Part 2

One of the most touching, and yet one of the truest and most vivid pictures ever given to us by that great writer Bulwer, is the sorrowful story in "Pelham" of the gentle and learned scholar, a student so skilled in book learning that he had distanced all his compeers of the day, and yet so feeble in health, so deficient in what is called common-sense, that he was incapable of ruling his own household, or of coping with the every-day affairs of life.

Surely there must be some means by which those appointed to rule can exercise a discreet supervision over the boys and young men entrusted to their care. A supervision which, while not entrenching on their liberty, will yet lead into right ways those who are entering on the varied and dangerous paths of life.

Some wise writer has said: "More education is effected during the _amusements_ of youth than is gained by all the _studies_ to which teachers give such zealous care."

Now, in most places where boys are being trained, it seems a point of honour that out of school the masters shall never interfere, nor, indeed, in most cases do they appear.

Besides the practices of olden times already mentioned the ancient custom called "Moots" must not be forgotten.

Gray's Inn was especially conspicuous for those exercises, which Stow calls "Boltes," "Mootes," or "putting of cases," for the "Boltes" were conversational arguments addressed to or put to a student by a Bencher and two barristers in private.

Subsequently, when the student had become a sufficiently expert "Bolter," he was admitted to the "Mootes," where questions upon legal matters were debated by the students in the presence of the Benchers of the Society.

The object of these exercises was to promote the faculty of ready speaking, and, in order to secure this end, the disputants were kept in ignorance of the topic to be argued until called upon to discuss it.

The case, drawn up by the Reader, was laid upon the salt-cellar before meals; none were permitted to look into it under pain of expulsion from the Society.

These discussions were strictly legal, and the proceedings were conducted as nearly as possible in like manner to those of the Courts themselves. "About the end of the 17th century," says Lord Campbell, "Mootes fell into disuse, and they have now entirely ceased."

It is in such institutions as these Inns of Court and other similar communities, that the old feudal feeling respecting ancient servitors has been retained in much of its pristine integrity. Many of the old servants and inferior officers of Grays Inn may be said to belong to the place by right of descent. They were born within its precincts, they have been trained beneath the shadows of its old walls. In their youth they began their course of serving under the guidance of father, or grandfather, and now, in their old age, have in their turns some post of trust and responsibility confided to them.

There is something especially delightful and heart-stirring in the service of gray-headed men who have passed their lives in the same place, serving the same masters.

Shakespeare felt this, when, in describing old Adam in _As You Like It_, he makes the old man say:

Master, go on, and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with love and loyalty.

Most of the old servitors in Gray's Inn are well-educated, well-informed men, and are in general fully acquainted with the histories, traditions, and quaint biographies connected with the ancient Courts wherein their lives have been passed.

The chief objects of their pride and affection, are of course the Benchers. For the Benchers they entertain the profound reverence that so powerful a body of learned men is entitled to expect, and this respect is mingled at the same time with the affectionate solicitude that old servants have for kind and esteemed masters.

They feel a great interest in the students, although they regard them for the most part as wild young fellows, promising, no doubt, but still far from possessing the talents of former generations of lawyers. They will sometimes, indeed, shake their heads dolefully over the degeneracy of young men of to-day, when compared with the youth of the celebrated personages, whose names adorn the walls of the great hall.

Respecting the old buildings and old customs of the Inn they love to dilate for the hour together, and even the rooks come in for a share of their affection, and also for a considerable amount of anxiety, for this venerable community shows alarming symptoms of decay, the aërial colony having sadly diminished of late years.

In vain has the welfare of the infant progeny been tenderly watched over, latterly many unnatural parent rooks appear to have taken a dislike to their own offspring, and in that case peck the little ones to death without thought of parental duty.

One old gray-headed rook, who is always the first to arrive on the ground when feeding time has come, and who hops about with an uncommonly consequential air, from all accounts appears to be a perfect reprobate among his fellows. The number of wives he has cruelly injured, and the number of children he has kicked out of the nest have acquired for him the evil reputation of being the ringleader of the badly disposed of the feathered tribe.

Unfortunately, also, there is reason to fear that so bad an example has perverted several of the younger husbands and fathers. Infanticide has indeed of late so much increased, that it has now become a matter of grave consideration whether it will not be advisable to inflict the extreme punishment of the law upon the chief criminal. It is feared that it will be necessary to put this venerable gray head to death, as a terrible example to all rooks, and as a warning to all intending sinners.

Unhappily it must be admitted that the diminution of these interesting inhabitants of the higher regions is not altogether owing to their domestic delinquencies. It is, no doubt, partly caused by the rapid growth of London, and the great distance the rooks have now to traverse in order to arrive at their natural feeding grounds.

Another and deplorable cause arises from the decay and unavoidable destruction of some of the oldest trees.

