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LONDON AUCTIONS.

FASHION influences auctions as much as costume. A century ago the City proper, then comparatively quiet and thinly inhabited, was the daily haunt of beaus and wits from the Court, and the coffee-houses were thronged with physicians and authors. Pepys and his gay companions often took their coffee (then a costly beverage) within the sound of Bow bells; and sales by auction at Garraway's frequently included books, pictures, and articles of vertu. Fine ladies visited the neighbourhood of 'Change, for bargains of old china, and the daintiest silks and requisites for female dress were to be met with in Cheapside. All this is changed; commerce is the great Diana of our busy citizens; business leaves no space for pleasure on the thronged pavement; ladies have become specialties, except at the Bank, when dividends are in course of payment; and the auctions are confined to estates, tea, indigo, and timber. Sotheby, Christie and Manson are the high-priests who must be retained to transfer your library or your picture gallery to the highest bidder; and their florid eloquence, modelled after George Robins, so disguises the objects of sale, that you hardly recognize your own books or paintings. When, however, the paternal acres change proprietors, or, groaning under a heavy mortgage, must be brought to the hammer, or a re

versionary interest has to be realized, or a rich Equitable policy is to be turned into cash, you will be ill-advised if you do not send them to the Auction Mart, where, in the hands of some steady-going professor, they are sure to fetch the utmost value.

The Mart is a modern institution. When I was a young man it was my favourite haunt, for it was a capital place to study character, and penetrate some of the mysteries of our nature. Besides, I was idle then, and it looked like business to attend auctions. True, I had no biddings to offer, but those who jostled me might give me credit for the control of thousands, and the rather because I never opened my mouth. Entering the Mart from Bartholomewlane, you find yourself in a spacious hall, plentifully furnished with advertisements of the coming sales, and especially with a programme of the day's work, full descriptions being given as to each property about to be disposed of, and the terms of sale legally defined. Two minutes before one o'clock, a bell rings, and the intending purchasers ascend a broad staircase leading to the various auction rooms. When I was a visitor, there were occasional sales of remnant china and glass, which were the only approach to fancy lots I ever met with. I bought my first tea-set there, a great bargain, and I treasure it still, as an eloquent though silent witness for the past.

One day the large room was inconveniently crowded, and not merely with amateurs, but with veritable capitalists, rich enough to subscribe for a loan or buy up a million of Exchequer bills. A noble mansion and grounds, with a well-stocked farm, and a thousand acres of excellent corn land, were to be sold. The hammer autocrat ascended his pulpit. He gave a rapid but tempting outline of the property. "And what do you say," quoth he, "for this incomparable estate? I am instructed to dispose of it all in a single lot. What will you permit me to offer for this

princely property? Gentlemen, I have practised as an auctioneer for now more than thirty years, and I am certain nothing so unique ever came into my hands. Title indisputable, mansion first-rate, grounds beautiful, farm quite a model, land wonderfully productive-what sum shall I say?" There was no reply for some minutes. Each expected bidder closed his lips with an expression of great sternness. Each pocket was buttoned closely. Who would begin? An insignificant-looking man, in a threadbare frock-coat, took courage, and in a small, squeaking voice, said, "Ten thousand pounds." "Thank you, Sir Horace. Who will mend this very inadequate bidding?" "Twelve thousand," "Fifteen thousand," "Twenty thousand," were rapidly offered by three individuals, whose appearance to an ordinary observer was anything but promising. "Going, going, for £20,000-about a fourth of the value. Mr. Bullion, do you not bid? Such an opportunity will never occur again. Thank you, sir, £22,000. Going for £22,000. Allow me to state there is no reserve, the property must be sold." The biddings were now smaller, but they came more readily, and in about twenty minutes the sum offered was £35,050. Great excitement prevailed, whispers passed from ear to ear, the auctioneer slowly raised his hammer, while he said in a deprecating tone, "Gentlemen, it is impossible you can mean this noble estate should be sold so miserably under price. Going for £35,050." This stimulated some lingering buyers, till the sum offered rose to £38,000. "Sir, I shall be obliged to declare the property yours at this sum. I shall only wait five minutes more, that nobody may be taken by surprise. Going, for the last time, at £38,000." A sturdy, broad-backed citizen, standing in a corner, who looked anxious, but had made no offer, ventured a step in advance by bidding another £500; this led to various additional £100 biddings, and after a very smart contest,

the hammer finally fell at an offer of £40,000. "Mr. Omnium," said the auctioneer, "allow me to congratulate you on your splendid purchase, so much below the value. If you would like to sell it again when the funds are not so tight, I am satisfied it will bring you £50,000."

I have witnessed many such scenes as this, and few things prove the wealth of London more strikingly than the facility with which such costly property finds a market, unless, perhaps, the fact, that when the Indian loan for £300,000 was proposed very recently, offers for £1,300,000 were immediately obtained. Surely the dirty uncomely statue of our Queen on 'Change might be smartened up a little. What if a gilded or golden image, like that on the plain of Dura, were substituted?

The trade sales of tea, indigo, cotton, and other commodities in bulk, are dry, business transactions. None but authorized agents attend, and vast sums are transferred in an incredibly short time, in the merest pro formd manner; yet under this dull routine disguise, a spirit of reckless gambling frequently prevails, and dealers rush into bargains of the most perilous nature with the slightest possible consideration. So many of the citizens are located in the suburbs, that few private sales now occur; yet occasionally a faded drugget dangling from the window, ticketed with a staring auction bill, setting forth that the articles catalogued are to be sold "by order of the executor," or "of a gentleman removing," or, plainer still, "by order of the Sheriff," proclaims emphatically the final breaking up of some once happy home. Death sometimes, and extravagance oftener, lead to this unceremonius ejectment of the household gods; but unpreventible misfortune is frequently the cause, and we ought never to forget the wide-spreading affliction such daily wrecks of family peace occasion. Persons who visit these auctions are content to elbow the dealers in second-rate furniture with the hope

of securing bargains. They profess little sympathy, and feel less, for the wretched beings who watch in despairing silence the dispersion of the few poor conveniences which must no longer minister to their comfort. Passing through Charterhouse-square, a few months since, I noticed the usual insignia of a sale, and entered a house filled with noisy dealers and a sprinkling of private purchasers. The furniture was lotted out, not a stick or rag omitted. The auctioneer was already in his rostrum, around which over fifty persons were grouped-some anxious about a favourite lot, some listlessly thumbing their catalogues, and a few confirmed time-killers yawning in very weariness. An elderly woman, shrugging her

shoulders, whispered to her neighbour, "I always expected this; the poor gentleman was too liberal by half; I have seen him give sixpence when I only gave a halfpenny, and his wife was so fine a lady that nothing but ruin could come of it." A man in a fustian jacket pressed forward to bid for a lot of earthenware, and, finding it gone, exclaimed, "No matter, they were too fine for me, and may be master that's dead would have done better with meaner ware." "Yes, truly," drawled out a sour-looking hunchback, "he was only a beggarly placeman, and did not sweat for his bread like you and I; but pride will have its fall, that's my comfort." A grey-headed servant of the house mutters to himself, "You unfeeling brute!" A woman in deep mourning was in the room. It is the widow. A beautiful fancy wood writing-desk is put up. "Shall I begin with ten guineas ?" says the auctioneer. The mourner offers five. Seven pounds is bid; the widow adds ten shillings, but in a few minutes it is knocked down at £8 to a stranger, and the bereaved lady leaves the room in silent sorrow. Did the careless purchaser understand the wound she had inflicted on the helpless sufferer? That desk was her husband's gift on their marriage!