world, as you think, stopping where, and when,
and as long as any one pleases.

It was on this journey that I first saw a real ruin. The ruins of
Calder Abbey I had never heard of; but the impression it made upon me I
can never forget; partly, perhaps, that it was the first ruin upon
which I ever gazed. One row of the pillars of the great aisle remains
standing. The answering row is gone. Two tall arches of the body of the
main building remain also, and different pieces of the walls. It is of
sandstone; the clusters of columns in the aisle look as if they were
almost held together by the ivy and honeysuckles that wave around their
mouldering capitals with every motion of the wind. In every crevice,
the harebell, the foxglove, and innumerable other flowers peep forth,
and swing in the wind. On the tops of the arches and walls large
flowering shrubs are growing; on the highest is a small tree, and
within the walls are oak trees more than a century old. The abbey was
built seven hundred years ago; and the ruins that are now standing look
as if they might stand many centuries longer. The owner of the place
has made all smooth and nice around it, so that you may imagine the
floor of the church to look like green velvet. It seems as if the ivy
and the flowers were caressing and supporting the abbey in its
beautiful old age.

As I walked under the arches and upon the soft green turf, that so many
years ago had been a cold rough stone pavement, trodden by beings like
myself; and felt the flowers and vines hanging from the mouldering
capitals touch my face; and saw, in the place where was once a
confessional, an oak tree that had taken centuries to grow, and whose
top branches mingled with the smiling crest of flowers that crowned the
tops of the highest arches,--the thought of the littleness and the
greatness of man, and the everlasting beauty of the works of the
Creator, almost overwhelmed me; and I felt that, after all, I was not
in a decaying, ruined temple, but in an everlasting church, that would
grow green and more beautiful and perfect as time passes on.

There is a fine old park around these lovely ruins; and, not far off, a
beautiful stream of water, with a curious bridge over it. The old monks
well knew how to choose beautiful places to live in. All harmonizes,
except--I grieve to tell of it--a shocking modern house, very near,
very ugly, and, I suppose, ridiculously elegant and comfortable inside.
From this hideos