the Grenadier Guards. This was considered by the magistrates
as an infraction of his agreement with them, and his license was refused.
But Mr Hinton was not beaten; he had his large capital invested, and
somehow or other the public must be got into his house. An ingenious
plan was devised, by which Mr Hinton was enabled to carry on his music
and dancing without a license, and yet be secure from the penalties
incurred by the breakers of law. There is an assembly called Almack's,
frequented by the _elite_ of the land, held in Willis's Rooms. Those
rooms are not licensed according to Act of Parliament, yet all the
leaders of _bon ton_ there congregate, and they would be liable to be
taken up as rogues and vagabonds under the Act. But the dancing is
carried on there by an association, under the auspices of which tickets
are sold. Well, Mr Hinton adopted a similar plan. The Highbury Club was
formed, and the club kindly provided the youthful votaries of pleasure
with the desired amusement. If we are to believe Mr Hinton, the result
has not been very advantageous, as his receipts on the sale of alcoholic
liquors fell off 600 pounds--a statement rather difficult to reconcile
with his former one, that he found his customers had left him, and that
he must do something to call them back. Be that as it may, Mr Hinton has
now his license, though three clergymen connected with the district
concurred in stating that parties on leaving the Barn were disorderly and
riotous, and disturbed the quiet of the locality, and that the licensing
of that establishment would have a very demoralizing effect.

And now let us go to Highbury Barn. As we walk alone Highbury-place, we
pass by many a father of a family grumbling at the idea of having his
quiet invaded by parties coming home from the Barn; and yet there was a
time, probably, when he heard the chimes at midnight; and the chances
are, so wretchedly are our lads educated, that while the father is at
home reading his religious magazine, the son is being initiated into fast
life at the Barn. But on we go through a dark passage, admirably adapted
for a garotte walk, till we come to the place of rendezvous. We pay
sixpence and walk in. The first thing that strikes us is the Master of
the Ceremonies. We are amazed,--in the distant West never have we met a
more distinguished swell. His attitude is faultless; his raven hair is
parted in the middle; his dark eye is turned in a languish