In former years there was a very large rookery in the gardens of Gray's Inn. In 1875, however, storms and severe winters had so broken and damaged many of the largest trees that it was necessary to cut them down. This was done in March, and in April, to the consternation of the inhabitants of the Inn, the rooks departed in a body, as if indignant at being thus despoiled of a portion of their dominions.

For nearly a month not a bird appeared; then about six pair shyly returned, as if unwilling to quit for ever so fair and so peaceful a dwelling.

The other wanderers have never come back; but the little colony, though so much diminished from what it was in days of yore, still flourishes and indeed prospers.

There are more nests this spring than there have been for several past years, and it may therefore be hoped that this ancient rookery may long continue to be one of the charms and attractions of Gray's Inn.

Its existence undoubtedly mainly depends upon the durability of the grand and beautiful dwelling-places of the birds, the noble old elms, and unhappily such old elm trees are dangerous neighbours. With age their wood becomes not only brittle, but peculiarly liable to internal decay.

After the heavy rains that so often succeed dry summers, huge branches, sometimes the tree itself, will fall without warning. Such accidents not unfrequently occur in calm and quiet weather when danger is not suspected; the vicinity of elm trees is therefore perilous to life as well as to neighbouring buildings.

Besides rooks, many other birds, rare to London, may not unfrequently be found in the pleasant gardens of Gray's Inn.

Dun, or hooded crows, have occasionally been seen here, and even jackdaws sometimes come for a meal.

As for the starling, this clever bird knows where he is well off, he is therefore a very constant visitor. Many delicate little songsters too, who, having escaped from their cages, find that the liberty they have gained has only made them persecuted waifs and strays in the wilderness of London, seem to know, by intuition, that here they are not only in safety, but secure of a kind welcome.

Goldfinches, chaffinches, green and gray linnets, the lesser redpole, robins, willow-wren, even the song-thrush may from time to time be found here, and, perched on the lower branches of the trees, reward the kind hands that have given them food by pouring forth some of their sweetest and most touching songs.

During the last three winters the tiny tomtit, with his pretty blue head and delicate yellow breast, has made his appearance, and amongst the rarer visitors are fieldfares, redwings, and the great titmouse.

As for the pert little friendly sparrows, they are evidently aware that this is the land of plenty, so they hop about the old Courts with an assuming air of assured proprietorship; and from house-top, doorsill, and projecting eave, chirp condescending acknowledgments of the good things they enjoy.

But why linger in the old Courts when the soft west wind is murmuring so invitingly amongst the branches of the tall trees? Even the birds cannot remain quiet this bright summer's evening. See how they are flitting in and out the masses of dark green leaves, perching first here, then there, and peeping into every crack and crevice of the old bark. Now, many dart upwards to the topmost branches, whence they pour forth their summer gladness in a burst of joyous song.

Let us go to the pleasant gardens--gardens so pleasant, not only in themselves, but also charming with all the associations of past ages; so connected with the pleasant hours passed here by men both learned and celebrated in our history.

Every ancient tree has its story; every sunny grass-plot could relate a little romance.

How many a love tale has doubtless been told and listened to in these quiet alcoves? How many a courtly dame has gloried in the compliments paid to her beauty when walking on these smooth lawns?

There is every reason to believe that these gardens were designed and laid out in 1597 by Lord Bacon, who was then treasurer of Gray's Inn.

Do we not all know how dearly this great and clever man loved gardens? He says: "God Almighty first planted a garden; and, indeed, it is the purest of human pleasures; it is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man."

In the accounts of the Inn about that date appear the following items:

"4th July, 1597. Ordered that the summee of £7 15s. 4d. due to Mr. Bacon, for planting of elm trees in the walkes be paid next term;" and again, in the following year, there was an order made for the supply of more young elms, etc., the cost of which, as appears by Mr. Bacon's accounts, was £60 6s. 8d., a very large sum in those days.

We learn also from Howell's "Familiar Letters" and from Pepys' "Diary," that Gray's Inn Walks were at one time a fashionable promenade. Howell, writing from Venice in 1621, to a friend residing in Gray's Inn, says: "I hold your walks to be the pleasantest place about London, and that you have there the choicest society." Pepys seems to have frequently visited Gray's Inn Gardens as appears by his "Diary": "4th May, 1662. When church was done my wife and I walked to Gray's Inn to observe fashions of the ladies, because of my wife's making some clothes."

Cannot we picture to ourselves quiet Mrs. Pepys carefully scanning the gay apparel of the fine ladies as they passed to and fro? daintily walking with the little mincing French step that the fair Lady Castlemaine had brought into fashion? The good little wife absorbed in the many intricacies of plaits and puckers, weighing the several advantages to be obtained by the use of plain or damask stuffs, all unconscious, probably, that her volatile husband was as curiously scanning the black eyes and pretty faces that had such overpowering attractions for his wandering fancy.

