will have to go right to the other end of the village, in search of the individual who combines the offices of sexton and parish clerk, and when he has found him he will be rejoiced to find a character in which Tom Ingoldsby's self would have delighted. This Democritus, junior, or laughing philosopher will possibly inform the tourist, as he informed the writer, that he is the best doctor in the village, because he made people laugh, and will certainly amuse him, and earn his shilling more worthily than some of the lanternjawed individuals, who, for inscrutable. reasons, are generally selected as custodians of village churches. Yet he seems lamentably ignorant of the legend which gives his church its chief interest, and in no way resembles "the respectable elderly lady" (perhaps a fiction of Barham's vivid imagination) who " as she showed the monument, failed not to read her auditors a fine moral lesson on the sin of ingratitude, or to claim a sympathizing tear to the memory of poor Grey Dolphin.

The fine tomb of Sir Robert de Shurland is on the south wall of the church, and is, considering its age, in very fair preservation. "His hands," again to quote the biographer who has made his name and story household words, "are are clasped in prayer; his legs, crossed in that position so prized by Templars in ancient, and tailors in modern days, bespeak him a soldier of the faith in Palestine." At his feet lies a little foot page, with a dirk in his hand, who has received no mention in the famous legend, but whose appearance must be much the same as that of the little foot page commemorated in the "Ingoldsby Penance;" by his side is represented the famous sword, which the Baron called Tickletoby, and "close behind his dexter calf lies sculptured in bold relief a horse's head" surrounded by a sort of wavy fringe, which imagination may convert into an imitation of the waves of the sea. This then is the head of poor Grey Dolphin, the horse, who by his swimming won his master's pardon, and who was so ill requited for his gallant effort. Readers of the Ingoldsby Legends" will always be lieve that this must be Grey Dolphin, and will reject with scorn the matter

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of-fact explanation of the antiquarians, that in reality the horse's head only signifies that Sir Robert de Shurland had received a grant of the "wreck of the sea'' for his manor, and was entitled to everything he could touch with the point of his lance after riding into the sea at low water as far as possible. Happily the author of Murray's Guide to Kent'' admits that this explanation is by no means satisfactory, and we may believe in Grey Dolphin, without being assured that his existence is purely a myth.

But the tomb of Sir Robert de Shurland is not the only thing worth visiting the church of Minster for; and the pilgrim to the church consecrated to Grey Dolphin by Thomas Ingoldsby will not fail to notice many other objects of interest. Foremost among these are the brasses of Sir John de Northwode and his wife, Joan de Badlesmere. Readers of the Legend will remember that John de Northwode was the name of the sheriff who led the posse comitatus of the county of Kent to attack the castle of Shurland at the command of St. Austin, in order to punish the baron for the murder of the friar. He will remember too how, when the doughty little baron sallied forth with Tickletoby, John de Northwode fled away with William of Hever, and Roger of Leybourne; and here he will see the brass of the identical John de Northwode. This brass has a curious interest of its own. Haines in his

Monumental Brasses" says that the knight's effigy "has undergone a peculiar Procrustean process, several inches having been removed from the centre of the figure to make it equal in length to that of his wife. The legs have been restored and crossed at the ankles, an attitude apparently not contemplated by the original designer. From the style of engraving these alterations seem to have been made at the close of the 15th century. Unfortunately the modern craze for interfering with and improving (Heaven save the mark !) the works of antiquity has not left this curious brass alone. It has been restored, and a piece let in in order to make it symmetrical, with the result that the brass of the good sheriff and knight is now several inches

