d into the Hall.
But it is now no longer hushed and sombre, but a scene of brightness
and bustle. The tables are spread for dinner in close and orderly
array; wax-lights in profusion blaze upon them; a multitude of gowned
men are lounging on the seats, or talking in groups, or busily looking
out for the most agreeable places, which are secured by simply placing
the spoon in the plate. Suddenly a single loud thump is heard at the
door. All rush to their seats: it is opened wide; the servants range
themselves on either side, and between their bowing ranks behold the
benchers enter in procession, and march to the dais allotted to them.
The steward strikes the table three times with his hammer to command
silence, says a grace before meat, and the feast begins.' Gradations
of rank are closely observed. 'The benchers' tables are ranged upon
the dais, across the hall. The tables in the body of the hall are
placed lengthwise, the barristers occupying those nearest to the dais,
and the students taking the others indiscriminately. They are laid so
as to form messes for four, each mess being provided with distinct
dishes, and making a party of itself. The persons who chance to be
seated at the same mess need no other introduction; he who sits at the
head is called "the captain;" he first carves for himself, and then
passes the dishes to the others in due order. The society presents
each mess with a bottle of wine--always port--a custom which might be
most advantageously violated.'

The Temple is not exactly a part of the United Kingdom: it is rather a
tributary state. It preserves its own peace, collects its own taxes,
and laughs at the City, with whose municipal burthens it has nothing
to do. The inhabitants may live in town or country, as they please,
for both are within the domain. They may occupy an attic, a first
floor, a parlour, an area, just as they like. The Templar seems in
constant sanctuary, where no one dares intrude upon him but his
laundress and his clerk. Both these, as figured by our author, are
admirable specimens of the natural history of the Temple; but we have
no room to give them entire, and must not spoil them by abridgment.
Besides, the aspirant waits: he is not yet called.

The call consists in his proposal by a bencher, the posting of his
name in the hall, his arraying himself in a gown and wig, his taking
the oath of abjuration, supremacy, and allegiance, his being bowed to
by the bench of benchers, an