THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS.*

WE are glad to see that Mr. Bentley offers once more to the public his well-seasoned dish of "The Ingoldsby Legends"-a dish as well known to us, and as periodically recurring, as the roast turkey and the flaming plum-pudding of yule-tide. May the volume ever be as welcome as that season of "peace and goodwill," and as surely the usher of harmless fun and kindliness.

We are the more pleased to meet with our old friend in a new coat, as we believe there is a tendency beginning to display itself of depreciating books of harmless amusement such as this. Persons who seem never to desire recreation for themselves, and would therefore deny it to all others, are accustomed to ask with so much triumph in their tone of voice, when presented with a book whose object is to amuse rather than instruct, that one would think their question admitted of no reply, "What is the good of such books?" What is the good of so much innocent fun?-of so much side-shaking laughter? We would answer them, in Quaker fashion, by putting another question: "What harm do they work?" And, if they be not satisfied with that, we hope they will take the remarks we propose to offer on this work, as a general reply to their triumphant question.

We think we could not have chosen a more favourable topic; for, in the case of "The Ingoldsby Legends," the offender is a clergyman—one, at least, who ought to have known better, who ought to have set his face against such depravity, who could surely have found something more useful to occupy himself withal. We have all heard such objections either against this book and its author, or others similar in character and produced also by a clerical author. Happy he who has never heard such cavilling, for it is assuredly no sweetener of the temper.

But is there really in all this the shocking immorality that some would have us believe? It resolves itself into the question whether we are never to have amusement? Are we always to be "poring over miserable books"-never to throw aside the dusty, lumbering tomes of "long-forgotten lore?" We hope so. We have all heard from our very early years what would become of a certain Jack if he always worked and was never permitted to play. We do not think the assertion a bold one, that what is true of the proverbial Jack when a boy, is true of the same and all other Jacks when growing up, and even when arrived at maturity-that without the recreations suited to their years they would turn out dull boys, dull youths, and dull men, respectively.

* "The Ingoldsby Legends; or Mirth and Marvel. By Thomas Ingoldsby, Esquire." London, Bentley, 1864.

It may perhaps be allowed, then, that there are certain times when recreation is more profitable that close study. There is, in fact, a time for everything we have it on the authority of Solomon-and if for everything, then surely for such harmless amusement as is afforded by a book like "The Ingoldsby Legends." Still it may be objected, that this only slightly excuses the reader, and not the writer of such a book. But does not the very fact of its being useful to the reader excuse the writer? If not, reflect that the composition of the book in question may have been to its author a labour of love, a solace of weary hours of solitude and dejection, a relaxation from the more serious duties of life. But the objector, if obstinate, might still argue that even "in hours of solitude and dejection,” a more useful “solace" might be resorted to. Why could not the author publish "Recreations" of a more serious and practical character--such, for example, as those of "A Country Parson," of which we have lately heard and seen so much? And if he be a clergyman, why not prepare some of his sermons for the press? Because, sir or madam, such occupations would afford no relief to his already overstrained faculties-because we have had enough of the "Recreations" of "Country Parsons" from the Rev. A. K. H. B.-because we are already flooded with "Thoughts," "Reflections,' Essays," "Reveries," and other Let us hail everything that is fresh and original as so

the like matters.

much gain.

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If it be allowed that human nature requires relaxation, surely the clergyman is entitled to it quite as much as the layman. He does not lose his humanity by becoming the cleric. Is he not assaulted by as many difficulties as the layman?-nay, is he not exposed to many trials and vexations of which the layman knows nothing? And being such, is he to be debarred from that which is freely laid open to the man whose occupation is merely secular? If a man-be he parson or layman -be earnest in his work, depend upon it he will not be frivolous in his recreations. It has never yet been shown that Mr. Barham—the author of "The Ingoldsby Legends "-was otherwise than earnest in the execu tion of his duties; we hope to show that the tendency of what we have ventured to look upon as his recreations is by no means bad.

