and offices

were left standing, for the use of the grantee or purchaser; but the church and all the other buildings were stripped, and let go to ruin.” *

The "Vandalic devastation" complained of, may, however, in the present case, be considered as tantamount to ornamental erection. Many a "ruin" has been built, to adorn a landscape: but a ruin left, a genuine ruin, is as much better than a ruin built, as truth is better than fiction. One is hardly disposed to agree with the writer just quoted, in regretting that these "stately edifices" had not been spared. There are plenty of stately edifices that have been spared, namely, all the cathedrals, and some of the abbeys, as, for instance, Westminster Abbey: and these we view with all the pleasure of admiration. But in contemplating a fine old ruin, there is a deeper pleasure than that of mere admiration. There is the pleasure of memory, there is the charm of association, there is the feeling of tender melancholy that is awakened at the sight of relics, the remains of life that is departed ;-there are the hollow echoes,-there is the solemn silence as of the tomb. Add to this, there are lights and shadows and graceful adornments gathered about such a ruin, which no perfect building, however magnificent, can present. There is the " rare old plant, the ivy green," hanging its festoons upon the pillars and the walls; there is the green sward beneath your feet, in place of the stone floor-its freshness and life contrasting strangely with the dead gray walls that encompass it; and answering

Keightley's History of England, vol. iii., p. 49.