Now, the method of appointment of Serjeants was as follows: The judges, headed by the Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, picked out certain eminent barristers as worthy of the dignity, their names were given in to the Lord Chancellor, and in due time each had his writ, whereof he formally gave his Inn notice. His House entertained him at a public breakfast, presented him with a gold or silver net purse with ten guineas or so as a retaining fee, the chapel bell was tolled, and he was solemnly rung out of the bounds. On the day of his call he was harangued (often at preposterous length) by the Chief Justice of the King’s Bench, he knelt down, and the white coif of the order was fitted on his head; he went in procession to Westminster and “counted” in a real action in the Court of Common Pleas. For centuries he did so in law-French. Lord Hardwicke was the first Serjeant who “counted” in English. The new-comer was admitted a member of Serjeants’ Inn, in Chancery Lane, in ancient times called Farringdon Inn, whereof all the members were Serjeants. Here they dined together on the first and last days of term; their clerks also dined in hall, though at a separate table--a survival, no doubt, from the days when the retainer feasted, albeit “below the salt,” with his master. Dinner done and the napery removed, the board of green cloth was constituted, and under the presidency of the Chief Judge the business of the House was transacted. There was a second Serjeants’ Inn in Fleet Street, but in 1758 its members joined the older institution in Chancery Lane. When the Judicature Acts practically abolished the order, the Inn was sold and its property divided among the members, a scandalous proceeding and poor result of “the wisdom of an heep of lernede men”! The Serjeant’s feast on his appointment was a magnificent affair, _instar coronationis_, as Fortescue has it. In old times it lasted seven days; one of the largest palaces in the metropolis was selected, and kings and queens graced its quaint ceremonial. Stow chronicles one such celebration at the call of eleven Serjeants, in 1531. There were consumed “twenty-four great beefes, one hundred fat muttons, fifty-one great veales, thirty-four porkes,” not to mention the swans, the larkes, the “capons of Kent,” the “carcase of an ox from the shambles,” and so forth. One fancies these solids were washed down by potations proportionately long and deep. And there were other attractions and other expenses. At the feast in October 1552, “a standing dish of wax representing the Court of Common Pleas” was the admiration of the guests; again, a year or two later, it is noted that each Serjeant was attended by three gentlemen selected by him from among the members of his own Inn to act as his sewer, his carver, and his cup-bearer. These Gargantuan banquets must have proved a sore burden: they were cut down to one day, and, on the union of the Inns in 1758, given up as unsuited to the newer times.