humorous, not as delicate as Lamb's, and often extravagant and wayward, and the other stately, ornate, imaginative and poetic. Every line is gleaming splendor.

In the humorous style there is "Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts," though the subject is too ghastly for the ordinary sense of humor. He sometimes seems too familiar and colloquial, and even undignified. He will address Josephus, the Jewish historian, through a whole article as "Joe," or describe Magliabecchi, the Florentine librarian, as "Mag." In his article on Dr. Parr, he invariably calls him "Sam." Occasionally he will utter the exclamation, "O Crimini,” and in other ways indulges somewhat in horse-play.

Of his fictions, "The Spanish Nun" is the best, and the "Life of Richard Bentley the best of his biographies. "The Memorials of Grasmere," "The English Stage Coach," and

Suspiria De Profundis," are the most imaginative of his writings. The latter contains that marvel of lyrical prose, "The Three Ladies of Sorrow," which are a permanent addition to literature and mythology.

All his writings on the principles and science of literature; on rhetoric, style, language; on

Pope, Milton, Southey, Landor, Wordsworth's poetry, and the literary history of the eighteenth century, are wonderfully fine, and will repay constant study. And so will nearly everything he

wrote.

RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM,

A FAMOUS HUMORIST.

(1788-1845.)

Does anybody read the "Ingoldsby Legends" in these days? Those grotesque and exuberantly rhymed stories, full of fancy and frolic that convulsed our fathers and grandfathers, and would amuse the present generation of readers if more modern stories and poems did not crowd them

out.

Of course, there are those who read them, just as there are always persons reading the good things of literature. They have plenty of vitality and can never be entirely forgotten, but perhaps they are not read as much as they should be, and certainly our humorous poets do not imitate their style as they might and suffer no loss. They abound in double rhymes that are peculiarly felicitous and accurate, as well as being delightfully funny.

They purport to have been found by Thomas

Ingoldsby among the old papers and documents. that have descended to him from a former generation, and are more or less concerned with the legends of the family, and hence the name.

They were written by Richard Harris Barham, who was born at Canterbury, December 6, 1788. He was educated at St. Paul's School and at Brazenose College, Oxford, and then entered holy orders. After a few years' service in country parishes he obtained a minor canonry in St. Paul's Cathedral. He early turned to literary pursuits, and finally, after some unsuccessful attempts, found his vein in "The Ingoldsby Legends," which first appeared in Bentley's Miscellany in 1837. They immediately became popular and gave the author high and permanent rank among the foremost of English humorists. Except Hood alone, no English writer of modern times has produced so much laughter-stimulating poetry as Barham.

As some of the more recent English poets have naturalized the French vilanelle, rondel and ballade, so Barham took the French metrical conte and adapted it to English in such a way as to make it as much at home as if born of the soil.

Most readers will remember the French poet Gresset's story of the parrot "Vert-Vert," that wonderful bird, which, brought up in a convent

among the nuns, became so pious that his fame spread all over France. The sisters, at another convent at a distance wishing to have a visit from Vert-Vert, prevailed on his friends to send him to them. The voyage was made by boat, and on the way down the Seine the sailors taught him so many things that he had never heard in the convent that when he arrived at his destination he shocked the good sisters by the language he used. In holy horror they sent the monster back, but he was made to do such penance that he quite recovered his piety, and when he died was duly canonized.

Barham has an adaptation of this story under the title of "The Jackdaw of Rheims." He was the favorite pet of the cardinal and was noted for his devotional habits and general piety, so much so that he was held up as an example for the priests and monks of the palace.

One day, overcome by a fit of original sin, the jackdaw stole the cardinal's ring and hid it. Then followed a commotion. Everybody was searched, monks, friars, and priests, the jackdaw looking gravely on, but no ring was found. Then follows the cardinal's curse :

The cardinal rose, with a dignified look,

He called for his candle, his bell, and his book,