I.

[Illustration: SUN-DIAL IN THE TEMPLE (_see page 177_).]

The writer in _Blackwood_ before referred to alludes to the strict
silence enjoined at the Inner Temple dinners, the only intercourse
between the several members of the mess being the usual social scowl
vouchsafed by your true-born Englishman to persons who have not the
honour of his acquaintance. You may, indeed, on an emergency, ask your
neighbour for the salt; but then it is also perfectly understood that he
is not obliged to notice your request.

The old term of "calling to the bar" seems to have originated in the
custom of summoning students, that had attained a certain standing, to
the bar that separated the benchers' dais from the hall, to take part in
certain probationary mootings or discussions on points of law. The mere
student sat farthest from the bar.

When these mootings were discontinued deponent sayeth not. In Coke's
time (1543), that great lawyer, after supper at five o'clock, used to
join the moots, when questions of law were proposed and discussed, when
fine on the garden terrace, in rainy weather in the Temple cloisters.
The dinner alone now remains; dining is now the only legal study of
Temple students.

In the _Middle Temple_ a three years' standing and twelve commons kept
suffices to entitle a gentleman to be called to the bar, provided he is
above twenty-three years of age. No person can be called to the bar at
any of the Inns of Court before he is twenty-one years of age; and a
standing of five years is understood to be required of every member
before being called. The members of the several universities, &c., may,
however, be called after three years' standing.

[Illustration: THE TEMPLE STAIRS.]

The Inner Temple Garden (three acres in extent) has probably been a
garden from the time the white-mantled Templars first came from Holborn
and settled by the river-side. This little paradise of nurserymaids and
London children is entered from the terrace by an iron gate (date,
1730); and the winged horse that surmounts the portal has looked down on
many a distinguished visitor. In the centre of the grass is such a
sun-dial as Charles Lamb loved, with the date, 1770. A little to the
east of this stands an old sycamore, which, fifteen years since, was
railed in as the august mummy of that umbrageous tree under whose shade,
as tradition says, Johnson and Goldsmith used to sit and converse.
According to an engraving of 1671 there were