Volume 53 — THE BRITISH QUARTERLY APRIL 1871 (continued 3)

But while High Churchmen owe much of their present position to themselves, or, to speak more accurately, to the small but active section who form their extreme left, it cannot be denied that they have to some extent been favoured by circumstances. There are different characteristics of the age, distinct from and even opposed to each other, which have been friendly to them. They have profited by its material prosperity, and the consequent increase of its wealth and luxury; and they have profited, though in a different way, by its spirit of philosophic inquiry, its intelligent freedom, its political earnestness. A religion which delights in show, which attaches high importance to externals, which will be lenient in its judgments of those who obey the priest and regularly attend the sacraments, is certain to find many votaries in an age when there are such numbers who have no higher business in life than the pursuit of mere pleasure. The love of a new sensation alone is enough to attract crowds of this class to a church like St. Alban's. But it is not the novelty alone which captivates them; it is the type of religion which meets their tastes. It is true that they may hear from the pulpit eloquent denunciations of the frivolity of the life they are leading, but these oratorical thunders do not disturb them, save for the time. It is a remarkable fact, indeed, which has often been noticed, that sermons directed against their own special sins are rather popular than otherwise with hearers gathered from the world of fashion. They listen with interest, and if a preacher does his work well, are, perhaps, moved to some degree of sentimental emotion; they meekly submit to the castigation which they have to endure, and accept it as a species of penance which is to be borne with all humility, and having discharged what they consider a religious duty, feel themselves entitled to return with all the more zeal and avidity to the scenes from which they have for a time been withdrawn. They have had indeed the virtues of an ascetic life set before them, but they do not apply the exhortations to themselves. These, they quietly assume, belong to the 'religious,' the clergy, or those who have a vocation to a more exalted type of piety. For themselves, they are satisfied with a much humbler rôle; and if they are regular at church, observe the Holy Communion at proper times, and practise some degree of abstinence on Fridays and in Lent, they consider that they have amply satisfied all the claims of conscience and religion. If they are zealous at all, their zeal is shown in a very different direction. They leave to others all services demanding self-denial or patience. They are never found in the crowded alleys where the poor congregate, visiting the sick or succouring the needy. For the painful austerities which some practise they have no love. It is by the histrionic element that they are attracted. To them the decorations of the church and the vestments of the priests are subjects of supreme interest. They go into ecstasies over the cut of a chasuble or the colour of a stole, can tell the exact difference between a dalmatica and an alb, can give the most orthodox opinion as to the colour proper to each church festival, and are wonderfully captivated with a religion in which millinery plays an important part. 'You should (said one of this class) visit —— church. It is so delightfully high; the vestments are superb, and the clergyman has got such dear little boys, with red stockings, for acolytes.'

There is a better side of the system which appeals to another and higher class, also to be found in aristocratic circles. Repelled by the wretched frivolity of fashionable society, wearied of its incessant round of pleasure, conscious that life ought to have some higher end, and seeking after something to satisfy the craving of their souls for the real good,—they are taken by the ascetic view of Christian life as given by High-Churchism. The idea of an authority in the Church which shall relieve them from the trouble of deciding between the conflicting opinions which are abroad, and shall give them some resting-place in which they may find secure footing and so be saved from the indifference and unbelief into which such numbers are drifting, is itself welcome. They are pleased with the idea that they have the faith held by the Catholic Church for centuries, while the prospect of a life marked by self-sacrifice and active labour is that above all others the most calculated to kindle their aspirations. Romanism has always had these two sides by which it has attracted adherents of the most opposite character; and it is not surprising that Ritualism, which has sought to follow so closely in its steps, should exhibit the same characteristics with the same results,—drawing from out the circles of fashion both the superficial and frivolous, who are captivated by its outward and objective character, and the more earnest, who are won by that ideal of a life with nobler aims, and under the government of unselfish principles which it exhibits before them.

The controversies of the day, too, have helped the development of High Church feeling. When a Church is or is supposed to be in danger, when enemies are assailing her from without, and some of her own adherents are seriously compromising her character and influence, and when there is a need, therefore, for the display of special zeal on the part of those who would maintain her position, the party which is conspicuous for the highest idea of her rights, and for the most uncompromising spirit in their assertion and defence, is sure to be specially popular. High Churchmen have known how to use to the utmost advantage the existing state of things. By a singular coincidence, the Judicial Committee have been engaged in hearing the case of Mr. Voysey on the one hand, and Mr. Mackonochie and Mr. Purchas on the other; and although the Vicar of St. Alban's and the Brighton Incumbent have both been condemned, we doubt whether the High Church will not profit more by the spectacle presented by Mr. Voysey than it will lose by the suspension of Mr. Mackonochie or the prohibition of the extravagancies of Mr. Purchas. By the one, indeed, the High Church, as distinguished from the Ritualist section, will gain, rather than lose, if the result be the repression of outrages upon Protestant feeling and defiances of law, which check the sympathy that otherwise would flow much more decidedly in a High Church direction. By the other, however, the gain is immediate and very considerable. Here, we are told, is the outcome of Protestantism. 'Rights of private judgment, free inquiry, individual responsibility—see to what they all lead us! There is safety only in abiding by Catholic truth, and submitting implicitly to the authority of the Church which asserts it. The assumed right of conscience which is the basis of Protestantism is the root of all evil, and the consequence of admitting it will be an absolute eclipse of faith. Reject the voice of the Church, and men will soon cease to believe in the Bible, or even in God at all.' There are not a few who receive all this; even sincere lovers of Evangelical principles will declare that they would rather men should believe too much than believe too little, forgetting that the one evil is tolerably sure to be the cause of the other; that it is just where the dominion of superstition has been most absolute that, in the inevitable sway of the pendulum, scepticism becomes most rampant and powerful; and that no more fatal error could be committed by the friends of truth than to appeal to ecclesiastical authority on its behalf. The fact, however, is undeniable, and it is only another illustration of the general law of which we have just spoken, that in the reaction from rationalizing views and the fear of their consequences, numbers are ready to throw themselves into the sheltering arms of High-Churchism. They love truth more than liberty, and are content to surrender the latter rather than brave the risk of any danger to the former.

The progress of opinion in favour of the separation of Church and State, so manifest in different quarters, has produced a similar effect. Anticipating the possibility of disestablishment and of its coming soon, thoughtful members of the Episcopal Church are anxiously considering in what way she will be best able to meet the difficulties and demands of the novel position in which she will find herself when she is placed on a level with other Christian churches. They see that when the prestige of State connection is gone, something will be necessary to make up for the loss which she will sustain, and they hope to find it in that exaltation of her claims in which High Churchmen delight. In the view of High Churchmen, the Evangelical who has nothing on which to rely but his faithfulness and power in carrying on the work of his ministry, and who admits that the Congregational minister by his side is on a level, so far as authority is concerned, with himself, reduces the Church to the position of the sects; and in the competition which is provoked, she will not necessarily be the gainer. What is wanted, according to them, is that the clergy should assert their prerogative. The maintenance of an ornate and gorgeous ceremonial is important, for it has been shown that it has great attractions for the mass of the people, and has been able to win back numbers who, so long as simplicity was the order of the day, saw no difference between the service of a church and that of a dissenting chapel, and, in fact, preferred the latter because of its greater freedom and warmth. But of still greater moment is it that the Church should mark out distinctly the line which separates her from the sects; should insist on the authority which belongs to her clergy as being in the true line of the Apostolical succession, and should make it felt that her members possess advantages in which those outside her pale do not participate. We do not believe that experience will justify the policy, or that the pretensions which are intolerable in an Established Church would meet with anything but ridicule when put forth by a Church which has not even the special patronage of the State to encourage such un-Christian arrogance. In the meantime, this is a prevalent view, and it is of material service to the party who are contending for High Anglican principles.

