It is the long vacation in the regions of Chancery Lane. The good ships Law and Equity, those teak-built, copper-bottomed, iron-fastened, brazen-faced, and not by any means fast-sailing clippers are laid up in ordinary. The Flying Dutchman, with a crew of ghostly clients imploring all whom they may encounter to peruse their papers, has drifted, for the time being, heaven knows where. The courts are all shut up; the public offices lie in a hot sleep. Westminster Hall itself is a shady solitude where nightingales might sing, and a tenderer class of suitors than is usually found there, walk.
The Temple, Chancery Lane, Serjeants' Inn, and Lincoln's Inn even unto the Fields are like tidal harbours at low water, where stranded proceedings, offices at anchor, idle clerks lounging on lop-sided stools that will not recover their perpendicular until the current of Term sets in, lie high and dry upon the ooze of the long vacation. Outer doors of chambers are shut up by the score, messages and parcels are to be left at the Porter's Lodge by the bushel. A crop of grass would grow in the chinks of the stone pavement outside Lincoln's Inn Hall, but that the ticket-porters, who have nothing to do beyond sitting in the shade there, with their white aprons over their heads to keep the flies off, grub it up and eat it thoughtfully.

It is the long vacation in the regions of Chancery Lane. The good ships Law and Equity, those teak-built, iron-fastened, slowly-sailing clippers are laid up. The courts are all shut; the public offices lie in a hot sleep.
The Temple, Chancery Lane, Serjeants' Inn, and Lincoln's Inn Fields are like tidal harbours at low water, where stranded proceedings, offices at anchor, and idle clerks lounging on lop-sided stools, lie high and dry upon the ooze of the long vacation. Outer doors of chambers are shut, messages and parcels are left at the Porter's Lodge by the bushel.
