The Night Side of London Part 4

We enter, we will say, Bang Up's hostelry, about ten on a Thursday evening; there is Bang Up at the bar, with his ton of flesh and broken nose. Many people think it worth while to go and spend one or two shillings at Bang Up's bar, merely that they may have the pleasure of seeing him, and consider him cheap at the money. I don't admire their taste. I once spent an evening with the Norfolk Giant, and I did not find him very witty or well informed. But let us walk up-stairs, having first paid sixpence to a doorkeeper, by appearance a negro, for which we are to receive a certain amount of refreshment, if beer and grog come rightly under that denomination; at length we find ourselves in a very ordinary room, with very extraordinary people in it. First, there are the portraits-_imprimis_ Bang Up, looking grosser and more animal than ever. Secondly, Mrs Bang Up, the exact counterpart of her bosom's lord; then a tribe of Bang Ups junior, of all sizes and s.e.xes, attract our astonished eyes. Then-for the room is a complete Walhalla-we have portraits of sporting heroes innumerable, with villanous foreheads, all "vacant of our glorious gains," heavy eyes, thick bull necks, and very short croppy hair. Here Gully vanquishes Bob Gregson, "the Lancashire champion," one of the finest and most formidable men of the day. There Jack Randall and Ned Turner display "a fine science and capital fighting," almost unparalleled, and so on; for the list is long, and it is one we do not care to repeat. We seat ourselves at the further end of the room, with a few gentlemen drinking gin and smoking cigars. Twenty or thirty mean-looking men are seated along the side; they are mostly dirty, and have broken noses; they are not very conversational, but seem chiefly to be deeply engaged in smoking. At length the waiter brings out some boxing gloves; one man takes off his coat and waistcoat, possibly his shirt, and puts them on; another does the same-they stand up to each other, the gents at the table encourage them, and the seedy men with broken noses look on very knowingly; they spar for some time, till the one feels that he cannot touch the other, and throws down the gloves; a small collection is then made for the n.o.ble art of self-defence, which, I presume, is divided amongst the performers; other actors come upon the stage, and the friendly contests are maintained till Bang Up closes his public-house for the night. As I came out, it was a great consolation to me to think that there are not many such places in London. The style of men thus created are, I fear, neither useful nor ornamental. They have a nasty ticket-of-leave look, and I would fain dispense with their company in quiet back streets during the small hours. One other thought may console you; the sporting public-house, once popular, now attracts but a few, and that few a weak and vicious cla.s.s. Is not this matter of encouragement?

THE PUBLIC-HOUSE WITH A BILLIARD-ROOM

Is a great attraction in some places. We knew a whole town upset by the fact that the landlord of the "Swan" had fitted up a billiard-room. I and Wiggins and Foley and Jobson spent at one time, I regret to say, a good deal of time there. I am warning the reader against the follies of my youth; but Foley failed, and Jobson and Wiggins, after having had their debts paid three or four times by their friends, I believe are now following that eminently healthy occupation called gold-digging, somewhere in Australia. Then I think of that little town in South Wales, and of the "Angel," under whose too hospitable roof we used to meet. One of us was an M.P's son; he is now, I believe, dragging down a father's grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. Another of us bore a name dear to every Englishman; he, I believe, is pensioned off by his family, and lives as he can on the handsome allowance of a guinea a-week. But these London billiard-rooms are fifty times more pernicious. There are some five or six hundred connected with public-houses. There are in all our large thoroughfares separate rooms licensed for this game, but at these drinking often goes on. And thus the two excitements acting on the man, he is impelled downwards with an increasing power. I have seen in these rooms officers and secretaries of public companies in a night losing, I am sure, a quarter's salary; I have seen young fellows completely ruined.

There was not, when I first knew him, a more promising, gentlemanly young fellow than Smethwicke, and now, they tell me, he is in Marylebone Workhouse.

We are told that men are grown-up children. This saying forcibly occurred to me the last time I was in a billiard-room. After I had recovered from the feeling of suffocation which an atmosphere infected by gas and smoke had produced, I observed a number of men with long sticks trying to knock a number of various-coloured b.a.l.l.s into any of the six pockets of the billiard-table. At each unsuccessful attempt a chorus of observations were made by the players, not remarkable for their novelty, for the vocabulary of the billiard-room is very limited, such as "Not within a mile"-"I didn't play for you, Bob"-"It smelt the hole," &c. &c.

