turbable gravity. The court was convulsed; the titter
broke out into a laugh; and it was several minutes before silence and
decorum could be restored. When the ushers recovered their
self-possession, they made diligent search for the profane transgressor;
but he was not to be found. Nobody knew him; nobody had seen him. After a
while the business of the court again proceeded. The next prisoner brought
up for trial augured favourably of his prospects when he learned that the
solemn lips of the representative of justice had uttered the popular
phrase as if he felt and appreciated it. There was no fear that such a
judge would use undue severity. His heart was with the people; he
understood their language and their manners, and would make allowances for
the temptations which drove them into crime. So thought many of the
prisoners, if we may infer it from the fact that the learned judge
suddenly acquired an immense increase of popularity. The praise of his wit
was in every mouth, and "_Who are you?_" renewed its lease, and remained
in possession of public favour for another term in consequence.

But it must not be supposed that there were no interregna between the
dominion of one slang phrase and another. They did not arise in one long
line of unbroken succession, but shared with song the possession of
popular favour. Thus, when the people were in the mood for music, slang
advanced its claims to no purpose; and when they were inclined for slang,
the sweet voice of music wooed them in vain. About thirty years ago London
resounded with one chorus, with the love of which every body seemed to be
smitten. Girls and boys, young men and old, maidens and wives and widows,
were all alike musical. There was an absolute mania for singing; and the
worst of it was, that, like good Father Philip in the romance of _The
Monastery_, they seemed utterly unable to change their tune. "Cherry
ripe!" "Cherry ripe!" was the universal cry of all the idle in the town.
Every unmelodious voice gave utterance to it; every crazy fiddle, every
cracked flute, every wheezy pipe, every street-organ was heard in the same
strain, until studious and quiet men stopped their ears in desperation, or
fled miles away into the fields or woodlands to be at peace. This plague
lasted for a twelvemonth, until the very name of cherries became an
abomination in the land. At last the excitement wore itself away, and the
tide of favour set in a new direction. Whether it was a