All the Justices wear gowns of black silk. John Jay, the first Chief Justice, relieved the somber monotony of his by adding a collar bound with scarlet, but the precedent was not followed. The Court has sometimes been styled the most dignified judicial tribunal in the world, and doubtless it deserves the compliment. Certainly no American need blush for its decorum. The whole atmosphere of its chamber is in keeping with the fact, reverently voiced by one of its old colored servitors, that “dey ain’t no appeal f’m dis yere Co’t ’xcep’ to God Almighty.” The arguments made before it are confined to calm, unemotional reasoning. The pleaders do not raise their voices, or forget their manners, or indulge in personalities or oratory while debating: and the opinions of the Court are recited with a quietness almost conversational. These opinions are very carefully guarded up to the moment they are read from the bench; but now and then, after a decision has become history, there leaks out an entertaining story of how it came to be rendered. One such instance was in the case of an imported delicacy which might have been classed either as a preparation of fish or as a flavoring sauce. The customs officers had levied duty on it as a sauce, and an importer had appealed. The Justices, when they came to compare notes, confessed themselves sorely puzzled, and one of them suggested that, since the technical arguments were so well balanced, it might be wise to fall back upon common sense. That evening he carried a sample of the disputed substance home to his wife, who was an expert in culinary matters. “There, my dear,” said he, “is a sauce for you to try.” With one look at the contents of the package, which she evidently recognized, she exclaimed: “Pshaw! That’s no sauce; that’s fish--didn’t you know it?” The next day the Court met again for consultation, and on the following Monday handed down a decision overruling the customs officers and sustaining the importer’s appeal.