At each successful attempt the chorus was still more animated, but not more original, as "Good stroke,"-"Bad flewke"-"On the red," &c. &c. The game that was being played was called "pool." A number of people put each 2_s._ or 3_s._, as they may choose to arrange it, and they have each a ball of a different colour-red, blue, pink, yellow, white, brown, black. Each player has what is called three lives, and each time he is put in by a player-for they play in turn-he pays sixpence or a shilling, according to arrangement, and loses a life, whilst the successful player is allowed to play again upon the ball which happens to be nearest. The money in the pool is ultimately divided between the two players who have kept their three lives the longest. It will be seen that, if everything is straightforward, the best player has the best chance of dividing the pool or taking the lives. But, unhappily, this game, so child-like in appearance, is not always innocent. It may happen two players, gifted by nature with conveniently elastic consciences, and a very confused notion of right and wrong, may arrange when they play upon each other to purposely avoid putting the ball in. Of course, each time this omission is made it is equal to the owner of the ball having an extra life, and of course makes the division of the pool almost a certainty. Perhaps at the end of the evening the two gentlemen, "who merely play for their amus.e.m.e.nt," may be seen under a lamppost dividing the spoil. The other games are pyramids and billiards, which it is unnecessary to describe. I will simply remark that the best player should win the game; but this is not always the case. Alas! for human nature! Sharps lose to win; m.u.f.fs win to lose (the term "m.u.f.f" is applied to an indifferent player). After this not very flattering description the reader would doubtless like to know who frequent these places. A very large majority are gentlemen-men who are perfectly incapable of doing anything but what is strictly honest; the minority are billiard sharks. The gentlemen play because it is a source of excitement; the sharks, because it is a source of profit.

There are also some who play only for amus.e.m.e.nt with gentlemen like themselves, and never risk beyond a shilling or so; and others, mere lookers-on, who, fatigued by their daily labours, prefer a _dolce far niente_ to the trouble of theatres, &c., and who read the paper, drink their brandy and water, and smoke their cigar, without either playing or making a bet.

It is not easier to distinguish a gentleman in a billiard-room than elsewhere, but without wishing to be personal, it is desirable the stranger should keep at a distance those individuals who are so very familiar and friendly with every one, and who keep a piece of chalk in their waistcoat pocket. These people cannot be insulted; they carefully avoid squabbles, which may bring about disagreeable insinuations; they prefer pursuing the even tenor of their way, "picking up" as many people as they can. See yonder old man who totters across the room; his trade is swindling, his goods are lies, his recreation is obscenity and blasphemy; his palsied hand can scarcely grasp a cue, and yet there are few who can excel him; by concealing his game carefully he has won, and can win hundreds, from his victims, who, thinking nothing of his skill, are astonished, as he pretends to be himself, at his _luck_. The young wife tossing restlessly in her bed, and wondering what can keep her lord so long at _business_, little knows, when he returns home flushed and excited, that he has been fleeced of money he can ill afford to lose; whilst the sharer of the domestic joys of the billiard shark basks in the sunshine of his momentary good humour, as he displays with a sardonic smile the gold which perhaps never belonged to the dupe who lost it. But the night is closing on us; we have seen enough for once. Come away.

THE RESPECTABLE PUBLIC-HOUSE

Is situated in one of the leading thoroughfares, and is decorated in an exceedingly handsome manner. The furniture is all new and beautifully polished, the seats are generally exquisitely soft and covered with crimson velvet, the walls are ornamented with pictures and pier-gla.s.ses, and the ceiling is adorned in a manner costly and rare. Such places as Simpson's or Campbell's in Beak-street, or Nell Gwynn's, almost rival the clubs, and, indeed, are much smarter than anything they can show at the Milton. Time was when men were partial to the sanded floor, the plain furniture, the homely style of such places as Dolly's, the London Coffee-house, or the c.o.c.k, to which Tennyson has lent the glory of his name. Now the love of show is cultivated to an alarming extent. "Let us be genteel or die," said Mrs Nickleby, and her spirit surrounds us everywhere. Hence the splendour of the drinking-rooms of the metropolis, and the studied deportment of the waiters, and the subdued awe with which Young Norvals fresh from the Grampian Hills and their fathers' flocks tread the costly carpets or sprawl their long legs beneath glittering mahogany.

