ries not reverenced even by the Church that
developed them, were legitimate material for any use he could make of
them; he felt that in dressing them up with his wit and fancy he was
harming nothing that existed, nor making any one look lightly on the
religion of Christ or the Church of Christ: and that they were the
property of an opposing church body was a happy thought to set his
conscience at rest. He wrote them thenceforth with greater peace of mind
and added satisfaction, and no doubt really believed that he was doing
good in the way he alleged. And if the excuse gave to the world even one
more of the inimitable 'Legends,' it was worth feeling and making.

Barham's nature was not one which felt the problems and tragedies of the
world deeply. He grieved for his friends, he helped the distresses he
saw, but his imagination rested closely in the concrete. He was
incapable of _weltschmerz_; even for things just beyond his personal
ken he had little vision or fancy. His treatment of the perpetual
problem of sex-temptations and lapses is a good example: he never seems
to be conscious of the tragedy they envelop. To him they are always good
jokes, to wink over or smile at or be indulgent to. No one would ever
guess from 'Ingoldsby' the truth he finds even in 'Don Juan,' that

"A heavy price must all pay who thus err,
In some shape."

But we cannot have everything: if Barham had been sensitive to the
tragic side of life, he could not have been the incomparable fun-maker
he was. We do not go to the 'Ingoldsby Legends' to solace our souls when
hurt or remorseful, to brace ourselves for duty, or to feel ourselves
nobler by contact with the expression of nobility. But there must be
play and rest for the senses, as well as work and aspiration; and there
are worse services than relieving the strain of serious endeavor by
enabling us to become jolly pagans once again for a little space, and
care naught for the morrow.

AS I LAYE A-THYNKYNGE

THE LAST LINES OF BARHAM

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the spraye;
There came a noble Knighte,
With his hauberke shynynge brighte,
And his gallant heart was lyghte,
Free and gaye;
As I laye a-thynkynge, he rode upon his waye.

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the tree