Even after the wholesale clearance for the Law Courts, when an incredible number of streets and houses were swept away, there lingered, till last year almost, a number of tortuous alleys and passages; and urchins lay in wait to guide or direct the wayfarer who wished to gain Clare Market or Drury Lane. Here were some extraordinary houses, which “doddered” on, crutched up by stays and props; and a beautiful carved doorway, with garlands and a Cupid on each side as supporters, was lately to be seen here; but it was soon torn away—probably to be sold in Wardour Street. It was sketched by an artist, who set up his easel in presence of an admiring crowd, and engraved to illustrate the writer’s account of the place. The old hall of Clement’s Inn has, fortunately, been preserved—a bright, cheerful structure of red brick, compact and well balanced, with its tall, florid, and elaborately-adorned doorway at the top of a flight of steps. It has fallen into the hands of a printing firm, who have added on a piece at one end. Still, even as it stands, it is pleasant to see it, and it lends a gaiety to the inclosure. In the grass-garden used to stand the old sundial, supported by a bronze negro, which one morning, on the dissolution of the Inn, disappeared. There was a general clamour at the loss of the old favourite.
The dissolution of Clement’s Inn was one of those greedy acts of spoliation which seem almost incredible, but which have often occurred. It would appear now that the members of these bodies have some right to sell and divide among themselves the property of which they are virtually only trustees. A more amazing proposition could not be conceived. Some years since we read in a morning paper this “Bitter cry”:—“As I was passing through Clement’s Inn this morning I was astonished to see the negro sundial that has stood, or rather knelt, in the centre of the garden for over a century and a half, dismounted from its pedestal and lying ignominiously on its back on the grass. What had this ‘poor sable son of woe’ done to deserve such treatment? I found there had recently been a private auction amongst the members of the Honourable Society of the Inn, and that this well-known statue had been knocked down for £20 to one of the members, and that having been disposed of, the Inn itself, the pictures, plate, and other effects were now following in its wake. Surely Lord Clare, who brought this figure from Italy early in the year 1700, and presented it to the Inn, little contemplated its ultimately falling into the hands of a private individual.” This negro is well modelled and effective in his attitude, and it is pleasant to find that he has been restored, not to his original position, but to a good place on that agreeable plaisaunce, the gardens of the Temple, close to the river, and through the railings the passer-by can see the negro renewed and polished, still supporting his sundial.
In Wych Street, where Theodore Hook declared he was always regularly blocked up by a Lord Mayor’s coach at one end and a hearse or market-cart at the other, we find the entrances to two other Inns, Dane’s and New Inn—now “pretty old,” as Elia said of the New River. Dane’s deserves little attention, as it is a simple lane, lined with modern houses, somewhat of the Peabody type; the well-shuttered windows of New Inn, ranged along one side of Wych Street, suggest the long files of jalousied windows in some retired street in Calais or other French town. To visit the place on some dark evening, and with the lights twinkling from the windows, recalls this foreign air more strikingly. Enter, and it seems the inclosure of some tranquil old college. On the right there is a shadowed recess surrounded by old houses, from which projects the sound and solid old dining-hall, with its bold cornices and square windows, now lit up. Beside it are enclosed gardens and lawns. There is plenty of open area, plenty of breathing-room and apparent tranquillity: scattered lights are seen here and there: there is a general romantic and peaceful tone over the whole.
GATEWAY, STAPLE INN
Yet more interesting and original is a visit to Staple Inn, into which we enter from Chancery Lane, meandering through it into Holborn. The variety and incongruity of the place is singularly piquant. There is the florid gateway, in modern but good taste, from which we descend by a flight of broad steps. The old Hall is garnished with two lanterns, one square and glazed, the other circular; with a quaint door at the side, over which is the usual sensible clock. There is another square beyond, on which the other side of the Hall displays itself; and thence we pass through a low, old-fashioned arch out into roaring Holborn. It seems almost dreamlike. This arch, with its ponderous wooden gates, is sunk in one of the well-known picturesquely-framed houses which front Gray’s Inn Lane or Road. They overhang the street in satisfactory style, and “hold their own,” as it is called, with Rouen. These have been restored and put in sound condition by the Prudential Assurance Company who purchased the Inn, and who it was expected would “develop the property” in the usual way. Fortunately, they have only repaired and improved it, and let it out to “desirable tenants.” Strange places are these old Inns. Not many years ago the little kitchen used to be busy periodically, when the “Antients” met to dine. These Antients were usually worthy tradesmen and solicitors, etc., of the neighbourhood; and pleasant evenings enough they spent. Houses were to be had for “a song,” and a pleasant Bohemian who lived there used to declare that at times his rent was quite forgotten.
KING’S BENCH WALK.