longer than that of his wife, and is made ridiculous by a bright patch of modern work in the midst of the engraving of the 14th century. Why is it that such curiosities cannot be left alone, and that people will meddle with things that do not concern them? Perhaps the rage for restoration will next touch the tomb of Robert de Shurland himself, and interfere with the effigy of Grey Dolphin. It is a pity that instead of meddling with the brasses, more care was not taken of the old oak rood-screen, part of which, according to the Democritus of a parish clerk, was used by a bygone vicar for firewood! A curious chapel on the north side of the chancel, now used as a vestry, and containing a magnificent old oak chest of the 14th century, still possesses a bell, used, according once again to our laughing friend, to call the nuns of the convent to church, but more likely, in reality, to summon the village children to school, for the parish school used to be held in this chapel, before the days of School Boards. Some of the old pews are also worth looking at, as well as the carillon keyboard, which, however, is not much used now; and then the inspection of the church of Minster-in-Sheppey is over. From Minster the visitor will do well to walk a couple of miles further to Eastchurch, in order to have a glimpse of Shurland farm-house, which stands upon the side of Shurland Castle, the stronghold of the Baron. Mr. BarMr. Bar ham, with that extraordinary skill he possessed of weaving all his legends into some connection with his imaginary house of Ingoldsby, says that Margaret Shurland in due course became Margaret Ingoldsby: her portrait still hangs in the gallery at Tappington. The features are handsome, but shrewish; but we never could learn that she actually kicked her husband." As a fact, Margaret Shurland, the daughter and heiress of the Baron, married William Cheyney, and her descendant, Sir Thomas Cheyney, Warden of Warden of the Cinque Ports, whose tomb is in Minster Church, built the present house of Shurland, on the site of the ancient baronial castle. Only part of this beautiful Elizabethan edifice, which is now turned into a farm-house, remains, but

the gate and gate towers still remain to perpetuate the name of Shurland, and the taste and wealth of the Baron's descendants. Not far from Shurland lies the village of Eastchurch, which possesses a fine parish church, in the perpendicular style, which has unfortunately been so very much restored that no trace of antiquity is to be discerned about it by the ordinary traveller. The most interesting thing in it is a fine Jacobean tomb of Gabriel Livesey and his wife, whose son, Sir Michael Livesey, sat in the Long Parliament as M. P. for the borough of Queenborough, and signed the death warrant of Charles I. From Eastchurch an easy walk brings the wanderer back to Sheerness, not regretting his pilgrimage to the tomb of Grey Dolphin.

It has been worth while to describe Minster at this length, because the Isle of Sheppey is very little known to the tourist, though well worth visiting, and the recollection of Mr. Barham's most delightful prose legend might be an incentive to many people who like to travel with an object; but other and better known spots in Kent are also chosen by him as the sites of some of his even more famous poetical legends. One of the most interesting of these places is Reculvers, of which the towers of the dismantled church can be seen from the railway after passing Herne Bay Station. Few places in Kent have a more interesting history. In Roman days it was the site of au ancient camp or fortress, which guarded the north mouth of the Wansum, then a broad band of sea, making the Isle of Thanet a veritable island, as Richborough, the ancient Rutupiæ, guarded the southern outlet. From Regulbium, its old Roman name was converted by the Saxons of Kent into Raculf Ceastre, and it was thither that King Ethelbert, the Saxon King of Kent, retired after his baptism by St. Augustine. Apart from history, the place has an interest from the ravages of the sea, which has advanced there with much rapidity, and used to lay bare the bones of the buried dead in the churchyard. The twin towers, known as the " Sisters, have been made familiar by pictures of every sort, and the ruined church on the edge of

the cliff is as well known as any spot in Kent. The old church itself was needlessly demolished at the beginning of the present century, on account of the encroachments of the sea; but the twin towers still stand, and with the dismantled church are protected by an embankment built by the Trinity House. The towers still act as beacons and landmarks to all travellers by sea in those waters, and it may be still remembered by some who sail that way that it was the ancient custom for all mariners to doff their hats and offer a prayer to Our Lady of Reculvers, as they looked upon the twin towers. It was regarded as a good omen if the towers were clearly seen on an outward voyage from the Thames, and as a certain presage of coming evil if perchance they were concealed by fog.

The best known legend relating to them is that commemorated in their name of the "Twin Sisters. The story goes that the Abbess of the Benedictine Convent at Davington, near Faversham, was sailing to fulfil a vow made to Our Lady of Broadstairs at her chapel there, when a storm came on and the boat was wrecked. She herself was saved, but her sister was drowned; and in gratitude for her own preservation, and in memory of her sister's fate, she erected the twin towers to serve as a landmark. This is not the legend which Mr. Barham adopted; he preferred to give a more amusing interpretation of the significance of the two towers, and he gave it in his "Brothers of Birchington."