Let us suppose it is about nine or ten in the evening, and we step into one of the numerous establishments which are to the respectable cla.s.ses what the gin-palace and the beer-house is supposed to be to the cla.s.s who are not. The reader must pardon my use of the word respectable. It is a word which, from my heart, I abhor, and, as it is commonly employed, merely denotes that a man has an account at a bank. There are but two ways in which human actions can be contemplated-the worldly and the philosophical or Christian. I use the term respectable merely in its worldly acceptation, but I skip this digression and pa.s.s on. Undoubtedly at the first blush it is a cheerful scene that first meets our eye. In this box are two or three old friends discussing a bottle of claret, who have not met perhaps since bright and boisterous boyhood, and who may never meet again. Of what manly struggle, of what sorrow that can never die, of what calm pleasures and chastened hopes, have they to tell! No wonder that you see the tear glistening in the eye, though there is laughter on the lip. Pa.s.s on; here are some bagsmen red with port, and redolent of slang. In the next box are three or four young fellows drinking whisky and smoking cigars, and of course their talk is of wine and women; but there is hope, nevertheless, for woman is still to them a something divine, and the evil days have not come when they see in her nothing but common clay. Look at this retired old gentleman of the old school sitting by himself alone; yet is he not alone, for as he sips his port memories thicken in his brain, of ancient cronies now sleeping in churchyards far away, of a sainted wife no longer a denizen of this dark world of sin, of daughters with laughing children round their knees, all rosy and chubby and flaxen-haired, of sons with Anglo-Saxon energy and faith planting the old race on a new soil. Cross to this other side and look at these reckless, dissipated fellows, whom the waiter has just respectfully requested not to make so much noise, as it disturbs the other gentlemen in the room. Possibly they are Joint Stock Bank directors or railway officials, and after a few years it will be found that for their revelry to-night a deluded public will have to pay. Here are a host of city merchants discussing politics, and it is wonderful how common-place is their conversation under the influence of alcohol.

"Palmerston is a great man, by ---, he is a great man, sir," says one.

"Yes, and no mistake," is the reply. "There is no humbug about Palmerston," says another. And so they ring the changes, originating nothing, gaining nothing, only getting redder in the face and more indistinct in their p.r.o.nunciation. At length they b.u.t.ton over their great coats, pay their bills, and generally very good-naturedly, but very unsteadily, steer towards the door. It may be that a noisy discussion takes place. One man a little more gone than the rest disturbs the harmony of the evening by his flat contradictions, uttered somewhat too rudely, and backed by a blow from the fist on the table, which breaks a couple of gla.s.ses. But next morning he apologizes; "It was only my wine contradicting your wine," he says, without any sense of shame. But this rarely happens. The respectable cla.s.ses have more command of their temper, and do not get so idiotically drunk as the frequenters of low public-houses, and so the _habitues_ are in no hurry to move and leave the light and luxurious room for the muddy streets and the winter night.

But they must do so, and young men with their pa.s.sions unnaturally stimulated, and the conscience proportionately deadened, are left to the temptations which await men who are out in the small hours; and old fogies, believing that if they go to bed mellow, they live as they ought to live, and die jolly fellows, find their way to their respective dwelling-places in a state as lamentable as it is degrading. Yet next Sunday you will see these men at church, and hear them joining in solemn and contrite prayer. Do they think these purple faces tell no tales? Do they think it is only the wife knows how they drink-in respectable company-in respectable hotels? Do they forget that in the midst of their revelry, under the flaming chandeliers, peering over the shoulders of courteous waiters, listening to their vinous laughter and ancient jokes, Death, with his dart, is there? Ay, and one night he will ride home with his victim in the Hansom, and will see him placed, all smelling with drink and under its influence, in the bed, side by side with his wife, and next morning she will as usual give her husband the seidlitz powder or soda water, and leave him to sleep for a short while longer, and when she comes back will find that his is the sleep which knows no waking.

And then the inquest will be held-and a medical man will perplex a plain case with useless show of knowledge, and a jury will return a verdict of "Death from natural causes." You and I know better-you and I know that if the man had not gone into the respectable public-house he might have lived another ten years-that it was because he went there night after night, and sat soaking there night after night, that the blood-vessels became gorged and clotted, and that the wonderful machine stood still.

