e masses of building in which
you have been swallowed up, you see with new surprise an open area of
green turf, with beds of flowers, rows of trees, and leafy walks, and
shady seats; and hear the fit and natural accompaniments of such a
scene--the shrill voices of children, and the silvery laugh of ladies
as they stroll through the Temple Gardens. Groups of law-students,
too, 'are lounging there, laughing and talking; and a few solitary
youths, with pale faces and earnest eyes, are poring upon great books
in professional bindings, heedless of the attractions of tree or
flower, or child or woman.'

Beyond the garden is the great water highway of the metropolis, the
princely Thames, with its crowding barges, its flashing skiffs, and
sweeping steamers. Among the gloomy buildings there is _yet_ another
garden-plot, with a fountain in constant play; and yet another, a
smooth-shaven lawn, with paths and flower-beds, on the brink of the
river. 'Here, in this garden of the Middle Temple, there is no human
presence to disturb the profound quiet of the place, as in the more
spacious garden of the Inner Temple which you have lately quitted.
Seats are scattered about, and pretty summer-houses invite to study or
contemplation, but they are unoccupied by any visible presence. One is
inclined to imagine that the Benchers have dedicated this garden to
the exclusive occupation of the dead luminaries of the law, as the
garden on the other side is devoted to its living oracles. With such a
fancy, we always feel disposed to take off our hat to the invisibles,
as we pass the tranquil spot where we suppose them to be "doomed for a
certain time to walk."'

A red building on the right is the magnificent hall of the Middle
Temple, with the carved screen of oak taken from the Spanish Armada.
This is the hall in which the Templar eats his way to the bar; but if
he should have no appetite for such dinners, it is not necessary that
he should devour more than three, provided he pays for the whole
fourteen. 'Shortly before the hand on the dial over the doorway points
to five, crowds of gentlemen may be seen hurrying through the
labyrinthine paths that intersect the Temple in all directions, and
concentrating at the yard before the hall, for dinner there waits for
no man, and, better still, no man waits for dinner. Gowns are provided
for the student in the robing-room, for the use of which a small
term-fee is paid, and, thus habited, he is introduce