The adjacent village has grown into a sort of poets' and artists' home by the sea; the Birchington bungalows are now well known, and the whole place is sacred to the memory of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, who made it his home and died there. All lovers of Ingoldsby know the import of the legend, the description of the two brothers, the scandalous goings-on of Robert de Birchington, and the exemplary behavior of Richard, Old Nick's mistake, and the fortunate intervention of St. Thomas à Becket.

men.

Mr. Barham seems to have always had an especial fondness for Herne Bay and its neighborhood; it was to Herne Bay that he went when almost broken down with grief at the fearfully sudden death of his second son from cholera, and his knowledge of all the villages in the neighborhood is shown in that inimitable ballad the "Smuggler's Leap." Herne, Sturry, Grove Ferry, St. Nicholas (better known as St. Nicholas-at-Wade), Chislett, Upstreet and Sarre are all Kentish villages; and those who are fond of a country ride cannot do better than follow the course of Smuggler Bill or his companions, though they will have no Exciseman Gill at their horses' heels. It is curious with what felicity Mr. Barham selected the site for the last exploit of Smuggler Bill, for the bay between Swale-cliff and Reculvers was one of the chief resorts for smugglers in the whole county of Kent; the glen, or chine, as it would be termed in some parts of England, called Bishopsbourne, half way between Herne Bay and Reculvers, was particularly famous for them; and the last man killed in a smuggling affray in this part of England lost his life where the modern watering-place of Herne Bay stands, at a spot corresponding nearly with the end of William-street.

To describe every place in Kent to which the "Ingoldsby Legends" have given an added interest is not so much the purpose of this article as to touch upon some of the less well-known spots

which are mentioned in them.

It can

not be said that Margate jetty derives any lustre from being associated with the "misadventure" of Mr. Simpkinson with the little vulgar boy, or that a visit to Dover would be of any use in trying to understand and enjoy the witty Lay of the Old Woman clothed in Grey," which is entitled "A Legend of Dover." But a knowledge of the Wizard of Folkestone will serve to give an interest to the pleasant walk from Folkestone to Westenhanger, though it is difficult from the present fashionable watering-place to build up a picture of the old town two centuries ago, which is so graphically described in that wellknown legend in prose. Yet there is one city, the capital of Kent, indeed, the beautiful old Cathedral city of Canterbury, which Mr. Barham seems to have loved especially, and which is the scene of two of his most popular poetical legends, "The Ghost, "The Ghost," and Nell Cook." The first of these poems tells the story of Nick Mason, the cobbler, and his wife, the visit of the Ghost to the former and its kindness in pointing out the iron ring of a trap-door in Canterbury Castle, and Nick's attempt to mark the spot by driving his awl into the place, and concludes"And still he listens with averted eye,

When gibing neighbors make "the Ghost" their theme ;

While ever from that hour they all declare That Mrs. Mason used a cushion in her

chair."

This poem is written in "Don Juan" metre, and never, it may be confidently asserted, have the peculiar tricks and nuances of Byron's versification been better caught. The couple of stanzas in which Mr. Barham describes the Castle are worth quoting, both from their wit and humor, and from the truth of the description, for the gasworks still exist there, more shame to the citizens of the Cathedral city :"The castle was a huge and antique mound,

Proof against all th' artillery of the quiver, Ere those abominable guns were found, To send cold lead through gallant warrior's liver.

It stands upon a gently rising ground, Sloping down gradually to the river, Resembling (to compare great things with smaller)

A well scoop'd, mouldy Stilton cheese-but taller.