Pepys again says:

"17th August, 1662. I was very well pleased with the sight of a fine lady that I have often seen walk in Gray's Inn Gardens."

Dryden, in his "Sir Martin Marall," 1661, makes the following reference to Gray's Inn Walks:

"_Sir John Shallow._ But where did you appoint to meet him?

"_Mrs. Millicent._ In Gray's Inn Walks."

Addison, in the _Spectator_, selects the terrace in Gray's Inn Gardens as the place where Sir Roger de Coverley enjoys his morning walk. He describes the dear old baronet as "hemming twice or thrice to himself with great vigour, for he loves to clear his pipes in good air, to make use of his own phrase, and is not a little pleased with any one who takes notice of the strength which he still exerts in his morning hems."

Charles Lamb, in his delightful "Essays of Elia," gives an interesting description of these gardens, adding, however, an indignant protest against the injury their beauty had received from the ugly pile of houses called Verulam Buildings, that had been recently erected. He says:

"I am ill at dates, but I think it is now better than five-and-twenty years ago that, walking in the gardens at Gray's Inn--they were then finer than they are now--the accursed Verulam Buildings had not encroached upon all the east side of them, cutting out delicate green crankles, and shouldering away one of two of the stately alcoves of the terrace. The survivor stands, gaping and relationless, as if it remembered its brother. They are still the best gardens of any of the Inns of Court--my beloved Temple not forgotten--have the gravest character, their aspect being altogether revered and law-breathing. Bacon has left the impress of his foot upon their gravel walks."

If the gardens give the summer charm to these old precincts, the grand old Hall is the glory, and may well be called the heart of Gray's Inn.

Seventy feet in length, thirty-five in width, and forty-seven in height, it is in truth a stately chamber, yet so harmonious are its proportions, so graceful are its details, that the spectator knows not which to admire most, the simple grandeur of its size, the delicate beauty of the old stained glass windows, or the rich deep colouring that time has given to the oaken panelling as well as to the heavy oaken furniture.

At the east end is a raised daïs, the place of honour, on which stands the table reserved for the Benchers and their guests.

The students dine in the body of the Hall, and the great black oak tables and settles that they use were placed here in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. As they were then, so they are now, and so they may probably remain for as many more hundred years.

In those good or bad old times, wood and labour were of comparatively little value, so furniture was then massive, and often decorated with a lavish richness of detail that a modern upholsterer would dread as much as he would admire, so great would be the modern cost both of the material and the work expended on it. How many remnants of the tables and chairs of this veneering age will there be in another century?

Near the daïs is a great oriel window, that beautiful characteristic of the Tudor period; the old coloured glass, rich with the armorial bearings of the Society, and emblazoned also with names well known and distinguished in our English history.

An elaborately carved oaken screen at the opposite end of the Hall conceals the entrance vestibule, and supports a Minstrel Gallery, another delightful adjunct to the large Halls of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.

The screen itself is of quaint but handsome design, and is especially interesting, as its decorations denote the period when it was erected. Short, thick Ionic columns, carved in arabesque with scroll ornaments, are surmounted by a range of semicircular arches. Above these is a balustrade of open carving enclosing the Minstrels' Gallery.

Fortunately restorations have not been needed, nor have alterations been made since the screen was placed here. As years have rolled on, therefore, the solid old oak has acquired that richness of tone and beauty of colouring that time alone can give.

Above the gallery is a large traceried window, and, as on the north and south walls are nine mullioned and transomed windows, the Great Hall is bright, well-lighted, and cheerful.

The great space between windows and floor is oak-panelled, and enriched by the coats of arms of members of the Society who have filled the office of treasurer.

There is something pleasant, but nevertheless sad, in reading over the names of many, honoured in their time, still honoured here in this venerable Inn of Court, but yet how long ago forgotten by the world without.

Forgotten long ago, although as English laws are founded on precedent, and not upon written codes, celebrated English lawyers probably make more mark upon English history than great men of other professions.

In every Government the Lord Chancellor is invariably a member of the Cabinet, and most of our leading statesmen have begun their career by studying, even if they have not practised, the profession of the Law. Still how very many there are, who, famous in their time, have passed away from all men's remembrance, and but for the names inscribed on these parental old walls, have struggled, gained the prize, and yet have again faded into the darkness from which they fought so hard to emerge.

Truly the glory of this world is but a shadow, nought but a faint glimmer of a brief and perishing light.

The fine open roof of the Hall, with its great hammer-beam timbers, is also a grand relic of the past; but the ancient _reredos_, or brass grate which once stood in the centre of the chamber, as well as its _louvre_--or smoke chimney--has been removed, and replaced by a modern stove. A great lapse from beauty, but, nevertheless, a change that contributes much to warmth and comfort.

