"cli

amour seated on the edge of the death-bed; and a max" is only prevented by the bursting of the dying lady's quinsey! The "Singular Passage in the life of the late Henry Harris, Doctor in Divinity, as related by the Reverend Jasper Ingoldsby, M. A., his friend and Executor," has suggestions of still worse things. Though tedious in commencing, it is a well told, exciting tale of supernatural events. The chief event shall be quoted. A young girl is betrothed to a young man, who bids her farewell for a time, and practises the black art upon her while absent, so that she is sometimes "spirited away" from her home into his chamber by night, there to be subject to all kinds of unmentionable outrages. He moreover has a friend to assist in his orgie! The girl thus alludes to it :

"How shall I proceed-but no, it is impossible, not even to you, sir, can I-dare I-recount the proceedings of that unhallowed night of horror and shame. Were my life extended to a term commensurate with that of the Patriarchs of old, never could its detestable, its damning pollutions be effaced from my remembrance! and oli! above all, never could I forget the diabolical glee which sparkled in the eyes of my fiendish tormentors, as they witnessed the worse than useless struggles of their miserable victim. Oh why was it not permitted me to take refuge in unconsciousness~~ nay, in death itself, from the abominations of which I was compelled to be, not only a witness, but a partaker," &c.-Ingoldsby Legends, 1st Series.

The introduction of a second young man, by way of complicating this preternatural sensualism and horror, admits of no comment. No merriment and burlesque is introduced here. For once, a revolting scene and its suggestions, are allowed to retain their true colours. The master-secret of a life froths up from the depths, and the Tale closes as such things mostly do-with a death that looks like annihilation.

Refinement is an essential property of the Ideal, and whatever is touched by ideality is so far redeemed from earth. But where there is no touch of it, all is of the earth, earthy. In this condition stands the Genius of the Ingoldsby Legends, eye-deep in its own dark slough. Every thing falls into it which approaches, or is drawn near. Of all pure things, Fairy Tales are among the most pure and innocent; their ideality can pass safe and unsullied through all visible forms. But if amidst their revels and thin-robed dancings in the moonlight and over the moss, a sudden allusion be made which reduces them to earth-a mortal fact suddenly brought home, like that which says, "Look! this is a woman;-Miss Jones of the Olympic!" then does the ideal vanish away with fairy-land, and leave us with a minor

theatre in its worst moments, and with such a tale as "Sir Rupert the Fearless," which is written upon the principle of one of those Olympic doggrel burlesques, the desecration of poetry in sense as in feeling. Their tendency is to encourage the public not to believe in true poetry or innocence on the stage, but to be always ready to laugh or think ill things.

Having previously made an allusion to the laughable circumstances of some Jews being burnt alive, the legend which describes it may form an appropriate conclusion to this exposition. It is entitled "The Auto-da-Fé." This is the story. King Ferdinand had been married six years, and his consort not having presented him with an Infant of Spain," he consults some of his grandees as to what he shall do for " an heir to the throne?" All this part is admirably worked up. The grandees evade reply, and "the Most Reverend Don Garcilasso Quevedo," Archbishop of Toledo, is then consulted, and finally proposes an Auto-dafé, at which they would burn, roast, and toast some Jews. A passage to this effect was quoted a few pages back. How this was at all likely to occasion her Majesty to present Spain with an heir, every reader, not in the secret, must be quite at a loss to guess. The Auto-da-fé, however, takes place, and by way of proving that it really is one, and not a pantomimic burlesque, the author introduces it by a few serious remarks on the "shrieks of pain and wild affright," and the "soul-wrung groans of deep despair, and blood, and death." In the very next stanza, he has some fun about "the smell of old clothes," and of the Jews roasting; and in speaking of "the groans of the dying," he says they were "all hissing, and spitting, and boiling, and frying," &c. The allusion also to the very delicate story of making "pretty pork," at such a moment, finishes this monomaniasm of misplaced levity-" the bonne bouche!" as he calls it, of the Auto-da-fé! But now for the heir to the thronethe Infant of Spain, which all this horror was to influence the Queen in producing to the world! Her Majesty was absent from the atrocities so merrily described; she had "locked herself up" in her Oriel-but not alone. A male devotee was with her to assist in 'Pater, and Ave, and Credo," the double-entendre character of which is made very apparent, so that her Majesty does, in due course, bless

66

the nation with an heir to the throne. And who does the astonished reader, who may not happen to be familiar with these very popular Legends, suppose it was that her Majesty had "locked herself up with ?" Why, the Archbishop of Toledo! Yes, the most reverend Garcilasso!—and so far from the slightest doubt being left on the matter, the author says it is not clear to him but that all Spain would have thought very meanly of "the pious pair" had it been other wise! The "Moral" at the end, is as usual. In fact, rather worse. It tells you, "when you're in Rome, to do as Rome does!" and "in Spain, you must do as they do❞— "don't be nice!" &c., &c.

Throughout the whole of the foregoing remarks, it should be observed that no animadversions have been made on religious grounds, nor on the score of conventional morality, nor on matters relating to social intercourse; nor have any personalities escaped from the pen. All that has been said

and there was much to say-is upon the abstract grounds of Literature and Art; with a view to the exposition and denunciation of a false principle of composition, as exemplified in licentious works, which are unredeemed and unextenuated by any one sincere passion, and are consequently among the very worst kind of influences that could be exercised upon a rising generation. The present age is bad enough without such assistance. Wherefore an iron hand is now laid upon the shoulder of Thomas Ingoldsby, and a voice murmurs in his ear, "Brother!-no more of this!"

WALTER LANDOR, when a Rugby boy, was famous, among other feats of strength and skill, for the wonderful precision with which he used a cast-net; and he was not often disposed to ask permission of the owners of those ponds or streams that suited his morning's fancy. One day a farmer suddenly came down upon him, and ordered him to desist, and give up his net. Whereupon Landor instantly cast his net over the farmer's head; caught him; entangled him; overthrew him; and when he was exhausted, addressed the enraged and discomfited face beneath the meshes, till the farmer promised to behave discreetly. The pride that resented a show of intimidation, the prudence that instantly foresaw the only means of superseding punishment, and the promptitude of will and action, are sufficiently conspicuous. The wilful energy and self-dependent force of character displayed by Walter Landor as a boy, and accompanied by physical power and activity, all of which were continued through manhood, and probably have been so, to a great extent, even up to the present time, have exerted an influence upon his genius of a very peculiar kinda genius healthy, but the healthfulness not always well applied-resolute, in a lion-like sense, but not intellectually concentrated and continuous; and seeming to be capable of mastering all things except its own wilful impulses.

Mr. Landor is a man of genius and learning, who stands in a position unlike that of any other eminent individual of his time. He has received no apparent influence from any one of his contemporaries; nor have they or the public received any apparent influence from him. The absence of any fixed and definite influence upon the public is actually as it seems; but that he has exercised a considerable influence upon the minds of many of his contemporaries is inevitable, because so fine a spirit could never have passed through any competent medium without communicating its electric forces, although from the very fineness of its elements, the effect, like the cause, has been of too subtle a nature to leave a tangible or visible impress.

To all these causes combined is attributable the singular fact, that although Walter Savage Landor has been before the public as an author during the last fifty years, his genius seldom denied, but long since generally recognized, and his present position admissibly in that of the highest rank of authors-and no man higher-there has never been any philosophical and critical estimate of his powers. Admired he has often been abundantly, but the admiration has only been supported by "extract," or by an off-hand opinion. The present paper does not pretend to supply this great deficiency in our critical literature; it will attempt to do no more than " open up" the discussion.

Walter Landor, when at Rugby School, was a leader in all things, yet who did not associate with his school-fellows -the infallible sign of a strong and original character and course through life. He was conspicuous there for his resistance to every species of tyranny, either of the masters and their rules, or the boys and their system of making fags, which things he resolutely opposed "against all odds ;" and he was, at the same time, considered arrogant and overbearing in his own conduct. He was almost equally famous for riding out of bounds, boxing, leaping, net-casting, stonethrowing, and for making Greek and Latin verses. Many of these verses were repeated at Rugby forty years after he had left the school. The master," however, studiously slighted him so long, that when at last the token was given of approbation of certain Latin verses, the indignant young classic being obliged to copy them out fairly in the " playbook," added a few more, commencing with,