We should feel disposed to dub those "namby-pamby Christians," who, through the medium of our religious journals, are always trying to teach us that laughter is not far removed from wickedness. It is this class who would close our theatres, put down dancing, and compel Punch (the journal we mean) and other amusing publications to pass through the Bankruptcy Court. Of course, if we are determined to look upon this world-as they would have us-as a Vale of Tears, then may we well turn up the whites of our eyes, speak through our noses, affect a scriptural phrase, and make pretensions to a religious zeal which we are far from possessing. Then hail Puritanism and all its gloom! Let us whitewash all our churches and grand old cathedrals! and let us throw down any monuments of art which we may possess! Then let the

saints once more inherit the land! But if we are content to enjoy what we do understand of the world, admitting that there is much which we do not, and cannot grasp, then let us hail with pleasure whatever will yield us a little enjoyment. If we look upon mankind as so many of our natural foes, what a world we shall have to live in! But if we are determined to gain as much pleasure and profit as we can from one another, we shall find that there may be some fun yet to be got out of our much maligned world.

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It seems to us that our namby-pamby" friends must be thoroughly imbued with evil, if they can see unmixed evil in all around them. We feel certain that a man who wears green spectacles must see all objects through a false medium, and give a verdant tinge to all he looks on; so, with all due deference to them, must these extreme purists put on wicked spectacles, and gazing through them, trace only wickedness in all they look on.

The fault does not lie so much, then, in the work before us, as in certain readers of it. Not that we wish to uphold "The Ingoldsby Legends," or any other work, as faultless. But what we do say is this-that, with all its faults, it is a work which has done, and may yet do, much good. We have no doubt that it exercised a salutary influence on the author. In the intervals of more serious labour, how refreshing to sit down and map out in pleasant and playful verse, the comic side of the saintly. or domestic life of bygone ages, which monks and chroniclers had described with so much solemnity and pomp. Or, turning to modern days, to laugh away superstitions, to deride follies, to do all the work of the satirist without the bitter spirit which ever seems inherent in the most playful satire. Such we believe to have been the custom with that prince of clerical humourists, now so familiar to us under the name of Tom Ingoldsby. Laying aside the white tie and the clerical garb to sit down with his friend-for does he not at once make friends with the reader to enjoy a hearty laugh, and assuming the easy habit of the sanctum, to give vent the more freely to his laughter. Let us for the credit of our Puritanism, pause for one moment at this horrible sighta clergyman, without his "choker," engaged in the fearfully secular occupation of enjoying a laugh, and inducing others to follow his immoral example-Heu pietas heu prisca fides!

But perhaps it was not always thus that these legends were written. It is not always the greatest wit who is the merriest of men. Every one has heard the story related of many clowns, but oftenest we believe of Grimaldi, that, suffering terribly during the day from low spirits, he was constrained at length to consult a physician on the matter. The latter, charmed the previous evening with his then patient's exceeding drollery, and ignorant of his profession, recommended him to visit the theatre, and let his dullness be dispelled by the merriment of the clown. Such may have been the case with Tom Ingoldsby. Harassed and troubled, he may have found relief in some such amusement as that

afforded by writing a legend. And what was, at first, only a chance hit, may have become the accustomed refuge until a gradual fondness may have made the recreation welcome-a recreation still, without taking the place of weightier matters. We know that authors have become enamoured of their subjects in a similar manner. The "Lues Boswelliana” has infected other paths of literature than biography. Witness Addison's affection for Sir Roger de Coverley, an affection at first tinged with slight contempt for the knight's Tory principles; and, we believe we may add, Mr. Dickens' ultimate admiration for our dear old friend Mr. Pickwick.

