, not even if you have
me dragged asunder by wild horses. Its upshot was, for the purpose of
this story, that it did not help me to recollect the name of that Court.

I have to confess with shame that I have written the whole of what
follows under a false pretence; having called it out of its name, to the
best of my belief, throughout. I know it had a name. It does not matter;
the story can do without accuracy--commonplace matter of fact!

But do what I will, I keep on recollecting new names for it, and each
seems more plausible than the other. Coltsfoot Court, Barretts Court,
Chesterfield Court, Sapps Court! Any one of these, if I add
seventeen-hundred-and-much, or eighteen-hundred-and-nothing-to-speak-of,
seems to fit this Court to a nicety. Suppose we make it Sapps Court, and
let it go at that!

Oh, the little old corners of the world that were homes and are gone!
Years hence the Court we will call Sapps will still dwell in some old
mind that knew its every brick, and be portrayed to credulous hearers
yet unborn as an unpretentious Eden, by some _laudator_ of its _tempus
actum_--some forgotten soul waiting for emancipation in an infirmary or
almshouse.

Anyhow, _I_ can remember this Court, and can tell a tale it plays a part
in, only not very quick.

Anybody might have passed down the main street and never noticed it,
because its arched entry didn't give on the street, but on a bay or
_cul-de-sac_ just long enough for a hansom to drive into but not to turn
round in. There was nothing to arrest the attention of the passer-by,
self-absorbed or professionally engaged; simultaneous possibilities, in
his case.

But if the passer-by forgot himself and neglected his proper function in
life at the moment that he came abreast of this _cul-de-sac_, he may
have thereby come to the knowledge of Sapps Court; and, if a Londoner,
may have wondered why he never knew of it before. For there was nothing
in the external appearance of its arched entry to induce him to face the
difficulties incidental to entering it. He may even have nursed
intentions of saying to a friend who prided himself on his knowledge of
town:--"I say, Old Cock, you think yourself mighty clever and all that,
but I bet you can't tell me where Sapps Court is." If, however, he never
went down Sapps Court at all--merely looked at his inscription and,
recollecting his own place in nature, passed on--I shouldn't be
surprised.

It went downhill under the archway