"Grand Day" at an Inn of Court.

conversation recommences. As I watch the poets, painters, peers and pleaders pass by, I am troubled by the presence of a prosaic mentor whose demands are becoming trou blesome. In other words, I am getting hun gry. But I have not much longer to wait. The head-porter raps on a table three times with an auctioneer's hammer, and dead si lence immediately ensues, and then " grace" is read by the Preacher of the Inn. After that we begin to eat. There is soup, fish, roast, poultry, puddings and pies, beer and champagne, as well as one bottle of any other wine, for each mess; and all for half a crown (about sixty-two cents). Everybody seems to know that the Inn is rolling in wealth, and nobody feels any compunction in assist ing in the heartiest way in devouring the good things with which the tables are loaded. In about an hour and a quarter the headporter raps once more, afterwards proclaim ing " Silence." When this has been secured, there comes another request to the assem bly : " Gentlemen charge your glasses, and drink to the Health of Her Majesty, the Queen." The Treasurer then rises and says : "Gentlemen, the Queen," whereupon every man in the Hall stands up, and an enthusi astic shout of " The Queen " bursts forth. There is no more conservative body of men than the Bar of England, nor has the Crown more staunch or more devoted supporters than the gentlemen of the long robe. At the same time, no body of men has ever more firmly withstood any attempt to extend the royal prerogative to the injury of the people. The toast, " the Health of the Queen," is always drunk at these Bar gath erings with an amount of fervor which

betokens strong attachment to the Consti tution; and on this particular occasion, the intensity and unanimity of the response re minds one of the discharge of a big gun. As a rule, there is no speechifying in Hall, and there is none this evening. The custom is for the Benchers to take wine and nuts in one of the rooms known as " the Parliament Chamber." There some speeches are made, and the speakers are refreshed with the choicest products of the vineyard that money and good judgment can buy. Who would not be a Bencher? As far as the ordinary portion of the assembly is concerned, dinner is over. Grace is said again, and the Benchers, followed by their guests, retire in the order in which they entered. But there is not quite as much of that grave air of solemnity about the proces sion as there was at its entrance; indeed, everybody looks and feels all the better for the good dinner which he has eaten. Neither the eminent visitors nor those of the Bench ers who are popular with the members of the Inn are allowed to depart without a friendly cheer, and if some person happens to be very popular indeed, his name is shouted out in a fashion often bordering on the obstrep erous. The last two members of the retiring pro cession have now passed through the door of the Hall, the majority of those who have been dining generally follow them. A few of the " Ancients "— as the senior barristers are called — are left behind to finish their wine and their conversation; but by mid night the Hall and its immediate surround ings are once more deserted and silent.