Nor was the vision unsuitable to the locality; for after an hospital, what uglier piece is there in civilisation than a court of law?
Hither come envy, malice, and all uncharitableness to wrestle it out in public tourney; crimes, broken fortunes, severed households, the knave and his victim, gravitate to this low building with the arcade.

To how many has not St.Giles's bell told the first hour after ruin?
I think I see them pause to count the strokes, and wander on again into the moving High Street, stunned and sick at heart.
A pair of swing doors gives admittance to a hall with a carved roof, hung with legal portraits, adorned with legal statuary, lighted by windows of painted glass, and warmed by three vast fires.

This is the _Salle des pas perdus_ of the Scottish Bar.

Here, by a ferocious custom, idle youths must promenade from ten till two.

From end to end, singly or in pairs or trios, the gowns and wigs go back and forward.