Inner Temple

Perhaps so.

But to reflect that Mr. Hale used to be such a swell, as the saying goes, over in Peartree Court, and then three weeks back to come here and take up with the untidiest chin in the inner temple.

It's bewildering.

Ruth, impatiently.

If a banker should adopt me, you'd see something like behavior, sir.

Why, if you offend your father, as you call him, you'll be a pauper.

You'll be like Richard Fennel, Esquire, of the Inner Temple.

Why should I offend Mr. Wedderburn by loving a girl who is simple and honest and generous and courtly, whose only vice is that she is not dressed by a Bond Street milliner?

His poems attest his intimate acquaintance with the divinity, the philosophy, and the scholarship of his time, and show him to have had the sciences, as then developed and taught, at his fingers' ends.

Another proof of Chaucer's good birth and fortune would be found in the statement that, after his university career was completed, he entered the Inner Temple, the expenses of which could be borne only by men of noble and opulent families.

But although there is a story that he was once fined two shillings for thrashing a Franciscan friar in Fleet Street, we have no direct authority for believing that the poet devoted himself to the uncongenial study of the law.

No special display of knowledge on that subject appears in his works, yet in the sketch of the Manciple in the prologue to the Canterbury Tales may be found indications of his familiarity with the internal economy of the Inns of Court, while numerous legal phrases and references hint that his comprehensive information was not at fault on legal matters.

It reaches the Old Bailey, Newgate, Warwick Lane, Watling Street, Ludgate Hill, Fleet Street.

It gets as far west as the inner temple.

Think of that geographical spread.

The tower at one end, the temple at the other.

He arrived in 1688 at age 28 on a boat from England by way of Ireland.

He had been educated in France and was trained in law at a place called the Inner Temple in London.

So he was a lawyer.

He rose quickly enough in England to be offered the attorney general job in the new place of maryland but the protestant revolution of 1688 changed everything the catholic proprietary government here was overthrown and catholics were pushed out of power right as he got here so he lost his office along with the 50 pounds annual salary that he was getting for that so he comes here he loses everything for a second time um and he had to rebuild another way So he turned that exclusion into wealth and influence over time.

That the observation is equally applicable to aggregates of men is less familiar, but equally true.

Do not the members of fighting professions, even to this day, deck themselves in feathers, in gaudy colors and gilded ornaments, after the manner of the African war chief or the redskin brave, and thereby indicate the place of war in modern civilization? Does not the Church of Rome send her priests to the altar in habiliments that were fashionable before the fall of the Roman Empire, in token of her immovable conservatism? And lastly, does not the law, lumbering on in the wake of progress, symbolize its subjection to precedent by headgear reminiscent of the good days of Queen Anne? I should apologize for intruding upon the reader these somewhat trite reflections, which were set going by the quaint stock and trade of the wigmaker's shop in the cloisters of the Inner Temple, whither I strayed on a sultry afternoon in quest of shade and quiet.

I had halted opposite the little shop window, and with my eyes spent dreamily on the row of wigs, was pursuing the above train of thought when I was startled by a deep voice saying softly in my ear, "I'd have the full bottom one if I were you." I turned swiftly and rather fiercely, and looked into the face of my old friend and fellow student, Jervis, behind whom, regarding us with a sedate smile, stood my former teacher, Dr.

John Thorndyke.

I rose from my chair like one in a dream and held out my hand to Thorndyke, and even in the dim light and in my dazed condition, I noticed that his face bore a look that I had never seen before.

The look of a granite mask of fate, grim, stern, inexorable.

My two friends walked with me as far as the gateway at the top of Inner Temple Lane, and as we reached the entry a stranger, coming quickly up the lane, overtook and passed us.

In the glare of the lamp outside the porter's lodge he looked at us quickly over his shoulder, and though he passed on without halt or greeting, I recognized him with a certain dull surprise, which I did not understand then and do not understand now.

He is dark, handsome, and dashing, never calls less than once a day, and often twice.

He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton of the Inner Temple.

See the advantages of a cabman as a confidant.

They had driven him home a dozen times from Serpentine Mews, and knew all about him.

That the observation is equally applicable to aggregates of men is less familiar, but equally true.

Do not the members of fighting professions, even to this day, deck themselves in feathers and gaudy colors and gilded ornaments after the manner of the African war chief or the redskin brave, and thereby indicate the place of war in modern civilization? Does not the Church of Rome send her priests to the altar in habiliments that were fashionable before the fall of the Roman Empire in token of her immovable conservatism? And lastly, does not the law, lumbering on in the wake of progress, symbolize its subjection to precedent by headgear reminiscent of the good days of Queen Anne? I should apologize for intruding upon the reader these somewhat trite reflections, which were set going by the quaint stock and trade of the wig maker's shop in the cloisters of the Inner Temple, whither I strayed on a sultry afternoon in quest of shade and quiet.

I had halted opposite the little shop window and, with my eyes bent dreamily on the row of wigs, was pursuing the above train of thought when I was startled by a deep voice saying softly in my ear, "I'd have the full-bottomed one if I were you." I turned swiftly and rather fiercely and looked into the face of my old friend and fellow student, Jervis, behind whom, regarding us with a sedate smile, stood my former teacher, Dr.

John Thorndyke.

I am afraid this has been rather a shock to you.

I rose from my chair like one in a dream and held out my hand to Thorndyke, and even in the dim light and in my dazed condition I noticed that his face bore a look that I had never seen before, the look of a granite mask of fate, grim, stern, inexorable.

My two friends walked with me as far as the gateway at the top of Inner Temple Lane, and as we reached the entry a stranger, coming quickly up the lane, overtook and passed us.

In the glare of the lamp outside the porter's lodge he looked at us quickly over his shoulder, and though we passed on without halt or greeting, I recognized him with a certain dull surprise which I did not understand then and do not understand now.

His poems attest his intimate acquaintance with the divinity, the philosophy, and the scholarship of his time, and show him to have had the sciences as then developed and taught at his fingers' ends.

Another proof of Chaucer's good birth and fortune would be found in the statement that, after his university career was completed, he entered the Inner Temple, the expenses of which could be borne only by men of noble and opulent families.

But although there is a story that he was once fined two shillings for thrashing a Franciscan friar in Fleet Street, we have no direct authority for believing that the poet devoted himself to the uncongenial study of the law.

No special display of knowledge on that subject appears in his works, yet in the sketch of the Manciple in the prologue to the Canterbury Tales may be found indications of his familiarity with the internal economy of the Inns of Court, while numerous legal phrases and references hint that his comprehensive information was not at fault on legal matters.

They are very distinct from the rest in form and character.

To understand them, we must remember that in 1614, just before the imprisonment, Withers had taken a share with his bosom friend, William Brown, of the Inner Temple, in bringing out a little volume of pastorals called The Shepherd's Pipe.

Brown, a poet who deserves well of all Devonshire men was two years younger than Wither and had just begun to come before the public as the author of that charming, lazy, Virgilian poem of Britannia's Pastorals.

There was something of Keats in Browne, an artist who let the world pass him by.

But Willie declines to join the Lady of the May at her high junketings.

He also has troubles, and prefers to whisper them through Roger's iron bars.

There are those who, quote, my music do contemn, end quote, who will none of the poetry of Master William Browne of the Inner Temple.

It is useless for him to wrestle with Browne's shepherds for the, quote, cups of turned maple root, whereupon the skillful man hath engraved the loves of Pan, end quote, or contend for the, quote, fine napkin wrought with blue, end quote, if those base clowns called critics are busy with his detraction.