colonnade, there is something so suggestive in
this old inscription in bad Latin.

'Vetustissima Templariorum porticu
Igne consumpta; an 1679
Nova haec sumptibus medii
Templie extructa an 1681
Gulielmo Whiteloche arm
Thesauoer.'"

Once or twice a week Hall dined at the Cock for the purpose of
meeting his friends, whom he invited after dinner to his rooms to
smoke and drink till midnight. His welcome was so cordial that all
were glad to come. The hospitality was that which is met in all
chambers in the Temple. Coffee was made with difficulty, delay, and
uncertain result; a bottle of port was sometimes produced; of whiskey
and water there was always plenty. Every one brought his own tobacco;
and in decrepit chairs beneath dangerously-laden bookcases some six
or seven barristers enjoyed themselves in conversation, smoke, and
drink. Mike recognized how characteristically Temple was this
society, how different from the heterogeneous visitors of Temple
Gardens in the heyday of Frank's fortune.

James Norris was a small, thin man, dark and with regular features,
clean shaven like a priest or an actor, vaguely resembling both,
inclining towards the hieratic rather than to the histrionic type. He
dressed always in black, and the closely-buttoned jacket revealed the
spareness of his body. He was met often in the evening, going to dine
at the Cock; but was rarely seen walking about the Temple in the
day-time. It was impossible to meet any one more suasive and
agreeable; his suavity was penetrating as his small dark eyes. He
lived in Elm Court, and his rooms impressed you with a sense of
cleanliness and comfort. The furniture was all in solid mahogany;
there were no knick-knacks or any lightness, and almost the only
aesthetic intentions were a few sober engravings--portraits of men in
wigs and breastplates. He took pleasure in these and also in some
first editions, containing the original plates, which, when you knew
him well, he produced from the bookcase and descanted on their value
and rarity.

Mr. Norris had always an excellent cigar to offer you, and he pressed
you to taste of his old port, and his Chartreuse; there was whiskey
for you too, if you cared to take it, and allusion was made to its
age. But it was neither an influence nor a characteristic of his
rooms; the port wine was. If there was fruit on the sideboard, there
was also pounded sugar; and it is such detail as the pou