From those various causes a High Church spirit is showing itself far beyond both sections of the clergy who have identified themselves with Anglican movements, and, in fact, is more or less affecting all parties. We heard of a conversation the other day between some laymen of extensive information and strong Evangelical sympathies, in which the question was asked in relation to a place which had once been a stronghold of Evangelicalism, 'Are they not becoming rather high at ——?' 'Where' (was the reply) 'is it that they are not becoming high?' We have taken some trouble to get information, and it all goes to corroborate this view. There are few of our larger towns, even those which have been most distinguished for their zeal for Evangelical principles, where we do not find the intrusion of a High Church, and indeed, a Ritualist element, which in some cases may become strong and popular. We regret to add that several of the Episcopal appointments made by the present Government must still further strengthen the hands and encourage the hopes of the sacerdotal party. Already we note some ominous signs in a southern diocese, where, after the lengthened rule of an Evangelical bishop, one of a very different character—a prelate of great power of eloquence and extraordinary tact, not to say subtlety—has been appointed in his room. Some of the Evangelical clergy have, we are told, suddenly awakened to a perception of the great worth of their new diocesan, and are adopting practices which hitherto they have condemned, and a tone which will certainly be much more acceptable to him than that which they have been accustomed to maintain. We venture to predict, that if he preside over the see for a few years, he will be able to report a different state of things from that which he found when he commenced his administration. It is not probable that he will so completely expel the Evangelical element as, if we are to accept his own statement, he had excluded Ritualism from his late diocese, but we fear that his influence may so transform some of his clergy that their old friends will hardly be able to recognise them. Whether Nonconformists have any reason to congratulate themselves on this result of the Liberal triumph to which they so largely contributed, is a question on which we need not enter. They do not owe so much to the Evangelical prelates on the bench, that they have any special reason to regret that their number has not been augmented. Still, the increase of the power of the High Church party was not the direct and immediate object for which they gave their support to Mr. Gladstone; and we are bound to say that the amount of encouragement given to that party, both in the appointment of its members to important positions, and in the favour shown to certain points of its policy, has not been regarded with satisfaction.

One result of the new spirit that has been awakened in the Anglican party, has been the almost entire extinction of that particular section of the Episcopal clergy known as the 'high and dry' school. So long, indeed, as the present system of patronage continues, it is never likely altogether to cease from among us. While there are a considerable number of livings in the gift of the Universities and colleges, who appoint to them members of their own body, who have lived so long among the musty records of the past that they have little fitness for the work of the living present, who have, in fact, by the very force of circumstances, became so many Dryasdusts; and while there are a still larger number regarded as the appanages of great families, who give them to younger sons or needy cousins, without any thought either of their mental or spiritual qualifications, many of the clergy are sure to be 'dry, yea, very dry;' and because they are dry they will also be high. They have nothing on which to rest their claims except the authority of the Church and the dignity of their office, and they are sure to exalt the one and magnify the other. Still, the section is a diminishing one, and the Church may well rejoice both that it is diminished in numbers, and that what remains of it is improved in quality. We have before our eyes now, one whom we knew in our childhood, a quiet, dignified old gentleman, who might have earned respect in any other position but that of a clergyman. He resided in the parish for many years, but what influence for good he ever exerted upon it, except by means of his charities, which were always free enough, it would have puzzled his admirers to tell. Of course, he had a righteous horror of Dissent and Radicalism; but even in opposition to them he never showed any enthusiasm. Such men belong to another generation, and where they are found now occupying positions of importance, in the midst of the busy life of this nineteenth century, they only hold them to the injury of the Church of which they are the representatives.

The papers announced, a few weeks ago, the death of one of this class, with some facts of whose story we happen to be acquainted. He was one of the few pluralists who still remain, residing on one of his livings in a midland county, and holding another in a large manufacturing town in the North of England. This town, with its teeming population and growing importance, he had never visited for more than twenty years. The work was left to be done by two curates, living on very inadequate incomes, while their rector satisfied himself with drawing the lion's share of the ample revenues of the parish. He found more congenial employment in the small village where his other cure was situate, and where he discharged, doubtless with becoming grace, the duties of a country gentleman. A glimpse of his life was given through a side-light in a speech of one of his curates, who, in acknowledging his rector's health, at a great agricultural dinner in the town of which he was so negligent an overseer, assured the company that the rector would gladly have been present, as he took a deep interest in all agricultural pursuits, and was himself one of the most successful breeders of pigs in the county of ——. It is hardly necessary to say that Dissent has a powerful hold upon the parish, or that numbers have grown up in indifference, if not in absolute hostility to religion altogether. And yet even he was not of the worst type. We remember, some years ago, driving several miles in a midland district, with a friend who was thoroughly acquainted with the region and its history. The country was rather thickly studded with churches and parsonages, and, as we passed them, our friend gave us some account of the men who had lived and worked in them. Many of the livings were in the gift of colleges and other public bodies, while others were the property of the country gentry, and, as might be expected, the clergy had almost invariably been of the 'high and dry' school; and as we heard story after story of indolence, incompetence, heresy, or, in some cases, ministerial delinquency, we could not but feel that the Church of England might well rejoice that there are but few remaining of so unworthy a generation.

The Anglican clergyman of to-day (and the class is very numerous in rural districts) is of a very different pattern. Even where he has not actually embraced Ritualistic opinions, he has generally breathed something of their spirit, and is determined to carry it into his work. He loves Dissent as little as his 'high and dry' predecessor, but he is determined to deal with it in a different way. He is courteous in his manner toward the Dissenting minister, but he means, all the time, to 'stamp out' Dissent. But it is to be done by outworking it everywhere—in schools, in pastoral visitation, and in public services; any weakness in preaching being compensated by increased splendour of service. It is impossible not to admire the intensity of devotion with which some of these young clergymen give themselves to their work. A Congregational minister of our acquaintance was telling us of one of them who had recently come to his neighbourhood, and who was working a wondrous change among a remarkably slothful and apathetic people by the earnestness of his spirit and the abundance of his labours. He had himself been called to visit one of his own members, and, though he immediately responded to the summons, he found the clergyman already there, proffering services of every kind, and unwilling to accept a denial of his request to sit up and watch all night by the bedside of the sick man. The Nonconformist convictions of a poor man must be very clear and decided if he can be insensible to such a mode of approach as this, and it was only natural that, when he recovered, the recipient of such kind attentions should be found occasionally in the parish church. But it is by means of the schools, especially, that this gentleman and his class operate, and operate to considerable effect. We are told, and with some truth, that children cannot enter into nice theological distinctions; but it is not in theological subtleties that they are instructed. The lessons given are plain and intelligible enough, as to the rights of the Church and the evils of Dissent, the reverence due to a clergyman and the Church, and the sin which they commit who neglect to show it. Besides there are innumerable ways in which, indirectly, both parents and children are affected; and a clergyman knows well enough, that when he has once got a child to the national school, he has taken the first step towards securing the parent for the Church. Hence the resolute determination of the clergy to get hold of the education of the people, an attempt in which they have been helped by those who, twenty-five years ago, persuaded Nonconformists to take up an untenable position that prevented their just scruples from receiving proper attention, and shut them out from a work in which they had previously been the leaders. Hence, too, the remarkable outburst of zeal and liberality in the extension of denominational schools since the passing of the late Act. Denominational schools are, for the most part, Anglican and Roman Catholic, and a large proportion of the grant to them will, as a matter of fact, go to build up the power of the Establishment and suppress Dissent in the rural districts. It is true the new national schools will be under a conscience clause, but they must be credulous indeed who believe that it will be of much avail in parishes where there is an active and influential clergyman, wielding, in conjunction with the squire, a supreme authority. A more potent instrument could scarcely have been put into the hands of the priesthood; and among the young recruits of the Anglican party, there are numbers who know how to wield it with the greatest effect. They do not trust to the influence of the teaching alone, but they find various ways of interesting the children: they form them into singing classes; they prepare them for their choirs; they accustom them to the observance of Saints' Days; they please them by giving them a place in processions, or employing them as acolytes. In short, they find them in the National schools, and they lose no opportunity of so training them that they shall naturally grow up to be loyal sons of the Church. We have neither the intention nor the desire to reproach them for the manner in which they thus carry on their work, or for the care which they specially devote to children. With their views of the Church, they are only showing a proper loyalty to conscience in the course which they adopt. What we object to is, that the nation should be called upon to support them in this hierarchical crusade by increasing the grants they now enjoy. We have asserted from the first that schools already in existence had a fair right to be left undisturbed in the enjoyment of advantages which the State had virtually engaged to secure them, and which they had won by their own efforts. What we complain of is, that facilities should be given for the multiplication of these denominational schools at the very time that the Government are establishing a great National system.