"Poisoned by alcohol" is the true verdict-by alcohol sold and consumed in the respectable public-house. How long will society sanction such places? How long will they r.e.t.a.r.d the progress of the nation by wasting energies, and time, and cash, and opportunities that might have been devoted to n.o.bler ends? How long with their splendour-with their gilding and gla.s.s-with their air of respectability and comfort, will they attract the unwary, ruin the weak, and slay the strong man in his strength and pride?

NIGHT-HOUSES.

Plutarch begins one of those biographies which in all times have been the charm of childhood and age, by remarking that, "If things are implicated in a dependence upon definite numbers, it is a necessity that the same things must often happen, being effected by the same means." Thus is it, life in all its broad aspects is everywhere the same. All over the globe there is a wonderful uniformity in human habits. Men who work hard-as a rule-rise early, and go to bed early. Night is the time for rest. So far at least there is harmony between G.o.d's law and man's. The men and women who transgress are for the most part waifs and strays. Such are the denizens of our streets by night-such are they who crowd, not alone the night public-houses, but night coffee-houses of our metropolis.

Here in London these houses are of all kinds. For instance, let us enter one in the Haymarket. The rooms are as smart as gilding and ornamented paper and plate-gla.s.s can make them. The waiters are got up regardless of expense. The coffee is good, but dear. The men and women are of the kind usually met with in this locality during the small hours. The greater part are fools enough to think it worth while to buy a little worldly wisdom at a price-it may be at the loss of their bodies and souls-none but madmen would think of paying. In such places as these you are as sure to be injured as if you sat all night carousing in a public-house. These women with forced smiles on their painted cheeks are the veritable Harpies. Theirs is the true sardonic laugh. Do you remember one way in which that ancient phrase is accounted for?

Sardinia, it was said, was noted for a bitter herb which contracted the features of those who tasted it. Pausanias says it is a plant like parsley, which grows near springs, and causes people who eat it to laugh till they die; and these women, have they not eaten a bitter plant, and do they not laugh and die? Beware of the women. Beware of the men. See how their cunning eyes glisten if you change a sovereign. If they can get you into a neighbouring public-house and rob you, they will be rather pleased than otherwise. Look at that tall dark fellow watching us. It was only the other day he met a man here, as he might you or I, and decoyed him into a public-house close by, where his confederates were waiting, and robbed him of forty pounds when they thought their victim was sufficiently "fuddled" with champagne. He and such as he are not particular who they rob. They do not spare the women, I a.s.sure you.

Let us now turn towards Covent-garden. The debauchery of Covent-garden is not what it was. Obscenity is banished from the Cave of Harmony, and better hours are kept; but there are night coffee-houses about here, dirty, shabby places, patronised by dirty, shabby people. How weary and wayworn are the women! They have been walking the streets for hours-they have been dancing in neighbouring saloons-they have paraded their meretricious charms, and here they sit, hungry, tired, sleepy, and 't is three o'clock in the morning. No home have they to go to but some wretched room for which they pay a sum equal to the entire rent of the house. There is little gaiety here; the poor comic n.i.g.g.e.r, with his banjo and his double entendre playing with all his might, in the hope that some gent will stand a cup of coffee and a m.u.f.fin, can scarce raise a laugh. Timidly one asks, "Will you treat me to a cup of coffee, sir?"

Yes, forlorn one. If your sin is great, so is your punishment; once you might have been a dainty little wife, and now what are you? I say it sorrowfully, the sc.u.m of the streets, garbage for drunken l.u.s.t.

Let us go a little further on, not into that house, there are only thieves and pickpockets there, and we might be bullied, which is not pleasant. Ah, here's the house we are looking for; it has done a good trade this many a year, for is there not a cab-stand opposite, and cabby knows the value of a cup of coffee on a cold winter's night. Never mind the smell; as business is carried on uninterruptedly during the twenty-four hours, and as the company belongs to that part of the population not guilty of an inordinate attachment to soap and water, and to whom cheap baths are a myth, it cannot be matter of surprise if there be about the place "an ancient and fish-like smell." But here comes the landlord. "Good morning, gents;" in an under voice, "you had better mind your pocket; there are some strange characters here. A cup of coffee?

Yes, sir. Now then, sir, you had better wake up, it is time for you to be off. You've had a good hour's sleep." "Why not let him sleep?"

