sally forth to dine at the 'Cock' (where, by-the-bye, I have often looked in vain for that famous waiter whom Tennyson has immortalised), or the 'Mitre,' or the 'Cheshire Cheese,' or the 'Rainbow,' or at some other of those ancient taverns with which Fleet Street has abounded from time immemorial. Right opposite to the Temple gateway, too, is the famous Prossers,' where at two o'clock on any day. the junior bar of England may be observed engaged in the delightful occupation of lunching. Upon the whole, notwithstanding the drawbacks of the 'dinner question,' and some other disagreeables, I am disposed to think that living in chambers in the Temple is, by a bachelor, to be in every way preferred to living in lodgings. Bad as a Temple laundress may be, she is in every respect to be preferred-so far as my own experience has goneto a lodging-house 'slavey.' Unquestionably, as Mr. Thackeray observes, 'those venerable Inns which have the Lamb and Flag and the Winged Horse for their ensigns, have attractions for persons who inhabit them, and a share of rough comforts and freedom which men always remember with pleasure.' As I transcribed the above passage from 'Pendennis,' the casual mention therein of the Lamb and Flag and the Winged Horse, which are the arms of the two societies of the Temple, recalled

to my mind the witty lines which some

one

unknown to fame, composed upon those emblems:

As by the Templars' haunts you go,

The Horse and Lamb displayed
In emblematic figures shew

The merits of their trade!

That clients may infer from thence
How just is their profession-
The lamb sets forth their innocence,
The horse their expedition!

'O happy Britain, happy isle!'

Let foreign nations say,

'Where you get justice without guile,

And law without delay!'

Some one- also, I regret to say, unknown to fame-upon reading these lines, at once 'capped' them by the following jeu d'esprit :

Deluded men their holds forego,

Nor trust such cunning elves!
These artful emblems tend to shew
Their clients-not themselves!

'Tis all a trick-these all are shams,

By which they mean to cheat you!
But have a care, for you're the lambs,
And they-the wolves that eat you!

Nor let the thought of no delay,

To these their courts misguide you !
For you're the showy horse, and they-
The jockeys that will ride you!

No article which professes to treat upon life in the Temple could possibly be deemed complete

unless a few words in it were devoted to the numerous race of barristers' clerks who are to be found within the precincts of the Temple. Of no class of men, assuredly, is the saying more true that there are clerks and clerks.' Barristers' clerks are to be found who are grave and portly men, fathers of families, and heads of society in districts like Islington and Walworth. These are men who render valuable and well-remunerated services to eminent Q.C.'s, and who, if their masters should chance to be elevated to the judicial bench, drop forthwith into the snug position of a 'judge's clerk,' with a salary of 600l. a year.

There are also barristers' clerks to be found who, though termed clerks, are really errand-boys. These are lads of from twelve to fourteen years of age, who add to the impudence of boyhood the freedom of manhood, and who attach themselves ordinarily to the fortunes of some junior barrister who lives in chambers upon the third or fourth floor. These lads may be seen in the Temple at all hours of the day, lounging in the absence of their masters so very far out of top-storey windows, as to suggest horrible thoughts of the probability of their coming to grief upon the pavement below. They pass their unoccupied time in reading blood-and-thunder novels of the worst class, and in holding mortal

conflicts with other boys of their own age, who are employed in similar capacities in the same house. These are the young gentlemen who, if you tell them to remain strictly in chambers during your unavoidable absence, whilst you are calling upon a friend, straightway, the moment your back is turned, affix a notice upon your outer door: 'Mr. Idle at Westminster; will return at five; clerk gone out, but will return at 1.45 precisely;' and forthwith depart upon a round of visits to their friends. Some excuse undoubtedly must be made for these lads. Shut up all day in a back-room, with nothing to do except to open the door to their master's callers, or to clean his boots, or to run out into Fleet Street to buy him some tobacco or an evening paper, their life is so dull and monotonous, that I have often wondered how they contrive to bear up under it. Did not most of them enjoy, to the full, that enviable power of 'turning to mirth all things of earth as only boyhood can,' I am disposed to think that Bethlehem or St. Luke's would speedily claim them as inmates.

The manner in which the evening hours are spent by the residents in the Temple is of course very various. Some men read hard, some men write hard, some men smoke hard; others speak nearly every night at some of those numerous

debating societies which abound in the neighbourhood of Fleet Street; whilst another class sit down to a quiet rubber at whist in their own rooms with three or four friends, who share their liking for that game. Some quiet men, again, spend their evenings in having an enjoyable chat over a pipe and glass of grog with another man of their own tastes. Four times a year the serene calm which generally broods over the Temple in the evening hours, is broken by the noisy 'call parties' which, upon the occasion of his call to the bar, each man gives to his friends. At these gatherings a good deal of indifferent wine is drunk, a number of bad speeches are made, and usually. some good songs are sung. Only last evening, 'night was made hideous' to me by the boisterous shouting which came from a call party which was being held on the other side of Flag Court.

But there goes the horn which, in accordance with a custom-doubtless originating in an age when clocks and watches were not-is still blown by an official of the Temple, in each court of the Inn, half-an-hour before dinner-time, as a warning to the members of the society to prepare for that repast. I must lay down my pen, or else I shall be too late for that event, which is to me not the least important one in each day's life in the Temple.