Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats,
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.'
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:—
'Winifred Pryce was tidy and clean,