The National school, however, is not the only theatre on which the activity of the advanced Anglican priest is manifest. His coming into a parish is the signal for a series of changes, all directed to one end. First, the interior of the church is to be remodelled to adapt it to the style of service he means to introduce. Pews which, it must be confessed, are often unsightly enough, are displaced to make way for benches. If it be practicable, a part is railed off for a sanctuary; and the altar, with its tall candlesticks, and, where they can be obtained, with its embroidered and coloured cloths, assumes an entirely new aspect. Fast days and feast days, hitherto unknown, begin to be celebrated; intoning takes the place of the quiet and orderly reading of the service, and by degrees the people find their church and their worship bear a striking, and, to many, not pleasant resemblance to that of Romanism. In all this there is no consultation, either of diocesan or of parishioners. The clergyman assumes the position of a dictator, and resolves to carry out his own ideas, whatever be the result. Sometimes there is fierce discord and, not unfrequently, there are many secessions; but even where this is not so, the changes are, as we hear, in many cases anything but satisfactory to the squirearchy, who have hitherto been found among the most steady supporters of the Church. They valued it as furnishing a respectable and quiet type of religion, which did not make any excessive demands from them. Their old High Church clergyman neither disquieted himself nor disturbed them. He was a welcome guest at their boards, and the slight requisitions which he made, in the way of subscriptions to his charities, were not particularly burdensome, and were generally met with cheerfulness. The new-fangled notions, which make it a far more difficult thing to be zealous Churchmen, requiring not only money for schools and other objects, but some amount of personal effort and sacrifice, and often involving a man in unpleasant controversies with his neighbours, are far from being welcome, and already quiet murmurings may be heard in various quarters. We have given the party by whom this work is carried on, all the credit to which they can possibly lay claim. We are therefore the more at liberty to condemn that which is reprehensible; and one of their most prominent features is their utter contempt for the law to which they owe subjection. Not content with adopting the most pitiful evasions in order to introduce practices contrary to the whole spirit of the Church to which they belong, they have invented a convenient theory of their own as to the distinction between the law of the Church and the law of the State, refusing to obey the one when it comes into collision with the other. In the economy of the Episcopal Church, such a distinction cannot be maintained for an hour. In the eye of the law, the nation is the Church, with Parliament as its legislator, and the courts as its administrators. If any of the clergy feel that their consciences are aggrieved by this subjection to civil authority, they have the remedy in their own hands. Nonconformity has after a long and difficult struggle, succeeded in obtaining for itself a recognised legal status, and the liberty which it has thus secured is opened to them, if they are content to accept the conditions. They can have the freedom, if they are satisfied to pay the price at which it can be obtained. What they cannot do, is to enjoy the advantages which the law gives to the national Church, without, at the same time, submitting to its control. Their declamation about the rights of the Church, and the iniquity of any secular Parliament putting restraints on its free action, or any civil tribunal undertaking to adjudicate on matters of doctrine and discipline, sounds well enough, but coming from those who still claim to enjoy the prestige and emoluments of a national Church, it is simply idle bunkum which can impose on no one. Were they manfully to resolve rather to be free than to retain a position which they can only hold on condition of their disobeying what is to them a higher law, they would command sympathy from all who know how to honour loyalty to conscience. As it is, their attempts to represent themselves as victims of persecution because they are required to obey the law, expose them only to contempt and ridicule.

It is only fair to add that there is a considerable section of the party by whom the force of this reasoning is felt, and who are prepared to carry their objections to State interference to their ultimate issue.

'It would be' (says Mr. Orby Shipley, one of the ablest and most fearless exponents of Ritualistic views) 'the crowning labour; it would be the culminating honour, it would be the blessed consummation of the Catholic reformation to be the means in the Divine economy of terminating that wicked, immoral, and godless alliance which, under present circumstances, exists under the title of the Union of Church and State.'

How far it is consistent for any man to lend his personal support to an alliance which he pronounces 'wicked, immoral, and godless,' by continuing to accept the advantages which it secures to him, is a question which his own conscience must be left to determine; but it is at least satisfactory to find that Mr. Orby Shipley and his friends have begun to feel the inconsistency of their present position. Whether in the event of the Judicial Committee condemning their distinctive principles, as it has already condemned their symbolic practices, and deciding against Mr. Bennett as it has done against Mr. Purchas, they would secede from the Establishment, is not very clear. What is clear is, that they regard the present relation of the State to the Church as hindering the work of the 'Catholic' restoration, and therefore seek disestablishment as the first essential to the realization of their ideal. But this cannot be brought about at once, and in the meantime circumstances may force on a separation. Perhaps, however, it is more as a menace to the bishops than as an indication of any serious purpose that Mr. Shipley tells their lordships that the 'conspicuous want of success which has attended Episcopal hindrance to the Catholic revival has certainly postponed, but has not at all removed the prospect of impending schism.' We are left to infer, therefore, that if the attempts to repress Ritualism should be crowned with more success than has hitherto attended them, we must be prepared for schism, which, Mr. Shipley says, would be an untold evil to the Church; adding, and in this we agree with him, 'that the present state of abnormal antagonism, in any Christian sense, is less harmful, it is hard to believe.' If, however, this calamity should come, he gives the Episcopal Bench to understand that on them the responsibility will rest.

'If they precipitate a schism, either by actively hostile legislation, or by unconstitutional illegality, or by the continuance of vexatious antagonism, the sin of schism will rest upon their individual consciences. Neither those who see below the surface from without, nor those within, who can feel the pulse of the Catholic Party,[210] and know its deepest sentiments, need to be told that the scandal of Episcopal sanction and apology for the desecration of the Blessed Sacrament in Westminster Abbey, and the dishonour done to God's Holy Word, by entrusting the revision of the Authorized Version to heretics and schismatics, out of which this scandal arose, has done more to render such a schism possible than any other act of the English bishops during the last half century.'

These thunders will not disturb the serene complacency of the Episcopal Bench, nor are such petulant utterances to be regarded as indicating any serious idea of separation, but their insolent and lawness tone is eminently characteristic of the party. They have formed their ideal of the Church, and in defiance of all authority, whether civil or spiritual, they are determined to work it out. They know and confess that they are at variance with the bishops, whom they have promised 'reverently to obey,' 'following with a glad mind and will their godly admonitions, and submitting themselves to their godly judgments;' but they have a convenient theory as to the necessary limitations of the obedience they are bound to render, by which they satisfy themselves that they are right in their resistance to the authority which they have in the most solemn manner bound themselves to accept. The bishops 'are, it may be, good results, but still they are results of a bad, vicious, immoral system; of a system which is utterly un-Catholic;' they have pronounced against the Catholic revival from beginning to end, and having thus set themselves against all that 'priests of the Catholic school' are doing, they have condemned themselves, and forfeited all title to unlimited obedience, by condemning these developments. In other words, the want of harmony which they confess exists between the mind of the Episcopate and the mind of the Presbyterate is a sufficient reason why priests should refuse their allegiance. The conclusion is not that which suggests itself to ordinary minds, but these men are so thoroughly convinced that they have Catholic truth, and are doing a great Catholic work, that they seem to suppose themselves superior to the laws by which ordinary mortals are governed. They may seem to be arrogant and overbearing, they may indulge in railing and vituperation, they may condescend to a style of controversy, happily altogether cast aside by Christian gentlemen, but everything is done in the interests of the Catholic revival, and these are to be advanced at all costs. Mr. Shipley candidly avows that their aim is to 're-Catholicize the Church of England,' and he appears to think that because that object cannot be secured without disobeying the bishops, there is sufficient reason why they should be disobeyed. After enumerating the changes that require to be made in the election of bishops and the remodelling of Convocation, he says:—

'We have again to make confession the ordinary custom of the masses, and to teach them to use Eucharistic worship. We have to establish our claims to Catholic Ritual in its highest form. We have to restore the Religious Life, to say Mass daily, and to practise Reservation for the sick. Looking at these and other more or less pressing needs of our communion, I confidently ask, "Can these and suchlike wants, in the providence of God, be restored to His afflicted, and to this extent indigent, Church, if we admit the theory of limitless obedience, not, observe, to the Episcopate combined in a Sacred College, but to any or to all the individual members of the Bench of Bishops?"'

The simplicity of this is no doubt beautiful, but its weakness is manifest. 'Limitless obedience' no one expects them to render; but the justification of their refusal to obey at all, on the ground that disobedience is necessary to their design of revolutionizing the character of their Church, has certainly the merit of novelty. They seem to imagine that the first essential to success is audacity, and expect that they will prevail, in virtue of their blustering self-confidence and contemptuous treatment of all opponents. But the ultimate result of such a policy cannot be doubtful. A party which sets up a plea of liberty to excuse the violation of distinct obligations, whose Catholicity has in it not a single element of true charity, which seeks to subject others to authority while it disclaims all authority that comes into collision with its own ideas and designs, which brands every man, however eminent and good, who will not bow down to its idols as a heretic or an infidel, is not a party that is likely to exert any permanent influence. The age is tolerant, disposed to permit great latitude of opinion, perhaps too ready to sympathise with those who are resisting constituted authority, but it is not to be cajoled by the specious sophistries of men who, professedly contending for liberty, are seeking only to establish a new priestly despotism.

