death, and so remained, since their present dress is that then adopted. Serjeants were unwilling to lose sight of their coifs altogether, and it was suggested on the wig by a round patch of black and white, representing the white coif and the cap which had covered it. The limp cap of black cloth known as the “black cap” which the judge assumes when about to pass sentence of death was, it seems, put on to veil the coif, and as a sign of sorrow. It was also carried in the hand when attending divine service, and was possibly assumed in pre-Reformation times when prayers were said for the dead. A few words will tell of the fall of the order. As far back as 1755 Sir John Willis, Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, proposed to throw open that court as well as the office of judge to barristers who were not Serjeants, but the suggestion came to nothing. In 1834, the Bill for the establishment of a Central Criminal Court contained a clause to open the Common Pleas; this was dropped, but the same object was attained by a royal warrant, April 25, 1834. The legality of this was soon questioned and, after solemn argument before the Privy Council, it was declared invalid. In 1846 a statute (the 9 & 10 Vict. c. 54) to the same effect settled the matter, and the Judicature Act of 1873 provided that no judge need in future be a Serjeant. On the dissolution of Serjeants’ Inn its members were received back into the Houses whence they had come. As for centuries all the judges were Serjeants, the history of the order is that of the Bench and Bar of England; yet some famous men rose no higher, or for one reason or other became representative members. Such a one was Sir John Maynard (1602-1690). In his last years William III. commented on his venerable appearance: “He must have outlived all the lawyers of his time.” “If your Highness had not come I should have outlived the law itself,” was the old man’s happy compliment. Pleading in Chancery one day, he remarked that he had been counsel in the same case half a century before, he had steered a middle course in those troubled times, but he had ever leant to the side of freedom against King and Protector alike. His share in the impeachment of Strafford procured him a jibe in Butler’s _Hudibras_, yet it was said that all parties seemed willing to employ him, and that he seemed willing to be employed by all. Jeffreys, who usually deferred to him, once blustered out, “You are so old as to forget your law, Brother Maynard.” “True, Sir George, I have forgotton more law than ever you knew,” was the crushing retort. Macaulay has justly praised his conduct at the Revolution for that he urged his party to disregard legal technicalities and adopt new methods for new and unheard-of circumstances. Edmund Plowden (1518-1585) deserves at least equally high praise. He was so determined a student that “for three years he went not once out of the Temple.” He is said to have refused