Still better known is the poem of "Nell Cook, a Legend of the Dark Entry, and all lovers of the "Ingoldsby Legends" will assuredly wander round the Precincts and see the dark passage, where the jealous Nelly Cook was buried alive, and where her spirit is reported to walk. All visitors to Canterbury go to the Cathedral, and

are shown over the choir and other reserved parts of the ancient building by the highly respectable vergers with the regular monotonous tale. All Chapters are not so kindly as those of Wells, and at Canterbury the traveller has to submit to the lecture of the showman, and is not allowed to look at things by himself, but is obliged to be shown round with a party. Fortunately he may wander as he lists in the Precincts, and if he remembers his "Nell Cook" will soon find his way round to the north side of the Cathedral, and loiter into the Dark Entry sacred to the "manes" of Nell. The entry is no longer "dark," however, for the arches. have been opened, but the passage is still damp and bears an impress of mystery upon it. From it can be seen some of the Canons' houses, and it is easy to imagine the person of Nell Cook's clerical employer.

"The Canon was a portly man-of Latin and of Greek

And learned lore he had good store-yet health was on his cheek.

The Priory fare was scant and spare, the bread was made of rye,

The beer was weak, yet he was sleek-he had a merry eye.'

The rest of the story is well known to all lovers of the " Ingoldsby Legends," down to the fate of the unfortunate souls who had chanced to meet Nell Cook's sprite on a Friday night : "No matter who-no matter what condition, age or sex,

But

some get shot,' and some 'get drown'd,' and some 'get' broken necks;

Some get run over' by a coach ;-and one beyond the seas 'Got' scraped to death with oyster shells among the Caribbees !"

Whatever their fates might have been, we have no fear of Nell Cook in this unsuperstitious age; but all the same we feel grateful to the genial humorist who has given us the incentive to wander round Canterbury Cathedral and pause awhile in the Dark Entry.

Gratitude is essentially the feeling which every one who loves the "Ingoldsby Legends" feels toward the author of those charming stories in prose and verse. Never has there lived an English humorist whose kindly wit grows more firmly in the hearts of those who know his works well; and, if popularity be a criterion of merit, no author ranks more highly among the writers of the present century. If one thinks of the wits and humorists of

Barham's time, it is easy to see that none of his generation has such an enduring and increasing popularity at the present time. Who now reads the novels of Theodore Hook? how many read anything by Maginn or Father Prout? and yet in their time these men had as high if not higher reputations than Mr. Barham. The Ingoldsby Legends" have become classic, and it may safely be asserted that they will remain so; and wherever the English language is spoken, it may be taken as a fact that the works of Barham are known and loved. If so, enduring interest will always attach to the places of which he wrote; and Canterbury, Reculvers, and above all Minster-inSheppey, will be classic ground to the lovers of Thomas Ingoldsby, and many a pilgrimage will in future days be made to the tomb of Grey Dolphin.Temple Bar.

THE firm of Merriman and Streake, Publishers, had sustained certain reverses. It was agreed that they had grave ground of complaint against Mr. Soames, not because of the failure of his graceful old-fashioned novel which they had good-humoredly published, but because, albeit the oldest reader in their employ, he had dissuaded them from accepting the two most successful novels of the past year. So the day came when he was formally confronted with the proofs of his inadequacy. The junior partner quoted the rapidly succeeding editions and record-breaking sales of the books his unwisdom had lost to the firm. But the culprit was unimpressed. "I have saved Merriman and Streake," he said, "from the disgrace of seeing their stamp on these vulgar inanities-and I deserve their thanks."

Mr. Streake's rejoinder was to point to a rival firm's book list in The Pall Mall of that afternoon. Under the

announcement of the third edition of the last book, was a brilliant array of Press opinions. A good many people think differently, observed the junior partner. Of course, "said the old reader, "there will always be people who mistake indecency for power, and more who don't know the difference between impertinence and genius," and he gazed vindictively at the MS. he had laid down on the table some minutes before.

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Mr. Streake stroked his mustache. As I've ventured to point out," he said slowly, "we don't publish books solely to raise the literary standard." "No," said the reader stonily, "I keep that in mind." He laid down his report on the last MS. and abruptly took his departure. Mr. Streake unfolded the paper reflectively. "Very much like the report he made on Phryne's Hour," he thought to himself as he glanced down the brief condemnation. "We'll send that MS. to the new reader and see what he makes of it," he said later to Mr. Merriman.