But if we have no fears of Anglican Catholics being able to shape the future of the Church of England according to their wishes, neither can we look hopefully on the condition and prospects of the Evangelical party. Thirty years ago it was the most popular and influential, if not the most numerous section of the Church. Its most sanguine friend would hardly pretend that it holds the same position to-day. We have already marked incidentally the disadvantage under which it lay in contending against a party full of the passionate zeal and energy of youth, and with ability equal to its earnestness, its members claiming to be par excellence, the assertors of Church principles and the champions of Church interests, skilful in adapting themselves to the wants of different classes of minds, fertile in expedients, and indefatigable in labours. Under any circumstances, it would have been no easy task to have maintained an equal struggle against such adversaries, hampered as the Evangelicals necessarily are by their position in the Church. Still they had many compensating advantages, and had they known how to avail themselves of the forces at their command, they might not only have held their ground, but have been to-day masters of the situation. In the great conflict which has been going on between authority and freedom, the reactionary forces are not the strongest, and had the Evangelicals been prepared fully to identify themselves with the cause of liberty, they need not have feared the result of the struggle. They had on their side the prestige of the noble work which they had done in rousing the Church from torpor and idleness, and in regaining for her much ground that she had lost, in quickening the spiritual life of the nation, in promoting social and philanthropic movements at a time when they were not viewed with so much favour as at present. As the representatives of Protestantism in the National Church, they were able to rally to their support a strong national sentiment, not always very intelligent or reasonable, but deep and passionate in its hatred of everything that has on it the taint of Romanism, and only too easily roused in opposition to any party which could fairly be suspected of Popish sympathies. Their position, too, seemed to mark them out as the connecting link between the Established Church and the Nonconformists. Their theological views, if not identical, were in close sympathy with those of Evangelical Dissenters: they were frequently brought into association in Christian work, and had often to fight side by side against the common foe; and though there never was a chance that the Nonconformists could be won back to the Church, kindly and intimate relations might have been established with them, which would have told greatly to the credit of the party by whom they had been promoted. Yet with all these circumstances in its favour, the Evangelical party has been declining. Its enemies point to it with triumph, and exaggerate the weakness over which they rejoice. Its friends reluctantly confess it, and find the explanation in the wickedness and degeneracy of the age.

The tone of a recent gathering of the leaders of the party at Islington shows that they are conscious of the fact, and alive to the necessity of making some strenuous effort, perhaps of effecting a considerable change in their policy, in order to recover the ground that has been lost. To outsiders, however, the real causes of their weakness may be more apparent than to themselves, and we shall therefore attempt to explain a state of things which we unfeignedly regret. The Episcopal Church, whether Established or not, must be one of the most powerful religious forces in the country, and we must desire to see its influence wielded by men whose theology is that of the Reformers, who recognise the rights of the individual conscience, whose creed is derived from the Bible and not from Church tradition, who preach salvation by faith in the living Christ, and have no confidence in priests and sacraments. It would therefore be cause of sorrow to us, as it will assuredly in the issue prove disastrous to the Church and injurious to the nation, if the Evangelical party should be overborne in the present struggle, its power crippled, or its character so modified as to impair its usefulness. We are fully alive to its defects. As Nonconformists, we have little for which to be thankful to it; but not the less should we deplore the loss of what has been the most spiritual element in the Church, and therefore we can only regard with sorrow the state of things of which we have to speak.

The decline of the Evangelical party is attributed by many, both friends and foes, to a growing distaste for evangelical doctrine. The age, we are often confidently told by those in whom the wish is father to the thought, has outgrown the old theology; it is too intelligent to rest in the dogmas which were once received without question; the leading spirits of the time are known to be unbelievers, and that fact itself is sufficient to make unbelief a fashion among a class who desire to be esteemed intellectual. Very sorrowfully we admit there is some ground for these statements, but they are only half-truths. The philosophic and scientific movements of the day, have undoubtedly affected theological opinion; the spirit of inquiry has become more searching in its investigation; the rebellion against the bondage of creed has, in some instances, led to an indifference to all forms of belief; and in general, doctrines that were thought to be established, are discussed with freedom, and rejected when they do not stand the more severe tests by which they are proved. Orthodoxy counts for less in the estimate of Christian character, and there is less disposition to condemn any man because of his inability to accept all its shibboleths. But all this does not indicate that the power of the Gospel is diminishing; and, indeed, there are many things that point in the opposite direction. Preaching quâ preaching may be less influential; but the preaching which is a power at all, never was a greater power than it is at present. Men chafe against the notion that it is their duty to hear a certain number of sermons, even though they be made up of platitudes rendered additionally wearisome by the style in which they are delivered; but where a preacher has a message from God, and knows how to deliver it he is quite sure of having a large audience. Nor is it at all likely to be diminished by the fact that his sermon is decidedly evangelical and even strongly dogmatic. We have popular Ritualist as well as popular Evangelical preachers; but the discourses of the former are in their leading features as decidedly evangelical as those of the latter. Indeed, at the conference at Islington, it was frankly admitted that whatever might be the actual condition of the party, the doctrines for which it contends were never so widely preached by the clergy as at present. Certainly, the Nonconformist Churches know no decline, nor is their prosperity to be traced to any abandonment or concealment of evangelical doctrines. Congregationalists, accustomed as they are to breathe the atmosphere of freedom, and unfettered by the restraints of any formal creed, have, perhaps, felt more of the influences of the age than any other body of Christians; but no one who is acquainted with them would assert that they have at all faltered in their loyalty to the Gospel. Perhaps one of the best proofs of this is to be found in the essays in 'Ecclesia.' Their writers speak with great frankness; they admit many defects in their system, and suggest various changes; they are anxious, as far as possible, to adapt themselves to the wants of the age; but withal, there is a consistent adherence to the essential principles of the old theology. Changes in the forms in which doctrines are expressed, differences in the modes of expounding and defending them there are, but change as to the root-ideas there is none. And Congregationalism upholding the great truths of the Trinity, the Godhead of our Lord, and the Atonement, and basing all on the authority of Scripture, not only maintains its ground despite the opposition it has to meet from the renewed activity of the Established Church, but is on the increase.

If, then, the Evangelicals are decreasing in numbers and influence, the cause must be sought in some errors in their policy, and not in the increased unpopularity of the principles they profess. We are confirmed in this view by the refusal of some of the best men of the day to identify themselves with the party, even though they hold the principles. It would be invidious to name living men; but there is one recently passed from among us, to the great loss not of his own particular Church only, but of all Christian Churches, who affords, perhaps, the most striking illustration of the remark. Others there are, of whom the late Canon Melville may be taken as a type, whose High-Church ideas are sufficient to prevent them from uniting with a party with whom in doctrinal sentiment they have much in common. But the Dean of Canterbury, we need not say, had no such hindrance. Mr. Ryle himself is not more free from any tinge of ecclesiasticism, as he certainly is not more heartily and thoroughly Evangelical, than was Dean Alford. Yet the latter stood aloof from the Evangelical party; and they, we fear, did not desire his union with them. His case was a typical one, and enables us to understand the enfeebled state in which the Evangelicals find themselves. They did not like the Dean's breadth of view; they regarded the opinions on the subject of inspiration, to which his Biblical studies had led him, as unsound and dangerous; they did not understand, what was one of his marked characteristics, a large-hearted sympathy with goodness even in the professors of a false creed. So, though he was educated in the school, and (as the Rev. E. T. Vaughan truly says) though he 'preached the Gospel which they preached with a force and simplicity which they might well have wished to emulate,' they looked coldly on him, and he could find no home in their midst.

Here, then, is one great secret of their loss of influence. Their ideas of Evangelical doctrine are narrow and rigid, and they are maintained with an intolerance which is at once repulsive and inconsistent. We complain that the 'Catholic' champions of authority should demand for themselves that individual liberty for which Protestantism contends, but it is still more intolerable that these Protestants of Protestants should set up a claim to infallibility, and brand all those who do not agree with them as traitors to the Gospel. By maintaining the verbal inspiration of Holy Scripture, insisting on a particular theory of the Atonement as alone Evangelical, committing themselves to a particular scheme of prophetic interpretation, and adhering to those old ideas of the religious life which make worldliness to consist in certain outward acts which are therefore forbidden to the spiritual man, rather than in the world-spirit which can make everything common and unclean, and which is the evil to be resisted, they have placed themselves in direct collision with the culture of the age—even that part of it which retains a hearty allegiance to the Gospel. But when with these extreme views is combined a spirit of intolerant conservatism, when new modes of thought, and even new forms of expression are regarded as dangerous novelties, when all wisdom is supposed to be summed up in the determination to walk in the old paths and to meddle not with those who are given to change, and when those who dare, even in relation to subjects that do not affect the essentials of the faith, to take independent ground are treated as enemies of the truth, it is not difficult to account for the weakness of the party. A creed that is not only unpopular, and in some points illogical, but which can be regarded as the creed only of a section, and that not the most intelligent section of Evangelical Christians, and which is yet set forth as the only true representation of the Gospel, must alienate many; but a spirit of exclusiveness, a Pharisaic pride of orthodoxy, a dislike of free inquiry, are sure to alienate still more.

