Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II. Egan Pierce

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Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II - Egan Pierce

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which occurred in Utopia, where it appears by our

      informant, that the laws hold great similarity with our own.

      A certain house of considerable respectability had imported

      a large quantity of Welsh cheese, which were packed in

      wooden boxes, and offered them for sale (a great rarity in

      Eutopia) as double Gloucester.

      It is said that two of a trade seldom agree; how far the

      adage may apply to Eutopia, will be seen in the sequel. A

      tradesman, residing in the next street, a short time after,

      received an importation from Gloucester, of the favourite

      double production of that place, packed in a similar way,

      and (as was very natural for a tradesman to do, at least we

      know it is so here,) the latter immediately began to vend

      his cheese as the real Double Gloucester. This was an

      offence beyond bearing. The High Court of Equity was moved,

      similar we suppose to our High Court of Chancery, to

      suppress the sale of the latter; but as no proof of

      deception could be produced, it was not granted. This only

      increased the flame already excited in the breasts of the

      first importers; every effort was made use of to find a good

      and sufficient excuse to petition the Court again, and at

      length they found out one of the craft to swear, that as the

      real Gloucester had been imported in boxes of a similar

      shape, make, and wood, it was quite evident that the

      possessor must have bought similar cheeses, and was imposing

      on the public to their great disadvantage, notwithstanding

      they could not find a similarity either of taste, smell, or

      appearance. In the mean time the real Gloucester cheese

      became a general favourite with the inhabit-ants of Utopia,

      and upon this, though slender ground, the innocent tradesman

      was served with a process, enjoining him not to do that,

      which, poor man, he never intended to do; and besides if he

      had, the people of that country were not such ignoramuses as

      to be so deceived; it was merely to restrain him from

      selling his own real double Gloucester as their Welsh

      cheeses, purporting, as they did, to be double Gloucester,

      or of mixing them together (than which nothing could be

      further from his thoughts,) and charging him at the same

      time with having sold his cheeses under their name. But the

      most curious part of the business was, the real cheeseman

      brought the investigation before the Court, cheeses in boxes

      were produced, and evidence was brought forward, when, as

      the charges alleged could not be substantiated, the

      restraint was removed, and the three importers of Welsh

      cheese hung their heads, and retired in dudgeon.

      the Hon. Tom availed himself of the circumstance to leave the Box, though the truth was, there were other attractions of a more enlivening cast in his view.

      “Come,” said he, “we shall have a better opportunity of seeing the House, and its decorations, by getting nearer to the curtain; besides, Ave shall have a bird's-eye view of the company in all quarters, from the seat of the Gods to the Pit.”

      The influx of company, (it being the time of half-price), and the rush and confusion which took place in all parts at this moment, were indescribable. Jumping over boxes and obtaining seats by any means, regardless of politeness or even of decorum—Bucks and Bloods warm from the pleasures of the bottle—dashing Belles and flaming Beaux, squabbling and almost fighting—rendered the amusements before the curtain of a momentary interest, which appeared to obliterate the recollection of what they had previously witnessed. In the mean time, the Gods in the Gallery issued forth an abundant variety of discordant sounds, from their elevated situation. Growling of bears, grunting of hogs, braying of donkeys, gobbling of turkeys, hissing of geese, the catcall, and the loud shrill whistle, were heard in one mingling concatenation of excellent imitation and undistinguished variety: During which, Tom led the way to the upper Boxes, where upon arriving, he was evidently disappointed at not meeting the party who had been seen occupying a seat on the left side of the House, besides having sacrificed a front seat, to be now compelled to take one at the very back part of a side Box, an exchange by no means advantageous for a view of the performance. However, this was compensated in some degree by a more extensive prospect round the House; and his eyes were seen moving in all directions, without seeming to know where to fix, while Sparkle and Bob were attracted by a fight in the Gallery, between a Soldier and a Gentleman's Servant in livery, for some supposed insult offered to the companion of the latter, and which promised serious results from the repeated vociferations of those around them, of “Throw 'em over—throw 'em over;” while the gifts of the Gods were plentifully showered down upon the inhabitants of the lower regions in the shape of orange-peelings, apples, &c. The drawing up of the curtain however seemed to have some little effect upon the audience, and in a moment the Babel of tongues was changed into a pretty general cry of “Down—down in the front—hats off—silence, &c. which at length subsided in every quarter but the Gallery, where still some mutterings and murmurings were at intervals to be heard.

      “——one fiddle will

      Produce a tiny flourish still.”

      Sparkle could neither see nor hear the performance—Tom was wholly engaged in observing the company, and Bob alternately straining his neck to get a view of the Stage, and then towards the noisy inhabitants of the upper regions. “We dined at the Hummums,” said a finicking little Gentleman just below him—“Bill, and I, and Harry—drank claret like fishes—Harry was half-sprung—fell out with a Parson about chopping logic; you know Harry's father was a butcher, and used to chopping, so it was all prime—the Parson would'n't be convinced, though Harry knock'd down his argument with his knuckles on the table, almost hard enough to split it—it was a bang-up lark—Harry got in a passion, doff'd his toggery, and was going to show fight—so then the Parson sneak'd off—Such a bit of gig.'”

      “Silence there, behind.”

      “So then,” continued the Dandy, “we went to the Billiard-rooms, in Fleet Street, played three games, diddled the Flats, bilk'd the Marker, and bolted—I say, when did you see Dolly?"{1}

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