Are we yet agreed that it is not debasing, demoralizing, for a clergyman to amuse himself with secular recreations? We hope so. We believe, for our own part, that in his every-day life he has opportunities for preaching sermons far more noble, and spirit-stirring than any that pulpit has yet heard. Preaching without practice is nothing; and how can he practise what he preaches without mixing with men and women? If you deny secular amusement to the clergyman, you make him at once almost as isolated as the monk or the priest of the Middle Ages. It is the gulf which separates clergy and laity that causes so much mutual distrust and misunderstanding between them. Hear what one of the former says:-" In my humble opinion the clergy's business lies entirely with the laity, neither is there perhaps a more effectual way to forward the salvation of men's souls, than for spiritual persons to make themselves as agreeable as they can in the conversation of the world. . . . . And, let some reasoners think what they please, it is certain that men must be brought to esteem and love the clergy, before they can be persuaded to be in love with religion. No man values the best medicine if adminstered by a physician whose person he hates or despises. . . If the clergy were as forward to appear in all countries as other gentlemen, and would a little study the art of conversation to make themselves agreeable, they might be welcome at every party where there was the least regard for politeness or good sense." (Swift's "Project for the Advancement of Christianity." Works, viii. 215.) Now a great deal of the above remains true, although clerical society has altered much for the better since Swift's day.

We believe, for our own part, that our erring clergyman was doing much good while he was amusing himself. He never fails to point a moral while he adorns a tale. If he does nothing more, he laughs at country-side superstition. What little village is there that does not boast of a squire, and a squire's mansion-antiquated, rumbling, timehonoured because the squire's family had lived there for ages, and the rude peasantry have been their tenants, generation after generation. Can such a house stand, and not shelter a ghost under its roof-tree? Of course not-that naturally forms part of the entail. So we lead off with a legend about ghosts. We all know that a belief in these spectres still holds good in the more secluded and benighted parts of England,

and we suppose that nothing will ever persuade our rustic population that dead men tell no tales. But it would be impossible to preach a sermon against the belief in ghosts, because our namby-pamby friends would be the first to cry out against such an innovation. Again, the belief in witchcraft has not yet died out. Our genial parson has something to say on this point also. These legends were written some years since, my masters. But what about the Davenport Brothers in this current year? All through the book you will find that there is some good to be derived from even a casual perusal of its pages. We might say of our parson-"nihil tetigit quod non ornavit."

But it may be said, that though he was negatively doing good he was in a more positive manner doing harm. We confess to being blind on this point. We have heard it said that some of the tales are immoral. We have never found them—not from want of knowledge of the book, for we think we are familiar with all its pages. As Lord Macaulay said, in his review of Croker's Edition of Boswell, when that worthy gentleman boasted of having expunged some objectionable passages from the original text, that he, the reviewer, was unaware that there were any such passages until Dr. Croker pointed out the fact; so we have been unable to discover the immorality in Ingoldsby, although put on our guard against it. We admit that the jokes are in some places broad, but not, we think, immoral. One of the broadest is that entitled, "The Legend of the Dark Entry, or Nell Cook;" but even in this there is no actual harm. There is something significant in the way in which the author continually reminds as how "Nelly looked askew." The legend teaches nothing bad; on the contrary it shows vice in a very despicable light. It does not conceal half, and expose half the evil, after the manner of Sterne. It only shows that, after all, these canons, and their "nieces," were not so saintly as they should have been. There is a certain column we wot of in the law report of the Times, which is far more plain-spoken than "The Dark Entry;" and if the Times reposes on drawing-room tables, and is referred to by ladies, why should they say to Tom Ingoldsby, "Turn him out?"

But it may further be said, that a certain old gentleman whose name is not heard in polite society, figures too largely amongst the saints of these legends. But so he did in the Miracle Plays of the Middle Ages, and they were often acted in churches. In fact the legends in which his Satanic Majesty appears, are a take-off of Mediævalism. In those days the cardinal virtues and the deadly sins were required to be personified; the clergy were obliged to appeal to the senses, rather than to the imagination. In the miracle plays, therefore, and consequently in these legends, he is only to be looked upon as the personification of evil. Our author would have misrepresented the spirit of the times which he was burlesquing, if he had written otherwise than he has done. To the medieval mind, evil was an ever recurring material reality, which was only to be repulsed by sheer force, or by prayer and fasting. So