It may be said, indeed, that the dogmas of the Anglican school are still more narrow and extreme, and its intolerance still more arrogant and exclusive; but this does not mend the case. The intolerance of the Anglicans is extreme enough, but then it is consistent. Their system is based upon the assumption of a special sanctity and authority belonging to their Church party. The name of 'Catholic' which they arrogate to themselves is itself an insult to all other Christians. For them, therefore, to abjure the spirit of exclusiveness would be to renounce their own principles. But the Evangelicals are in a very different position. They are the children not of the bond-woman, but of the free. They rest their doctrines not on an appeal to authority, but to reason. The Scripture is their one rule of faith, and they recognise the right of every man to interpret its teachings for himself. When, therefore, they attempt to put a bar on all progress, when they claim for the traditions of their school a position hardly less authoritative than that which their opponents demand for 'Catholic' tradition, when they discover a spirit of watchful jealousy in relation to all the intellectual movements of the day, and seem afraid of the light which science and philosophy have to shed upon the difficult problems of human life, they are untrue to themselves and their principles. Their watchword is, 'The Bible and the Bible only as the religion of Protestants,' but with them there is a reserved condition that the Bible must be interpreted as Puritans and Reformers interpreted it. They are afraid of the liberty to which they owe their existence, and are continually throwing themselves back on that Church authority which, if it is to be accepted at all, will pronounce in favour of their opponents.

It is this ignorance of their true strength which has betrayed the Evangelicals into errors of policy which have been fraught with serious injury. As Protestants, they ought to have been the most liberal party in the Church; the most desirous to secure the greatest liberty compatible with loyalty to truth; the most ready to welcome every advance in scholarship that might help to a more thorough understanding of the Word of God; the most candid in examining and pronouncing upon the conclusions which modern Biblical criticism has reached; the most anxious to establish cordial relations with Nonconformists outside the pale of the Church. Unhappily, the very opposite of this has been the case. They have left to others the duty of practically developing those Protestant principles of which they claim to be the representatives, and have again and again employed their influence in favour of the party of reaction. The spectacle which they have presented in the ecclesiastical controversies of the last few years has, indeed, been humiliating in the extreme. They have been the most timid in every panic,—the first to raise the cry of danger,—the most eager in the assault, whether upon Rationalists within or Dissenters outside the Church—the facile instruments of the High Church party, whose leaders have gladly accepted their aid, knowing well that any prestige or advantage that might be secured must remain with those who were the consistent champions of authority. At present they are the most zealous champions of the Establishment, and their organ the most Erastian in its tone of any of the journals of the day. Yet there is no party which owes so little to the Establishment, or would have so glorious a future before it if the union between the Church and the State were dissolved. Except during the brief interval when Lord Palmerston scattered mitres so lavishly in its ranks, it has had but a scant share of the higher honours of that Church which owes so much to the devoted labours of its members. Even of the more important parochial charges, but a small proportion is held by the Evangelicals, many of whose ablest men are the incumbents of churches dependent entirely upon voluntary contributions for their support. If the Evangelical leaders would make a careful estimate of the exact position of the two parties in the Church, and of the amount of the national revenues which go to the maintenance of that which they are continually telling us is deadly error as compared with that which is devoted to the support of their own principles, we think they would be inclined to doubt the wisdom of the position they take in relation to the Establishment. That they who ought to have the most confident faith in the spiritual forces of the Church, and whose own experience affords ample proof that that faith would not be misplaced, should cling the most tenaciously to the union with the State, with all its painful and compromising conditions, is surely a strange phenomenon. Yet this is not the worst of the case. Unfortunately, their zeal for the Establishment is not allied with charity, and their characteristic intolerance marks their treatment of those Nonconformists who feel themselves constrained to seek the dissolution of an alliance which they believe to be contrary to the mind of Christ and injurious to the interests of truth. Apparently unable to understand that this difference of opinion is perfectly consistent with the preservation of Christian unity and mutual respect, they have resented the assertion of Nonconformist principles as a personal injury, and have urged it as a sufficient reason for withdrawing from Christian intercourse with those who have been guilty of so flagrant an offence. They expected that Dissenters would purchase their friendship by unfaithfulness to their own principles, and have been disappointed and indignant when they have discovered their mistake. If Nonconformists will play the rôle of poor relations, content to receive a patronizing notice on the platforms of Bible and Missionary Societies, and for the sake of this to suppress their own convictions, they are willing to be on terms of kindly intercourse with them; but that they should presume on this, and venture to assert their religions equality, is more than they will tolerate. The inevitable result has been a division between two parties who have much in common, and whose union would have been a tower of strength to Evangelical Protestantism.

We should not care to have written thus fully on these points, but for the conviction that we are on the eve of important ecclesiastical changes, and that the character of the future will depend largely upon the position taken by the Evangelical party. The Broad Church dream of comprehension must remain a dream. It is beautiful, and it speaks much for the liberality of men trained amid the influences and associations of an Established Church, that they should have indulged in such a hope. But it cannot be realized. Nonconformists do not wish for a place in the National Church, and could not accept one without the renunciation of all for which they have been contending. And assuredly, the recent meetings at Sion College show that a large and powerful party in the Establishment have no desire for union with them. But if comprehension is impossible, disestablishment must come, and come speedily, and with it will come a new phase of the great struggle. 'I disbelieve,' said Mr. Orby Shipley, himself an able advocate of the separation between Church and State, 'in anything but a change in the contest of the Church militant, a change from a contest against the State without to a contest within, against Puritanism, against Latitudinarianism, against Infidelity, and against what may be termed "Lay-elementarianism in the Church."' The sacerdotal party believes that its position in this struggle will be improved by disestablishment; but if the Evangelicals are loyal to their Protestant principles, we predict that it will find itself mistaken. Disestablishment will remove the one obstacle to hearty co-operation between the two great sections of English Protestantism, and united, they will be fully able to withstand the fierce onslaught with which they are threatened. But if the Evangelicals are to play their part in this controversy, the sooner they choose their position, and resolve to hold it firmly, the better. Two great principles are daily coming more and more directly into conflict, and they must elect to abide by the one or by the other. They must abandon all tamperings with the delusive fancy of an apostolical succession, or of special virtue attaching to Episcopal ordination. They must cease the foolish coquetting in which a few of them seem disposed to indulge with High Church ideas and practices, they must show a broader spirit and cultivate closer relations with those of kindred opinions who do not belong to their party or even to their Church; in short, they must not shrink from the full development of their own principles, and they will soon regain the strength which has been lost by the timid and compromising policy of the past.

Meanwhile it is evident that the Establishment is on the eve of a great crisis. The condemnation of Mr. Purchas has goaded the High Church party, some almost to madness; and should it be followed by a decision against Mr. Bennett, it is not easy to predict the result. Indeed, be the deliverance of the Court what it may, 'there are breakers ahead.' If it be against the Vicar of Frome, it will be fatal to the hopes both of Anglican and Broad Churchmen. It will compel the former to secede, for we believe the body of them to be honest men who will not renounce principles which they hold to be the very essence of Catholic doctrine. It will teach the latter that their dream of comprehension is at an end. On the other hand, a decision in his favour will not conciliate the Ritualists, since it will still leave them subject to the restrictions imposed by the Mackonochie and Purchas judgments, while the Evangelicals in their turn will be placed in extreme perplexity. At present the Church Association is in the ascendant. We wish we could say that its deportment in the hour of victory was such as to assure us in relation to the future of the Evangelical party. We cannot wonder that it is jubilant, but wisdom would have suggested some moderation in the expression of its joy, especially considering that the decision yet to be given may prove that its exultation has been as premature as it certainly is undignified and impolitic. We read the report of the meeting at St. James's Hall to celebrate the victory with extreme pain and sorrow. The evident failure to realise the gravity of the crisis, the unseemly tone adopted towards defeated adversaries, the apparent unconsciousness of the scandal such a strife is bringing upon the Church and upon religion in general, and perhaps more than all, the disposition to rest so much on the power of the law, are all indicative of extreme weakness. Men who can talk in the style of the Dean of Carlisle clearly do not comprehend the spirit of the times or the true position of the party which they represent. They seem to think they can stamp out High Churchism at all events, in its more advanced forms. They do not appear to understand that, could they succeed, they would secure the downfall of that Establishment which they love 'not wisely and too well.' If they would think less of law, and remember that the true weapons of their warfare are not carnal, but spiritual, they would take a position more in harmony with their principles, and be more sure of ultimate success.