"Why, you see, sir, such fellows would stay here all night and fill up the house, and not spend a penny; and business is business." A curious medley is here of sleepy, half-tipsy, sickly unfortunates. Yet even here the line is drawn; the door opens, and we dimly discern a ma.s.s of rags; so does our landlord, as he rushes to exclude the would-be customer.

"What, you are trying it on again, are you? you know you can't come here.

Why, you see, sir, if we let such fellows in, the place would swarm with-," (the reader must supply the blank). But we take the hint, and not unreluctantly depart.

The night public-house has, I confess,-and I am glad to do so,-lost somewhat of its popularity in latter years. At one time it was common everywhere; now it is in only a few streets that it exists and pollutes the atmosphere. In the Strand, in the Haymarket, in Oxford-street, night-houses were numerous; but the one to which I more immediately refer was situated in the neighbourhood of Tottenham-court-road. Since then, Mr Spurgeon has been preaching in that locality, but I dare say the night-house exists nevertheless.

Let us suppose it is about two in the morning, and with the exception of one or two amiable garotters, a few sleepy police, and some three or four women, the regular population of the neighbourhood may be safely considered to have been long in bed. The gas-lamps shine almost exclusively on yourself. You look up at the windows and you see no lights save where, perhaps, poverty may be st.i.tching for bread, or where Death may have come an unbidden guest and borne away the fairest and the best beloved. At this hour the young bride in all her beauty may be struck down in mortal agony, or the wee pet lamb, whose little silver laugh had so often dispelled the dark cloud that gathered round the home, or the grey-haired man, having just reached the goal, and achieved an independence, may find himself left in this bleak, dark, wide world alone.

Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set; but all- Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death.

And now let us forget all this, and knock at this door, above which streams a mellow light, and from which we hear sounds of boisterous gaiety. Is it not open yet? Then give another rap. Ah, it is all right now. "Take care of your pockets," says Cerberus, in a low voice,-"there are some rum blokes here." We will, my friend.

Yes, they must be rum blokes who come here into this filthy, stinking shop, and amongst this filthy, ragged, swearing crew of reprobates. If you wish to see a set of fellows whose mere looks would hang them, I think they are about us now. Even the landlord seems uncomfortable in their presence, and wisely allows as little as possible of temptation in his house or on his person. He knows, I believe, they would as soon rob him as any one else, and his small ferrety eyes are evidently wide awake.

Indeed, none of the party look as if they had much honest sleep, and in the daylight, I imagine, would present a somewhat seedy appearance. We generally think cabmen not scrupulously honest, but perhaps these cabmen, with ancient great coats and well m.u.f.fled up, are the honestest fellows here. Then of course there is an Irish "widder," with melancholy face and a string of ballads, such as "Mary Blane," "The Red, White, and Blue," "Cheer, boys, cheer," all of which she is willing to dispose of on the most reasonable terms. A decayed swell, probably a railway director in the great year of bubbles, with extraordinary sponges-an article I should have thought quite as unsaleable as soap to the _habitues_,-and a jockey-like looking person with knives with most wonderful and unaccountable blades, or with some fancy work-boxes or other articles equally ingenious and useless. Women are here, of course, in the last stage of their profligate career, driven out of decent houses, unfit to a.s.sociate with the well-dressed and the young-wrinkled, repulsive, red.

As you see them drink, quarrelling, screaming, and cursing, as they always do till turned out to go G.o.d knows where, can you imagine that the difference between them and your own mother is merely that of circ.u.mstance, and education, and habit?-perhaps merely the difference produced by drink. I can tell you that little hag was once a rich man's leman, and robed herself in silk and satin, and quaffed her costly wine; and now hark how piteously she begs a drop of gin, ere she staggers to her wretched garret and straw to dream of a youth and gaiety now no longer hers. Here she has warmth, light, and society, and the night-house exists for such as she; and if, as is quite as likely as not, she is in league with some of the men around us, here she brings her victim, and then, stupified by drink, she has only to decoy him down some dark pa.s.sage, and he becomes an easy prey to the sneaking thief who comes skulking up behind. But let us listen-

"Me and my pal we was a-going along the Hedgware-road, and we sor"-

"Hold your tongue," is the courteous reply.

"What do you mean by making all this row?" cries the landlord, with a horrid oath.

"Now, then, old buffer, another quartern of gin."

"And a screw of tobacco, master, if you please."

