It was so hard to say which of those gallants might not be all-powerful within the year. A ready wit and a handsome build would bear a man as far as solid learning. Coke climbed by the one way and became Chief Justice; Hatton had taken the other and reached the woolsack. Fuller says that Hatton at the Temple " took rather a bait than a meal of legal learning." Yet, since his dancing was to that of the courtiers as "a banquet of bread and cheese," he was taken to Court by his Queen — the author of the simile — and ere long was enthroned in Westminster Hall without having so much as a barrister's degree. That his failure was not as great as might have been anti cipated was due to the fact that he never ventured " to wade beyond the shallow margin of equity, where he could distinctly see bottom." Certainly his estimate of the dignity of his position never suffered through any ignorance of its subtler responsibilities. Whatever the worth of his decisions, there has never been a Chancellor whose moral precepts were more readily at the service of the nation; while his love letters to the Queen are, to use a common phrase, models of what such documents should be. At the time when England was " a nest of singing-birds," it was in the Temple that many of them found their home. Beaumont was a member of the " Inner," like his grandfather, father and elder brother, who were all judges in their day. The Temple had a dozen such at this time, of whom, perhaps, Browne was the greatest. Now adays the name of Browne is less famous than familiar, but in his day he was reck oned the equal of Beaumont, and known as the author of the prettiest masque of his day — Ulysses and the Sirens, — played be fore the Queen, and brimful of handsome allusions to the maids of honor. As if to stamp the prevailing genius of the time, there is the following entry found in the diary of John Manningham, student of the Middle Temple, under date of February 2,
1601 : " At our feast, we had a play called 'Twelve Night or What You Will,' much like the Commedy of Errores, or Menechmi in Plautus. A good practise in it to make the Steward beleeve his Lady widowe was in love with him, and then when he came to practise making him beleeve, they tooke him to be mad." Thanks to this paragraph, the bold entry on another page of this com mon-place book — " non omnis moriar" — becomes prophetic. For it is a strange jumble, this diary, obtaining most of its interest from causes which Manningham can hardly have foreseen. Fully one-half of the entries are notes of sermons, full, elaborate and conscientious, with such per sonal comments on the preacher's face and manners as seemed likely to be important. Another quarter is devoted to notes of epi grams, puns, etc., laid up, no doubt, for future use, and giving ample proof of the imperishable nature of all jests. There are quips contained therein which have appeared regularly in all jest books since "genuine Joe Miller's," looking rather weird in their Jacobian dress, as well as gibes which time has robbed of their bitterness, and sharp say ings which have long since lost their point. Manningham's tastes had a wide range — exactly how wide we shall never know, for the other end is lost in a coruscation of stars which adorn the volume on every other page, where he had called a spade a spade with what strikes his present editors as un necessary bluntness.1 But when all is done there still remains a body of pleasant gossip which makes good Manningham's claim to be considered the Temple Pepys. There is "scandal about Queen Elizabeth" cheek by jowl with the text of a sermon and remarks on his doublet and hose. There are good stories told by his fellow-student, Overbury, afterwards poisoned by the notorious Count ess of Somerset, and by his " chamberfellowe," Curie. And along with them entries such as: "This day Serjeant Harris was 1 The Diary was edited for the Camden Society in 1868.