Art. IV.—Ingoldsby.

(1.) The Life and Letters of the Rev. Richard Harris Barham. By his Son. London: Bentley.

(2.) The Ingoldsby Legends. By Thomas Ingoldsby, Esq. London: Bentley.

(3.) The Bentley Ballads. Edited by John Sheehan. London: Bentley.

'Ingoldsby,' like Odysseus, has become a name. The word, used as a nom de plume by a facile versifier, has come to indicate the kind of verse which he produced, and in which he has had hundreds of inferior imitators. Mr. Carlyle, who objects utterly to the whole herd of

as being the emptiest shams the world has ever seen, would probably regard the 'Ingoldsby Legends' as fathom-deep below contempt; but with the highest respect for the philosopher of Chelsea, we hold such things worth notice, and do not intend to allow his virtue to prevent our reference to 'cakes and ale.' Indeed, there are times when the laughing philosopher does considerable service in the removal of abuses and prejudices; and if our Democritus writes in rhyme, it does not appear that he is any the worse. The world, probably, would be none the less happy for more true mirth than we at present get. There are laughters hideous and contemptible—aye, and even pathetic. Ruin and cynicism, and scorn and spite, have their hyæna laugh; but it differs wholly from the pleasant laughter of the man to whom the world brings always joyous impulses. We English are, assuredly, a humorous race, more humorous, in all likelihood, than any other; this is shown, not only in Chaucer, Shakspeare, Butler, Sterne, Dickens, but in the incidents of our country and city life, in the quaint colloquy and light chaff of the market-place and the way-side. 'Merry England,' is an ancient phrase; and there is much merriment in our modern England that is not always observed by philosophers and politicians. We happen to have walked through most English counties, and to have enjoyed the marvellous differences of humour which exist through the breadth of the land. We have tracked Shakspeare through Central Warwick; have trodden the paths of Wordsworth and Coleridge and Wilson, in the realm of lakes; have talked with moormen on Dartmoor, and with shrimpers at Poulton-le-Sands. Everywhere we have encountered a joyous humour, inextinguishable by poverty and toil—a humour clearly designed to lighten men's hearts in their passage through a world of many troubles. Recognising this, we think that any form of humour is worth cultivation, and that a writer like Barham, who, to many grave thinkers, might seem a lover of ineffable nonsense, was not without his use in the world.

Three things may be affirmed in his favour. He caused good honest laughter, by telling stories in a ridiculous style, without writing a word to which the most absolute purist could object. He ridiculed foolish and superstitious legends, blowing them away as the winds of the vernal equinox blow the dead wood from the trees. And he proved that the position of a minister of religion, doing his duty in a manner thoroughly conscientious, was not inconsistent with a pleasant mirthfulness of temper. Of him we may say, as Rosaline of Biron—

And, with all his merriment, Barham did not for a moment neglect his clerical duty; indeed, there are indications that he was a remarkably good specimen of the parson of the parish. If we found any fault with this biography, which is, for the most part, well executed, it is that Barham's life as a clergyman is too slightly indicated. His friend, Mr. Hughes, father of the member for Frome, wrote of him thus in the New Monthly:—

'It is not always an easy task to do as you would be done by; but to think as you would be thought of and thought for, and to feel as you would be felt for, is perhaps more difficult, as superior powers of tact and intellect are here required to second good intentions. These faculties, backed by an uncompromising love of truth and fair dealing, indefatigable good nature, and a nice sense of what was due to every one in the several relations of life, both gentle and simple, rendered our late friend invaluable, either as an adviser or peacemaker, in matters of difficult and delicate handling. How he managed to get through his more important duties is a marvel. Certain it is that they were well and punctually performed in every point relating to cathedral matters, as well as his engagements as a parochial incumbent and priest of the Household, which, I believe, was the nature of his office at the Chapel Royal.'

This testimony from one who knew him well, makes us regret that more of Barham's parochial life has not been revealed to us. Often there is a curious difference between the practical and the literary half of a man's career. A priori, one would not expect the 'Lay of St. Cuthbert' to be the work of a Canon of St. Paul's. More information as to Barham's clerical career would have been intensely interesting to the psychological student; but his filial biographer has refrained from entering on the subject to any extent. We are not certain as to his motive. Perhaps he thought it hopeless to persuade the world that a good parson could be a lover of fun. Well, another lover of fun was one Sydney Smith, well known to all of us, also a Canon of St. Paul's. Smith was a resolute Whig, Barham a high Tory, yet were they excellent good friends. Here is proof. Barham sent Smith some game: here is the other Canon's epigrammatic ironic reply:—

'Many thanks, my dear sir, for your kind present of game. If there is a pure and elevated pleasure in this world, it is the roast pheasant and bread sauce—barn-door fowls for Dissenters, but for the real Churchman, the thirty-nine times articled clerk—the pheasant, the pheasant!

'Ever yours, 'Sydney Smith.'

The pheasant for rectors, the fowl for Dissenters—a characteristic bit of chaff from Peter Plymley to Tom Ingoldsby. In these days, after wonderful rapidity of movement, when the questions which troubled the last generation have been merged in others far deeper and wider, it is pleasant to think of Whig and Tory in the same cathedral precinct—Tory sending Whig some game, and Whig replying with a gibe at all dwellers without the orthodox limits. Few years have passed, yet the atmosphere is marvellously clearer; there is not precisely the same relation between Conformist and Nonconformist. The pheasant and the barn-door fowl are rather more equally distributed, perhaps.

Mr. Barham's son and biographer thus states his determination not to record his father's clerical life. 'With the details of his experience as a clergyman, rarely suitable for publication as such particulars are, I do not propose to deal. Of course, an outline will be given of his professional progress; but the reader must, once for all, be requested to bear in mind that it is intended, in the following pages, simply to throw together some slight records of his leisure hours and recreative pursuits.' This design has been very well executed; but we certainly think that more might be done. However, we must perforce accept the editor's view of the matter, and learn what we can of his father by sidelong glimpses of him. Taken solely as a man of letters, Barham is well worth study. Taken as husband and father, he is delightful. His correspondence with his children is equal to Tom Hood's letters to infant friends, though in quite a different style. His nonsense, prose or verse, was always pleasant nonsense. Thus he writes to his daughter Fanny:

'What do you think of Mr. Sydney Smith having offered me his residentiary house to live in, together with a garden at the back—magnificent for London—containing three polyanthus roots, a real tree, a brown box border, a snuff-coloured jessamine, a shrub which is either a dwarf acacia or an overgrown gooseberry bush, eight broken bottles, and a tortoiseshell tom-cat asleep in the sunniest corner; the whole, as George Robins would say, capable of the greatest improvement; with a varied and extensive prospect of the back of the Oxford Arms, and a fine hanging wood (the new drop at Newgate) in the distance, all being situate in the midst of a delightful neighbourhood, and well worth the attention of any capitalist wishing to make an investment....

There is work enough cut out for you, I promise you, when you get back: eighteen jars of onions to pickle, as many double-damson cheeses to press, some dozen niggers to boil into black currant jelly, and jams and marmalades to make without end; for, unfortunately for you and all other females connected with the family, the new house is provided with that domestic curse, a roomy store-closet. So, my dear old Fan, make hay or dirt pies, which is the same thing, while you can, in comfort.'

Pater peramans, evidently. Here again is a pleasant piece of chaff addressed to the same young lady, on 'having nothing to say' in a letter:—

'As your correspondence increases, my dear girl, you will find that this having nothing to say, and being obliged to say it, will be one of the great and incipient stumbling blocks of your literary life. Nothing, in fact, is so difficult to express—that is, with any degree of propriety—as nothing; and when once you have attained a proficiency in this, your education may be considered to be to a certain extent completed. Till then many people may think, and may assure you, that you know nothing, but do not believe them. You may know, and I dare say do, very little; but to be thoroughly acquainted with nothing requires not only a great deficiency of talent far below the common run of intellect, but also a want of application which, though it is possible you may possess it in a very considerable degree, I have never yet seen in you to the extent absolutely requisite.'

