But many a ruin that still 'enchants the world' awakens other reflections than on the fall of power. It may be a concentrated history of its architect--it may be the embodiment of the long dream that made up his life. From the inspired moment when first its ideal form filled his mental eye, in fancy we see it haunting his reveries like the memory of a beautiful dream. In sorrow it has come like an angel to gladden his lonely hours; and though adversity crush his spirit, he still clings like a lover to the dream of the soul. At length the object of his life is accomplished; and the edifice, awful in its vastness, yet enchanting in its beauty, stands in the light of day complete. To behold beauty in mental vision is a joy--but to place it before the eyes of men, and see them bow in admiration and love, and to know that it will live in their memories and hearts, elevating and gladdening, and begetting fair shapes kindred to its own--this is joy and triumph. The object which thousands are praising, and which will be the delight and glory of future ages, is his child--it is a part of himself. And yet now it has perished: the hand of man or of Time has struck it to earth. It is a broken idol--and we half feel the anguish at its fall which death has long ago spared its worshipper. The joy, the inspiration of a lifetime--the creature and yet the idol of genius--lies shattered on the sand; and the wild palm-tree rises green and graceful above its remains. In this we behold the moral of ruins--it is Nature triumphing over Art. A GOVERNESS'S RECOLLECTIONS OF IRELAND. A number of years ago, when I was somewhat less fastidious in entering into an engagement than I have latterly become, I was induced to go to Ireland, to take charge of four young ladies in a gentleman's family. It was going a terribly long way from home, and that was an unpleasant circumstance to contemplate; but everybody told me that I should be so very kindly treated, that I did not long hesitate; and so accordingly behold me, in the first place, crossing the sea in a steamer to Dublin, and afterwards driving southwards inside the mail-coach, my spirits wonderfully up with the novelty of the scenery, and the beautiful weather, which seemed to welcome me to 'the first gem of the ocean.' I do not wish to tell the name of the town to which I was bound, and need only say that it was a seaport, with some pretty environs, embellished with gentlemen's seats and pleasure-grounds. In one of these seats, a large and handsome mansion, surrounded by a park, and approached by an 'elegant' avenue, I was to take up my residence. 'A very pleasant affair I expect this is going to be,' said I to myself, as I was driven up to the door of the hall in a jaunting-car, which had been in attendance for me at the coach-office. 'Nice, kind people, for having been so considerate--and what a good-looking establishment--as aristocratic as anybody could wish!'