nother song or a
slang phrase is difficult to determine at this distance of time; but
certain it is, that very shortly afterwards people went mad upon a
dramatic subject, and nothing was to be heard of but "_Tommy and Jerry_."
Verbal wit had amused the multitude long enough, and they became more
practical in their recreation. Every youth on the town was seized with the
fierce desire of distinguishing himself by knocking down the "_charlies_,"
being locked up all night in a watch-house, or kicking up a row among
loose women and blackguard men in the low dens of St. Giles's. Imitative
boys vied with their elders in similar exploits, until this unworthy
passion (for such it was) had lasted, like other follies, its appointed
time, and the town became merry after another fashion. It was next thought
the height of vulgar wit to answer all questions by placing the point of
the thumb upon the tip of the nose, and twirling the fingers in the air.
If one man wished to insult or annoy another, he had only to make use of
this cabalistic sign in his face, and his object was accomplished. At
every street-corner where a group was assembled, the spectator who was
curious enough to observe their movements would be sure to see the fingers
of some of them at their noses, either as a mark of incredulity, surprise,
refusal, or mockery, before he had watched two minutes. There is some
remnant of this absurd custom to be seen to this day; but it is thought
low even among the vulgar.

About sixteen years ago, London became again most preposterously musical.
The _vox populi_ wore itself hoarse by singing the praises of "The Sea,
the Sea!" If a stranger (and a philosopher) had walked through London, and
listened to the universal chorus, he might have constructed a very pretty
theory upon the love of the English for the sea-service, and our
acknowledged superiority over all other nations upon that element. "No
wonder," he might have said, "that this people is invincible upon the
ocean. The love of it mixes with their daily thoughts; they celebrate it
even in the market-place; their street-minstrels excite charity by it; and
high and low, young and old, male and female, chant _lo paeans_ in its
praise. Love is not honoured in the national songs of this warlike
race--Bacchus is no god to them; they are men of sterner mould, and think
only of 'the Sea, the Sea!' and the means of conquering upon it."

Such would, doubtless, have been his impression i