So easy and regular was the course of Barham's life, that there is really nothing to say about it. As landowner, Canon of St. Paul's, parson of a City church, he moved pleasantly in society, and had only to encounter life's inevitable troubles. We remember him in our hot youth, at the long-extinct Chapter Coffee-house in St. Paul's churchyard, whose landlord bore the appropriate name of Faithful, improvising marvellous verses over a glass of antique port. Perhaps his life was almost too facile; perhaps men of serious temperament would regard such productions as the 'Ingoldsby Legends' as things intolerable: but Barham had his mission, depend on it, and if you go to a 'Penny Reading' in the country any winter evening, the chances are that you will get selections from 'Pickwick' or from 'Ingoldsby,' whatever else may greet your ear. Everybody knows Sam Weller and Tiger Tim—both typical man-servants:—

Everybody also recollects that rascally 'Jackdaw of Rheims'—related, doubtless, to the graculus superbus of Phaedrus—who stole the Cardinal's ring just as his Latin predecessor stole the peacock's feathers. There is no reductio ad absurdum extant equal to this whimsical legend. Excommunication, which was slightly damaged in value by the curse of Ernulphus, came to a ridiculous end when the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims tonitrated his worst maledictions at a thievish jackdaw. 'Maledictus sit vivendo, moriendo, manducando, bibendo, esuriendo, sitiendo, jejunando, dormitando, dormiendo, vigilando, ambulando, stando, sedendo, jacendo, operando, quiescendo,' &c., &c.

When after awhile the mystery was out— when the poor little comminated jackdaw presented himself in a sad state, so that of the cathedral officers, sacristans, and vergers, and the like, it is recorded,

the absurdity reached its climax. For our own part, though these humours are not of the highest or deepest order, we laugh at them. Life has its follies; Shakspeare had his clowns. In the old forgotten coaching days, there was wonderful humour at the wayside inns. Sam Weller was possible then: a railway porter has no time to be humorous. Of the Ingoldsby humour, as practised by Barham himself, there is this to be said: it was always harmless, and it was directed against absurdity and nonsense. Ingoldsby has had disciples, who have not disgraced their master, yet who have never quite equalled him in certain peculiar points. There is Hood's admirable story of 'Miss Killmannsegg,' wherein, if we remember aright, he depicts certain folks as—

There is Praed's 'Red Fisherman:'—

Then, again, there is Browning's 'Pied Piper of Hamelin,' a rare old story rarely versified:—

There is vast difference between the three writers; the courtly epigram of Praed, and the scholarly variety of Browning, differ widely from the style of the master whom they imitate. But it is a high testimony to the literary value of what we may call the Ingoldsby method, that men so original and so desperate have tried their hands at it. A glance at the 'Bentley Ballads' shows that the same thing has been done by a great number of very different men; Sheehan and Creasy, Maginn and Mahony, Sam Lover the versatile, whom we remember delighting us with improvisations at Barnes-terrace just above the Thames, Tom Ingoldsby's son who follows his father with filial felicity, have done excellently well in this style of spirit and humour.

Indeed, to succeed in it to a certain degree, demands only abundance of animal spirits and a capacity for rhythm and rhyme. But it is clear that Barham had more than this. What, indeed, makes him perfect and absolute master of his craft, is his power of invariably catching the whimsical aspects, the humorous sides, of an event. Hood was too fond of a pun, Praed was too fine a gentleman, Browning is too subtle and curious, to attain the precise humour of Ingoldsby. Wherever we open the 'Legends' we find the frolicsome fancy of their author fresh and facile. Take the description of Winifred and David Pryce, in 'Look at the Clock!' It is a picture easily realized in the Principality:—

Now in this there is absolutely nothing that will bear analysis; it is the laughing spirit of the man that carries you on, amusing you in spite of yourself, in spite of your decided feeling that really there is nothing to laugh at. But, somehow, what with the ready jingle of the rhyme, and the perfect good humour of the ridicule, amused you are.

Barham's loudest fun was generated when he had to deal with obsolete and obsolescent superstitions. He loved to laugh at the vulgar idea of the Devil—the fiend with horns, tail, and hoofs, whom Cuvier ruthlessly dismissed as 'a graminivorous animal.' Thus, in the 'Lay of Saint Cuthbert,' we find him describing a group of demons at dinner:—

and so on ad libitum. Again, in the 'Lay of Saint Abelard,' he gives us 'Old Nick' defeated by a saintly personage. It was—

Demons and saints were the favourite themes of Tom Ingoldsby's laughter; he jeered alike the Romish miracle-monger and the anthropomorphic fiend. A volume might be written on the way in which the popular and vulgar idea of the devil has gradually arisen. It is clear from 'Paradise Lost,' that Milton favored the mediæval notion that the Pagan divinities were really fiends; and it can scarcely be doubted that the hirsute Pan gave the first sitting for that portrait of the devil which Coleridge completed, when he wrote

At such matters we can smile contemptuously; but in earlier centuries, when the Pagan superstition had still some vitality left in it, it was a serious matter to the Christian convert. Pan might meet him at the corner of a lonely woodland, and strike him with a panic dread. Worse than all he might be allured by the terrible enticements of Venus. To this day, Friday has a tradition of ill-luck, because it is dies veneris—vendredi. That the goddess of evil pleasure still came among men as a female fiend was a firm belief of the Middle Ages. Hence have we the legend of the Venusberg, chosen as a theme by more than one living poet, the version we prefer being unquestionably Lord Houghton's; hence also that of the betrothal ring inadvertently placed by a bridegroom on the finger of a statue of Venus, which finger, on his return, he finds bent, and the ring irremovable. This latter story is told with prosaic prolixity in the final volume of Mr. Morris's 'Earthly Paradise.' It must be remembered that the change from Paganism to Christianity was often effected in curious ways; that the worship of Apollo, the sun-god, was, by a play upon words, diverted to Elias the prophet; that temples of Venus were, as a rule, dedicated to the Virgin. Probably that worship of the Virgin Mary to which Romanists cling so fondly originated in a weak desire to satisfy proselytes by giving them one goddess in exchange for another. Any way, the belief in Venus endured so long that, in 1614, in the good city of Frankfort, a learned lawyer named Kornman, published a work called 'Mons Veneris,' which dealt with the legends about her as if they were based on fact. Of such legends let us name one only; an English story, told by William of Newbury. In the reign of Henry I., a peasant passed at midnight, near a hill, not far from the town of Burlington. To his amazement, he heard sounds of revelry therefrom, and saw a door open in the hillside, and, entering, beheld a vast chamber, where men and women held high festival. A cup was handed him, full of some liquid, which doubtless would have the effect of Circe's magic wine: with singular presence of mind, our peasant threw away the wine, and ran off with the cup. All the rabble rout of Venus pursued him, but the swift-footed ploughman brought his prize safely to Burlington. Somebody (probably the mayor, who should have been knighted for it) sent the cup to the King, and the King made it a present to the Queen of King David of Scotland; but King William of Scotland returned it to Henry II. of England. Whether it is still among the royal plate is a point to be determined by 'Notes and Queries.'

The growth of letters and of science changes all this; just as Venus vanished a few centuries ago, Old Bogy also—the foe of our infancy—has vanished from modern nurseries, nor do very many children of elder growth believe in an archdemon of the graminivorous type. Hence the fun of 'Ingoldsby' that ridiculed superstition of this sort is likely to lose its interest in time. We fear, however, that his laughing caricature of Romish absurdities—as in 'The Jackdaw of Rheims'—will scarcely lose its point at present. The Pope may be reduced to 'the Vatican, and a garden,' but the Papal superstition still clings closely to multitudes of men, especially of the Celtic race. That race, as M. John Lemoinne has just said of his French kindred, is feminine, and seems unable to accept a manly religion.

