money through little pigeonholes. I should like to sit for two or
three days in a corner of that little retreat; and to write a sermon
there. It would be curious to sit there to-day in the shadow, and
to see the warm sunbeams only outside through a distant window,
resting on sloping roofs. If one did not get seasick, there would
be something fresh in a summer day at sea. It is always cool and
breezy there, at least in these latitudes, on the warmest day.
Above all there is no dust. Think of the luxurious cabin of a fine
yacht to-day. Deep cushions; rich curtains; no tremor of machinery;
flowers, books, carpets inches thick; and through the windows, dim
hills and blue sea. Then, flying away in spirit, let us go to-day
(only in imagination) into the Courts of Law at Westminster. The
atmosphere on a summer day in these scenes is always hot and choky.
There is a suggestion of summer time in the sunshine through the
dusty lanterns in the roofs. Thinking of these courts, and all
their belongings and associations, here on this day, is like the
child already mentioned when he puts his foot into a very cold corner
of his bed, that he may pull it back with special sense of what a
blessing it is that he is not bodily in that very cold corner. Yes,
let us enjoy this spot where we are, the more keenly, for thinking
of the very last place in this world where we should like to-day to
be. I went lately (on a bright day in May) to revive old remembrances
of Westminster Hall. The judges of the present time are very able
and incorruptible men; but they are much uglier than the judges I
remember in my youth. Several of them, in their peculiar attire,
hardly looked like human beings. Almost all wrore wigs a great
deal too large for them; I mean much too thick and massive. The
Queen's Counsel, for the most part, seemed much younger than they
used to be; but I was aware that this phenomenon arose from the
fact that I myself was older. And various barristers, who fifteen