cessantly engaged in the active duties of his office, his whole life passed away rapidly, but with tranquillity. He was respected and esteemed by a small but intellectual circle of friends, to which his cordial humour and his social merits had endeared him; and his literary achievements were accomplished, not at the bidding of stern necessity-they were not the results of long and laborious thought—but were simply the light-hearted offspring of mirthful fancy, born in the quiet hours of relaxation and enjoyment. Yet these works established for their author a fame in a distinct and peculiar department of literature, such as no writer has ever, perhaps, excelled. "THOMAS INGOLDSBY." (REV. RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM.) THE records of literary life are too often the mere narratives of poverty and suffering. They are too frequently the histories of unsuccessful endeavour --of talents misdirected—of opportunities lost of wearying struggles-and of ultimate gloom and despair. Genius appears to entail upon its possessors a certain disqualification for the minor offices of life. The poet, who can rouse the sympathies of an entire nationwho can bring the tear-drop into the eyes of the aged-who can blanch the bright, beaming cheek of the younghe who, by the wondrous melody of his voice, can excite the sternest passions of the warrior, and the purest throbbings of maternal feeling-he who can strike terror into the hearts of kings, and carry words of hope and consolation to the meanest peasant, may, per-pington Woods, situate in a pleasant chance, in the routine duties of everyday existence, be incapable of fulfilling the most trivial obligations. His soul, soaring upwards through the vastness of infinity, may there, perhaps, find for itself a bright and ethereal abode, but, the earth affords it no resting place. Hence we so frequently find that the lives of gifted men present those varied and contradictory pictures of resoluteness and vacillation-of great power, and abject feebleness-of elevated sentiment, and moral obtuseness-embittering existence, and resulting in the estrangement of the aid, and even of the sympathy, of the world. Thomas Ingoldsby was not a great poet; and his life is, happily, distinguished by no such features as those which mark the career of many a more gifted bard. Ingoldsby sailed smoothly adown the stream of time, not without sorrows, it is true for domestic bereavements smote him heavily- but still, without any of those terrible vicissitudes-those capricious alternations of fortune-those fearful tremblings on the abyss of misery, which have almost become characteristic of the lives of the illustrious. He was a man of warm and generous disposition, kindly and conciliating in his manner, and imbued with a true spirit of religion, which, as a minister of the Church of England, he was enabled to evince in the most con clusive and appropriate manner. In Richard Harris Barham (for "Thomas Ingoldsby" was a mere pseudonyme) was born at Canterbury, on the 6th of December, 1788. He succeeded to a small estate, known as Tapton, or Tap part of the county of Kent, and here his boyhood's days were spent. When at the age of fourteen, he met with an accident, not uncommon to the period, but which, doubtless, influenced, in no small degree, his tastes in after life. Master Richard had become a great boy; he had outgrown the discipline of his home instructors, and it was thought necessary that he should be sent to some public school. St. Paul's School, London, was determined upon, and thither he was duly despatched, by the Dover mail. These were days of slowness, but not of safety. When within about a mile of the metropolis, the horses took fright; the little stranger inside became alarmed; he thrust his arm out of the window just as the coach was overturned; his mangled limb was dragged upon the ground for several yards, and when released from his perilous position, fright and anguish had accomplished so much, that a post-chaise was necessary for the completion of his journey. Kindly tended and nursed by Mrs. Roberts, wife of the head master of St. Paul's School, young Barham yet lay for a long time in great pain and danger, and while slowly recovering from the effects of his injuries, he be guiled the time by poetising, in which laudable exercise he was assisted by the advice and the encouragement of the good doctor and his amiable lady. After remaining a few years at this seminary, and gaining high honours, Barham went to Oxford, and was entered as a gentleman commoner of Brazenose College. While in this classic institution he became acquainted with several choice spirits, among whom were numbered Lord George Grenville (afterwards Lord Nugent), Cecil Tattersall, the friend of Shelley and Byron, and that inveterate joker, Theodore Hook. The manner in which these collegians employed the time not devoted to laborious investigation and arduous study, may be inferred by the answer which Barham gave, when his non-attendance at chapel was made the subject of complaint by his tutor. 66 "The fact is," said the witty pupil, 'you are too late for me.' "Too late?" "Yes, sir; I cannot sit up until seven o'clock in the morning. I am a man of regular habits, and, unless I get to bed by four or five, at the latest, I am really fit for nothing next day." Studies were not, however, neglected, for Barham, in due time, passed his examination, and, bidding farewell to college friends and to college pleasures, became curate of Ashford, in Kent, and, shortly afterwards, of another parish, a few miles distant. After marrying in 1814, he was presented with the living of Snargate, and the curacy of Wareham; and, amid a population, rude, ignorant, and principally engaged in smuggling, he discharged the duties of his office with so much zeal and charity, that he soon became a great favourite with all his congregation. Being accidentally thrown out of a gig, he wrote, during his return to health, a novel called Baldwin, of but little merit, and which fell still-born from the press. The injuries he had received by his fall were of a nature requiring abler advice than he could obtain in his own neighbourhood. At the conclusion, therefore, of this literary labour, he hurried up to London for the purpose of consulting Abernethy, and, casually meeting in the street an old friend, who had at his disposal the nomination to a minor canonry of St. Paul's, Barham was appointed to the office, and immediately afterwards exchanged the quietude of a country life for the bustle and anxiety of the metropolis. This change of position brought with it a slight change of circumstances, and he was now compelled to contribute to several periodical works, in order to meet the additional expenses incurred by his new mode of life. "Gorton's Biographical Dictionary," "John Bull," "The Globe," and "Blackwood," were the recipients of these contributions; and an extract from his diary will show that at this time Barham's labours were not light: "Sit up until three in the morning, working at rubbish for 'Blackwood.' My wife goes to bed at ten, to rise at eight and look after the children. She is the slave of the ring, and I of the lamp." But these arduous labours were not destined to last for any great length of time, for in 1824 he was appointed priest in ordinary of the Chapel Royal, and was afterwards presented to the incumbency of St. Mary Magdalene, and St. Gregory by St. Paul. Of the excellent manner in which he performed the duties pertaining to these offices, too much cannot be said. He found two parishes torn by jealousies and petty dissensions, united together, in fact, only in name, and he very shortly succeeded, by the urbanity of his manner and the gentleness of his disposition, in healing all differences, and in cementing a feeling of affection between himself and his parishioners, which lasted until death_removed him from their presence. To quote the words of his son: In the pulpit he was not remarkable; less, perhaps, from the want of power, than from a rooted disapproval of anything like oratorical display in such a placeanything, in short, that might seem calculated to convert the house of prayer into a mere theatre of intellectual recreation. It was not, then, as a popular preacher-pleasant to sit under -that he was beloved, still less as a party one. He published no pamphlets, conducted no petitions, nor was his voice lifted up at Exeter Hall; but he was ever watchful over the interests of his people, temporal and eternal. To the poorer portion of his brethren, more especially, did he commend himself, by the kindness and assiduity with which he relieved their necessities and furthered their views. would bestow as much time and attention in conducting the cause of one of the meanest of these, as though the interests of those nearest and dearest He to him were involved in the result. Never was he so happy, as when engaged in promoting the happiness of others. Verily, he had his reward; for it has probably fallen to the lot of few, in his station of life, to have enjoyed so many and ample opportunities of tasting the luxury of doing good." The death of a daughter was an event which dimmed, for a while, the brightness of the scene which had opened upon Barham, and he gave expression to the emotions which sub-possession, forcibly reminds us in many dued his spirit, in the following touching lines: "Oh, I have watched, with fondest care, "And I have sat, the long, long night, But slowly, sadly, waste away. So meek a victim checked his arm- taining some amusing scenes of college life, is a gross and violent caricature, in which the only truthfully drawn characters are those which, from their utter insignificance, are quite unworthy of attention. Some of the incidents too are evidently borrowed. The final hoax for instance, by which the rascal Nicholas gains time from his creditors by inserting in the papers an account of his father's death, by which event a large fortune will come into his respects of Dean Swift's witty joke against Partridge the almanack maker. We have the undertaker gravely attempting to argue a living man into the conviction that he is no longer a denizen of this world. We have the sexton making almost affectionate inquiries concerning the manner in which the departed is to be entombed, and we have the unfortunate victim of these pleasantries in the full glow of passionate vigour appealing on every side for proofs of his own vitality. But in Swift we enjoy the motive of the joke, and it is clearly evident to us from the first; while in Barham our feelings are so outraged at its discovery that we cannot appreciate to its full extent the real fun which afterwards arises out of the occurrence. The style and general treatment of the subject are suggestive of Theodore Hook; indeed, we might almost imagine that we were reading a new edition of "Gilbert Gurney, or another contribution to the " Sayings and Doings." A warm friendship which existed between Barham and Mrs. Hughes, mother of Doctor Hughes, canon residentiary of St. Paul's, and the correspondent of Southey, Sir Walter Scott, and other literary celebrities, was the means by which the novel of My Cousin Nicholas " was first brought before the public in the pages of Blackwood's Magazine. Mrs. Hughes was a woman of cultivated Fortunately the fame of Barham mind,-fertile in legendary lore, and does not rest upon "My Cousin Nichowell stored with the treasures of modern las ;" it is built upon a better, and we literature. It was at her suggestion that are willing to hope a more solid, foun"My Cousin Nicholas was com-dation. In 1837, Bentley's Miscellany menced, and by her exhortations that it was finished. But it is quite unworthy of the lady's indulgent fostering. It is a mere string of the wildest, but not always the most amusing practical jokes; and the hero-a scamp utterly devoid of any of those good qualities which are demanded even in an habitual hoaxer ceases to excite our mirth when we find that he is worthy only of our contempt and disgust. Hoax follows upon hoax, and mischievous practical fun is interwoven with a network of ultra-sentimentality, until the effect produced upon the mind is of the most incongruous description. "My Cousin Nicholas " although con was established, with Mr. Charles Dickens for its editor, and a number of distinguished literary men as contributors. Among these, Barham speedily became prominent as the author of eccentric poems under the general title of the Ingoldsby Legends. These works have since been collected into volumes, the third volume completing the series, and they confer upon their author all the honour which, as "Thomas Ingoldsby," he has succeeded in gaining. How long that reputation will endure is a question not easily to be answered; but that it has been most deservedly bestowed, cannot admit of doubt. The "In goldsby Legends" are the unmistakable ebullitions of a mind overflowing with mirthful fancies and wild conceits. A mind revelling in the sunshine of good humour and merriment, and impelled by an irresistible impulse to give audible expression to its feelings of buoyant pleasure. The "Ingoldsby Legends" were not like some tender poetic plants, the result of artificial forcing they sprang up spontaneously—and without having more attention bestowed upon them than the wild flower receives from the hedge-row in which it grows they blossomed and bore fruit that could oftentimes vie with that of the most carefully reared productions of the mental soil. Barham but rarely sat down for the purpose of writing, unless he felt his hand instinctively endeavouring to grasp a pen, and his ideas in readiness to set that pen in motion. His ideas were too impatient to mould themselves into thoughtsthey were too full of dashing energyand of joyous animation;—and, like a restive horse, they struggle to emancipate themselves from the restraint which impeded their actions. They needed therefore but little fostering; they panted for freedom, and their release brought agreeable relief to the brain from whence they had emanated. To quote the words of his friend, Mr. Hughes: "All Barham's care and forethought were employed on more prosaic matters of business, and the Ingoldsby Legends' were the occasional relief of a suppressed plethora of native fun. The same relaxation which some men seek in music, pictures, cards, or newspapers, he sought in as it were stripping off his coat to have a hearty romp with the laughing part of the public in the confidence of a bold unsuspicious nature. Many of these effusions were written while waiting for a cup of tea-a railroad train, or an unpunctual acquaintance, on some stray cover of a letter-in his pocket book. It was rather a piece of luck if he found time to joint together the disjecta membra poeta in a fair copy, and before the favoured few had done laughing at some rhyme which had never entered into man's head before, the zealous Bentley had popped the whole into type." Notwithstanding the absence of all effort in these productions, notwithstanding the fact that Barham wrote with a rapidity which surprised himself, and caused him oftentimes to fear lest that which had been accomplished with so much facility could possess but little else to recommend it,-notwithstanding these circumstances, the "Ingoldsby Legends," to use the words of a by no means gentle critic, "in freedom and melody of comic versification, and in the originality of compound rhymes, surpass everything of the kind that has appeared since the days of Hudibras and Peter Pindar." The compound rhymes are indeed of the most extraordinary description, and excite surprise not merely by the novelty of their construction, but by the ease and fluency with which they come upon the ear. They not unfrequently remind us of Byron, as for instance when he says, speaking of the Count in Beppo : He patronized the Improvisatori, Nay, could himself extemporise some stanzas ; Wrote rhymes, sang songs, could also tell a story; Sold pictures, and was skilful in the dance, as Italians can be, though in this their glory Must surely yield the palm to that which France has; In short, he was a perfect cavaliero, Don Juan, too, abounds with compound rhymes of great ingenuity; and in Hood's writings, more particularly in the story of Miss Kilmansegg, many felicitous and difficult combinations are to be met with; but Ingoldsby accomplished more of these daring feats than perhaps any author ever before attempted. He mated words and sentences, technicalities, scraps of foreign languages, scientific terms, street slang, and familiar expressions, in the most dexterous manner; and this too with less difficulty than the construction of ordinary verse would cost the most facile rhymester. A few extracts, selected at random, will serve to illustrate this peculiar talent which Barham possessed. Calling names, whether done to attack or to back a schism, Is, Miss, believe me, a great piece of jack ass-ism. No doubt 'twould surprise the pupils at I am no unbeliever, no man can say But St. Thomas himself would scarce trust his own eyes, The one in advance was sturdy and strong, (Which sailors don't think inconvenient or He was very broad-breasted, If he saw such a thing in his school of And very deep-chested, anatomy. To attempt to convey an idea of the sustained spirit of mirthfulness which runs through these productions, would, of course, be impossible, in brief extracts like these which we have given; but they show, in some measure, the style of versification which Ingoldsby employed, and of which he was so great a master. In justice, however, to the author, we feel emboldened to make a lengthier extract. The following legend, in a slightly condensed form, is an average specimen of his powers. The comic and the terrible are blended strangely, but the alliance is not inharmonious: THE DEAD DRUMMER, A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAIN. Oh, Salisbury Plain is bleak and bare- No hedges, no ditches, no gates, no stiles, When night's coming on, upon Salisbury Now, I'd have you to know, That, a great while ago— The best part of a century, may be or so, His sinewy form correspond with the rest did, Except as to height, for he could not be more At the most, you would say, than some five feet four, And, if measured, perhaps had been found a thought lower. The other, his friend and companion, was taller By five or six inches, at the least, than the The real Jack-Tar and the "jolly marine;" Sailor-like, to his "slops," there was something the which, On the whole, savour'd more of the pipeclay than pitch. Such were now the two men who appeared Harry Waters the tall one, and short To be caught in the rain, I repeat it again, Blue lightnings and thunder, the matter's Such was the case in this wild dreary place, On the day that I'm speaking of now, when the brace Of travellers alluded to, quicken'd their pace, |