The 'Ingoldsby Legends' are peculiarly adapted to the palate of youth. They make fun out of trifles and vulgarities. One can hardly understand a man of high culture caring much about them after forty. Then the humour of Shakspeare's clowns, of Cervantes, and Sterne, and Elia, becomes more enjoyable than the 'Ingoldsby Legends' or the 'Pickwick Papers.' Then you prefer Autolycus to Sam Weller. The strong point of Ingoldsby is his gay high-spirited boyishness; but this quality is only attractive under certain conditions. It may, perhaps, be roughly stated that a man will care to read Ingoldsby so long as he cares to play cricket. It is, in fact, the eager buoyancy and rather perspiring fun of the cricket-field which one finds in the rollicking strophes of the 'Legends.' When their writer knocks over a saint or a demon as if he were a wicket, you almost expect to hear the shout of, 'How's that, umpire?' Indeed, the book is a loud book, scarcely to be tolerated, one might think, in a quiet library. Yet was its author a quiet haunter of libraries, and we find in one of his letters how he received in one a royal visitor:—

'What think you of a visit from, and confabulation with, the Queen of the Belgians. On Saturday, I was in the library at St. Paul's, my custom always in an afternoon, with a book-binder's 'prentice and a printer's devil, looking out fifty dilapidated folios for rebinding. I had on a coat which, from a foolish prejudice in the multitude against patched elbows, I wear nowhere else, my hands and face encrusted with the dust of years, and wanting only the shovel—I had the brush—to sit for the portrait of a respectable master chimney sweeper, when the door opened, and in walked the Cap of Maintenance, bearing the sword of, and followed by, the Lord Mayor in full fig, with the prettiest and liveliest little Frenchwoman leaning on his arm. Nobody could get at the lions but myself. I was fairly in for it, and was thus presented in the most recherché, if not the most expensive, court-dress that I will venture to say the eyes of royalty were ever greeted withal. Heureusement pour moi, she spoke excellent English, however, and rattled on with a succession of questions which I answered as best I might. They were sensible, however, showed some acquaintance with literature, and a very good knowledge of dates.'

Her lively Majesty might have been felicitated on finding Tom Ingoldsby as a guide to the library of the great cathedral. But to return to the 'Legends.' Besides their extreme boyishness, their redundancy of pulsation, there is a deficiency in them which must prevent their becoming classic. They are devoid of poetry. Master of the grotesque as he was, Barham had no mastery of the picturesque. Keen to see and seize the humorous aspects of affairs, he had none of that deeper humour which creates character. A real poet who had written some fifty or more eccentric legends, could not have helped inventing or describing certain individual characters in the course of his work. He must have done it unconsciously, must have done it if even he had tried to avoid it. There are two tests on the very surface of the true poet. If he describes a scene, you see it; if he describes a man, you know him. Barham's grotesque descriptions are often remarkable; indeed, his legends somewhat remind us of the hideous gurgoyles of old churches, wherein tradition sayeth the old ecclesiastic architects depicted their enemies, making of them waterspouts, that during rain they might seem to vomit. The men who carved those gurgoyles could not have sculptured an Apollo; and of Barham it may be said that, though he wrote laughable stories with supreme felicity, he never produced a line of poetry. He appears, indeed, to have regarded only the surface of life. There is nothing in his published works to show that he had an original idea, or that he cared about ideas. Of course, having given us the 'Ingoldsby Legends'—a piece of work absolutely unique, and quite unlikely to meet with a readable rival—he will be forgiven if he had a contempt for ideas; but one feels some desire to know whether such fertility of fun was not the upper stratum of something stronger and finer. Tom Hood's fun, for example, grows out of his profound melancholy, as under Etna's laughing vines the volcanic fire is sleeping. Shakspeare's fun grows out of his masterful knowledge of the world, of men, of women. In a play of his you seem in some city of chivalry and romance, where the great knight passes to deeds of high emprise, and the lovely lady smiles on him from her balcony, and the troubadour sings of 'the Lord of Oc and No;' and all the while you hear the chaffer of the market-place, the chatter of street gossips, the insignificant laughter of loitering louts. Fun that has no root in something deeper seems morbid and hysterical; and we cannot help believing that there was more in Barham than his writings reveal, than his most intimate friends knew, than perhaps he knew or even guessed himself.

Dr. Maginn, a man like yet unlike Tom Ingoldsby, wrote these four lines—part of a poem which we have no means of obtaining:—

Maginn had, if we may judge from appearances, higher poetic instincts than Barham; his 'Homeric Ballads' are a very remarkable contribution to the literature of Homeric translation; but he unwisely expended himself upon periodical writing, and has left nothing behind him worthy of his powers. It is, we think, a subject for congratulation, that the cheap magazines of the day are so anxious to please the populace, that a first-rate writer has absolutely no chance with them, and is obliged to do work worthier of him. The shilling magazine has to suit the taste of the railway reader, who wants to be amused during the hour in which Great Western or Great Northern accepts him as a parcel to be delivered at a friend's house by dinner-time. How this is done we need not say, as anybody who likes to expend a shilling can judge for himself; but it is so done as to render it absurd for men of the calibre of Barham and Maginn to write for the majority of these magazines. This we take to be an advantage. Such men are obliged to work harder—and better.

Another instance of a man with something nobler in him and better than he ever gave the world, or even his friends, is Theodore Hook. Until his private diary came into the hands of those who knew him best, they had no knowledge of the depths of passionate remorse for a wasted life which lay beneath the too brilliant surface of his character. 'In every page,' wrote Lockhart,

'We trace the disastrous influence of both the grand original errors perpetually crossing and blackening the picture of superficial gaiety—indications, not to be mistaken, of a conscience ill at ease; of painful recollections and dark anticipations rising irrepressibly, not to be commanded down; of good, gentle, generous feelings, converted by stings and dartings of remorse into agonies of torture. If we were to choose a motto for this long line of volumes, it would be a maxim so familiar to himself, that it is repeated over and over in his tales of fiction—hardly omitted in any one of them—"Wrong never comes right."'

Theodore Hook laboured under the double disadvantage of an irremovable load of debt, and of an illicit connection which effectually prevented his marrying a woman who might have directed his marvellous powers into their true channel. The consequence was that he lived a false factitious life; worked terribly hard to produce income necessary for him to meet wealthy peers on apparently equal terms; was always pestered by money-lenders; yet all the while his daring spirit maintained an external gaiety unquenchable. At the very time when his spirit seemed highest, when his wit was memorably brilliant, when at club or country house he was amazing every one by his victorious vivacity, there occur in his diary entries that show a broken spirit, a wounded heart, an infinite regret for the past and despair of the future. Such was the inner condition of a man whose conversation had such unique sparkle, that men dined at the Athenæum for the chance of being allowed to draw their chairs to his little table in a favourite corner (Temperance Corner) after dinner—so that the diners at that club fell off more than 300 a year after his disappearance from his wonted seat.

It is unfortunate that the early career of men of letters is often turned awry by the well-meant interference of their relations. A boy of genius, who happens to appear in the midst of a steady, stolid, respectable family, is usually regarded as a 'black sheep.' They try to make him work in some regular groove, and, of course, he fails. If they are very determined, he quarrels with them, and then, too often, he runs headlong into debt, or love, or both, and burdens himself in such a way that he has to toil for freedom through the best years of his life, and possibly never emancipates himself. Of course, it is always hard to say whether the young gentleman is right who fancies himself a genius. Dr. Holmes, in his latest novel, has a capital sketch of a young poetaster who 'eventuates' behind the counter of a store. Such youths require Darwinian compression; but there are just a few of higher mould, with the irrepressible vocation for pen and ink which nothing can cure, who would do better if some way could be devised to give them a chance in literature. Perhaps when the school boards have leisure to consider the subject, they will try to discover a way of developing those latent powers, mathematical as well as poetical, which often exist in regions wholly unexpected. Inspectors of schools might be directed, after they have registered the triumphs of the clever boys, to investigate the habits of the stupid ones. A great poet or mathematician is almost certain to seem stupid in his boyhood.

It may appear that we have tried the 'Ingoldsby Legends' by too high a test; and, indeed, it is a very unpretentious production. Its originator was wholly modest, and did not dream of placing himself in the foremost seats of the literary amphitheatre. He knew the true value of his invention. It is designed for those who would rather laugh than think. It may amuse children at any rate, and there are certain fortunate folk who, to the end of their lives, can be children now and then—can listen to merry rhyming, can believe for the moment that in Fairyland there are mock turtles and March hares, that the dogs there have no ears because the dog's ears have been used up on the little boys' Latin grammars, and the sheep no eyes because the little girls have used up all their sheep's eyes in looking at their sweethearts; can imagine that in Ghostland one may dine comfortably with one's doppelganger. There are times—'weird winter nights,' as Shelley calls them, warmed with merriment, and joyous summer days in which the nightingale seems ebrious with ozone—when there is a necessity for nonsense of one sort or another. It is this necessity which Ingoldsby and his followers supply. Possibly some good is effected by the fact that the occupants of lofty positions have deigned to play with these toys; that the occupants of deaneries and canonries (ecclesiastic port-wineries, if we may venture to coin a phrase) have found in such matters Attic salt for their filberts.