JOURNAL OF A ROLLING STONE.

SEVENTH ENTRY.

To my intense surprise--shared, as far as I can see, by all my friends
and relatives--I have managed to pass the "Bar Final"! I attribute
the portentous fact to the Examiners having discreetly avoided all
reference to the "Rule in SHELLEY's Case."

Find that the Students who are going to be "called within the Bar,"
have to be presented to the Benchers on one special evening, after
dinner, in Hall. Ceremony rather funereal, at _my_ Inn--but not the
same at all Inns. About twenty of us summoned one by one to the
High Table; several go up before me, and as there is a big screen I
can't see what happens to them. Only--most remarkable circumstance
this--_not one of them comes back_! Have the Benchers decided to
sternly limit the numbers of the Profession? Perhaps they are "putting
in an execution." Just thinking of escape, when my name called
out. March up to Table, determined not to perish without a spirited
resistance.

To complete the idea of its being an Execution, here is the Chaplain!
Will he say a "few last words" to the culprit--myself--prior to my
being pinioned?

As matter of fact, Bencher at head of Table (portly old gentleman, who
looks as if he might be described as a "bottle-a-day-of-port-ly" old
gentleman) shakes hands, coldly, and that's all. Not even a Queen's
Shilling given me, as I am conducted off to another table close by.