I was followed by the leader of the grim faction--an unlicked curate of the largest dimensions.
"If there were, so to speak, no other reason against dancing," said my reverend opponent, "there is one unanswerable objection to it.
Gentlemen! John the Baptist lost his head through dancing!"' Every man of the grim faction hammered delightedly on the table, as that formidable argument was produced; and the curate sat down in triumph.

I jumped up to reply, amid the counter-cheering of the loose-thinkers; but before I could say a word the President of the Institution and the rector of the parish came into the room.
They were both men of authority, men of sense, and fathers of charming daughters, and they turned the scale on the right side in no time.

The question relating to the admission of novels was postponed, and the question of dancing or no dancing was put to the vote on the spot.

The President, the rector and myself, the three handsomest and highest-bred men in the assembly, led the way on the liberal side, waggishly warning all gallant gentlemen present to beware of disappointing the young ladies.

This decided the waverers, and the waverers decided the majority.