It is a religious duty to be seen there on market days.

Not a man misses being there; if he is not visible, his circle note it, and guess at various explanations.
Each man has his own particular hostelry, where his father, and his grandfather, put up before him, and where he is expected to dine in the same old room, with the pictures of famous rams, that have fetched fabulous prices, framed against the walls, and ram's horns of exceptional size and peculiar curve fixed up above the mantelpiece.

Men come in in groups of two or three, as dinner time approaches, and chat about sheep and wool, and wool and sheep; but no one finally settles himself at the table till the chairman arrives.

He is a stout, substantial farmer, who has dined there every market day for the last thirty or forty years.
Everybody has his own particular seat, which he is certain to find kept for him.

The dinner itself is simple enough, the waiters perhaps still more simple, but the quality of the viands is beyond praise.