If I were asked what part of London I was most identified with after
Clifford’s Inn itself, I should say Fetter Lane—every part of it. Just
by the Record Office is one of the places where I am especially prone to
get ideas; so also is the other end, about the butcher’s shop near
Holborn. The reason in both cases is the same, namely, that I have about
had time to settle down to reflection after leaving, on the one hand, my
rooms in Clifford’s Inn and, on the other, Jones’s rooms in Barnard’s Inn
where I usually spend the evening. The subject which has occupied my
mind during the day being approached anew after an interval and a shake,
some fresh idea in connection with it often strikes me. But long before
I knew Jones, Fetter Lane was always a street which I was more in than
perhaps any other in London. Leather Lane, the road through Lincoln’s
Inn Fields to the Museum, the Embankment, Fleet Street, the Strand and
Charing Cross come next.