The exterior of the building has, unhappily, been modernised, and, in accordance with the bad taste that prevailed during the greater part of the last century, the venerable brickwork has been covered with stucco.

It seems extraordinary that this miserable pretence of stone should at one time have been so universally adopted in England, because, while subject to the same discolouration and decay that injure stone in this damp climate, age does not bestow upon it either dignity or rich colouring.

Happily, fine brickwork is now beginning to be appreciated. Not only is it rich in point of colour, but, skilfully used, the most delicate ornamentation can be obtained. Witness, for instance, the glorious old church of San Ambrogio in Milan, and in many churches of towns in North Italy, where bricks have been used without any admixture of stone or marble.

It must not be supposed that the noble and dignified old Hall of Gray's Inn has been used solely for the pleasures of the table.

Many a gay masque, many a joyous revel has been held within its ancient walls.

Royalty itself has frequently honoured by its presence the balls, banquets, marriage feasts, and other "merrie makings" given by the Honourable Society of Gray's Inn.

Queen Elizabeth came here soon after her accession to the throne.

The fair maiden Queen, then in the early bloom of youth, deigned to tread a measure on the floor of the Hall, and her beauty and grace so turned the heads of some of the more impressionable students, that two of them became raving mad from love for their Royal and unapproachable mistress.

Knowing how hopeless their passion was, these luckless young fellows resolved to put themselves to death. They could not endure their cruel torment; like the Persians, they declared their hearts were burnt up with fire, and that life had become but a burden to them.

The legend, however, only relates their sufferings, their struggles, and their desperate purpose. It is silent as to whether these fatal intentions were ever carried into execution. It may be hoped, therefore, that these love-sick youths recovered in time from their love fit. The study of the law does not tend to foster romance, and hard work in most cases is an effectual panacea against the blighting effects of hopeless passion.

Standing in the old Hall, we can see, in fancy, the grand and picturesque entertainment. We can see the young and graceful, though somewhat stern-faced girl, queening it so royally amongst her enthusiastic admirers. How happy she is now in her consciousness of youth, and consequent beauty, in her royal dignity, a Queen at last in her glorious kingdom. Above all, especially happy in being at length free, no longer in daily terror of a prison or a scaffold. No longer dreading to have to seal by her blood her resolve to keep intact her royal position as heir to the throne, safe at last from the terror of being called on to lay down her life ere she would abjure her religion for that of her bigot sister Mary.

No wonder the young Sovereign was then bright and happy.

It is sad to think of the changes that years brought about. It is sad to think of the suspicious, cold-hearted, merciless old woman, signing not only the death warrant of the beautiful cousin of whom she was so jealous, but also the death warrants of the men whom she had professed to love.

Truly it may be said that envy, malice, and uncharitableness are the vices to which the great and prosperous are peculiarly exposed. Greatness and prosperity eventually produce the very whips that scourge those who have not been constantly chastened by care and sorrow; for the Almighty bestows His good gifts far more equally than we mortals can in general either perceive or understand.

There is a peace of heart in lowly stations that the great can but seldom enjoy. The biography of celebrated monarchs and statesmen sufficiently shows that no rank, however exalted, is exempt from mortifications and annoyances, trying alike to temper and to pride, and it is very evident from such histories that the noblest of all governments, the government of oneself, is far more difficult of attainment for the exalted than for the humbler inhabitants of earth.

Not only during Queen Elizabeth's reign, but at a much earlier period, the Inns of Court had been celebrated for the magnificence of their masques and revels.

The first entertainment of this kind, of which there is any certain record, took place at Gray's Inn in the year 1525.

Hall in his chronicle thus speaks of it:

"A Plaie at Gray's Inn. This Christmas was a goodly disguising played at Gray's Inn, which was compiled by John Roo, Serjeant at the Law, twenty years past. This plae was so set forth with rich and costly apparel, and with strange devices of masks and morrisches, that it was highly praised by all men, except by the Cardinal (Wolsey), who imagined the play was devised of him. In a great fury he sent for Master Roo, and took from him his Coif, and sent him to the Fleet, and afterwards he sent for the young gentlemen that played in the play, and highly rebuked and threatened them, and sent one of them, called Master Moyle of Kent, to the Fleet, but by means of friends Master Roo and he were delivered at last.

"This play sore displeased the Cardinal, and yet it was never meant for him; wherefore many wise men grudged to see him take it so to heart; and even the Cardinal said the King (Henry VIII.) was highly displeased at it, and spake nothing of himself."

This unfortunate play seems to have made a great stir at the time, for not only Hall, but Fox, in his "Acts and Monuments," thus alludes to the performance when writing of a certain Simon Fish, who also belonged to Gray's Inn. Fox says: