this place was expressly called Tyburn of Kent, to prevent mistakes. In one passage, Langland alludes to what was then known as “the benefit of clergy.” This is a phrase which I strongly suspect has frequently been misunderstood; at any rate, to the modern ear, it is extremely misleading. It sounds as if it meant that the attendance of a clergyman might benefit the condemned criminal; but it means nothing of the kind. The word _clergy_ had formerly two distinct meanings; or, strictly speaking, there were two distinct words which came to be sounded alike. One of these, referring to the clerical order, is still in common use; the other, meaning “clerkship, scholarship, or learning,” is practically obsolete. In old law, it meant “ability to read”; and at a time when such ability was uncommon, it was permissible, in the case of some misdeeds, that the criminal should claim his privilege of scholarship, if it was his first offence. If he could prove his ability to read, he could claim exemption from capital punishment. The person who examined the criminal—perhaps we may call him “the examiner”—usually selected one of the Latin psalms as the subject; very often it was the fifty-first psalm beginning with the words _Miserere mei, Deus_; or sometimes he pointed to the fifth verse of the sixteenth psalm, _Dominus pars hereditatis mee_. It is to be suspected that some of the thieves carefully learned these Latin verses by heart before they stole a purse: a practice of which we never hear at the present day. Langland’s praise of the benefits of a good education is surely remarkable, and such as we are by no means accustomed to. “Well may the child bless the man who set him to learn books. Familiarity with literature has often saved a man, body and soul. _Dominus pars hereditatis mee_ is a pleasant verse; it has been known to save from Tyburn some twenty strong thieves. When ignorant thieves are made to dangle, just see how the learned ones are saved!” CHAPTER IX FOOD London has always been a City renowned for the great plenty and excellence of its food. In the twelfth century Fitz Stephen vaunts the cook-shops. He says, “There is also in London on the bank of the river, amongst the wine shops which are kept in shops and cellars, a public eating house. There are to be found, according to the season, every day, dishes of meat, roast, fried, and boiled, great and small fish, coarser meats for the poor, more delicate for the rich, of game, fowls, and small birds.” These cook-shops were principally stationed in Thames Street and East Chepe.