"Well, old gal, what'll you drink?"

"Well, I don't mind, what'll you stand?"

"Suppose we has arf and arf."

"Ay, to be sure."

And so the hours pa.s.s, and the place gets hotter, and stinks more and more every hour, for the men and women have not a very pleasant effluvium, and the hubbub becomes more intense. You tell me you would rather not stay here long. Well, I am quite of your opinion, for a couple of gentlemen with pale faces have been eyeing us most attentively ever since we have been here, and I confess their appearance is not prepossessing. Their short hair seems to indicate an acquaintance with one of the public establishments of the metropolis, with whose inmates it is not well to be too familiar. They are dressed in fustian, with thick boots well studded with nails, a kick from which on the head when a man is down would soon settle his business; and with their close-fitting caps, Belcher handkerchiefs, and heavy animal faces, are certainly not very pleasant-looking young men. I should be sorry to intimate my suspicions to them, as they may be n.o.blemen in disguise, and might feel hurt at my want of charity. In the mean while, as the door is being opened and the coast is clear, I avail myself of the opportunity, and leaving the night-house, am soon dreaming in my feverish slumber that I have just been garotted and left for dead at the door of my domestic establishment, to the intense agony of my wife and children,-of course, by the two amiable young people aforesaid,-and I feel for some days after as if I had suffered terribly from a species of night-mare. So hideous is the life, so degraded the company, so revolting are the scenes, at these night-houses, I know not why the law permits them to be open. I am sure they can answer no good or moral end. Mr Norton, a few days since, said, in deciding a case at the Lambeth police-office, he hoped a law would soon be pa.s.sed to close night-houses. On this head the police magistrates are unanimous.

HIGHBURY BARN.

A writer in _Chambers's Journal_ some time since called attention to the peculiar attractions of Highbury Barn. What are these attractions? I confess that the place has connected it with the eating and drinking a.s.sociations of years; that here generations of c.o.c.kneys have dined; that here, Sunday after Sunday, they have come to drink bottled stout and smoke; that it is extensively patronized by shopmen and milliners; that the society is not of the most refined order; and that the love made in it is not of the n.o.blest and purest character. I cannot understand how _Chambers_ could have been got to puff up such a place to the public. I am sure the decent public will not thank _Chambers_ for the puff.

Highbury Barn is an admirable ill.u.s.tration of the way in which Acts of Parliament are evaded. In 1852 Mr Hinton applied for and obtained a license for music, and he stated in his pet.i.tion on that occasion, that his object was to have the license as an adjunct to dinner-parties, a great number of which were held there; and at that time he had no idea whatever of having dancing in the place. In 1854, however, a different state of things arose, and, from a combination of causes, the parties and festivals at Highbury Barn fell off, and compet.i.tion was so great, that Mr Hinton, having a large establishment, in which a great deal of capital was invested, was compelled to do something to meet the public taste, as he says, or, as I might say, to create it. Accordingly, on Whit Monday of that year, he opened his establishment for musical entertainments with the band of 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 a.s.sembly 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 a.s.sociation, 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 amus.e.m.e.nt. 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-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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sage, 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 att.i.tude is faultless; his raven hair is parted in the middle; his dark eye is turned in a languishing manner upward to the orchestra. In the intervals between the dances he walks up and down the room in an abstract and poetic manner, and Melancholy marks him for her own. You believe in the doctrine of metamorphoses as you look at him. He is a star fallen upon evil days. Beneath that faultless black dress-coat there lies the soul of a Beau Brummel or a Nash. Well, then, may there be a tinge of sadness on his cheek, and a cloud upon his brow. But let us leave him awhile and look about us. What a n.o.ble room!

we shall not see a finer one in London. At one end is a gallery; at the other a raised platform with very comfortable seats and tables. All round the room are ill.u.s.trations of oriental scenery, and over the bar is the orchestra. But the place is not so crowded as we might expect, and the visitors are quieter than in the casinos of the West; the men and women are most of them much younger,-the men, many of them, have an exceedingly juvenile appearance, and think it fine to dance with young ladies of uncertain occupations, and to drink brandy-and-water and smoke cigars; but they have yet to cut their wisdom-teeth. As Thackeray says,

"Pretty page with the dimpled chin, That never has known the barber's shear, All your wish is woman to win; This is the way that boys begin,- Wait till you come to forty year."