_A SALE BY AUCTION._
It does not often fall to my lot to do shopping--one reason being
that my wife is fond of doing it herself, and another that I detest
the occupation. It happened, however, a few mornings after our Mount
Eden trip, that some mutton chops were required, and as I was going
into the town, my wife asked me to purchase three or four. To avoid
the possibility of forgetting my commission, I headed straight for the
flashiest-looking butcher's shop in Queen Street, gave my order, and
on receiving the chops handed half-a-crown to the shopman, who to my
intense surprise returned me a two-shilling piece.
Four fine mutton chops for sixpence! Digest this information, my
home readers, and then come out here if you like, and digest the
three-halfpenny chops--they are every bit as good as English ones, and
one-fifth of the money.
Strolling down Queen Street with my purchases done up in a neat
parcel, I was nearly knocked over by a man who suddenly rushed out
of a doorway with a gigantic bell in his hand, which he commenced
ringing violently. "What is the matter now?" thought I. "Can this be an
opposition form of religion to the Salvation Army, in which the bell
takes the place of the drum?" Determining to fathom the mystery of
the man with the bell, I stationed myself as near to him as possible
without running a risk of being rendered deaf for life, and watched
events. Nobody appeared to take much notice of the performance, but
I saw people from time to time entering the doorway from which the
bellringer had emerged. "No doubt," I thought, "some kind of service is
about to be held;" and I determined when the bell stopped to form one
of the congregation. People were now flocking in pretty fast, and the
bellman showed symptoms of fatigue, though he stuck to his work with
all the ardour of a religious fanatic. At last the bell conquered the
man, and entering the doorway I found myself in a large and rather dark
room, along one side of which all sorts of articles of furniture were
arranged. On a small raised platform with a rail in front, to which a
desk was attached, stood a gentleman whom I immediately saw was not
a parson, but an auctioneer, for in his hand he carried his baton of
office--a small ivory hammer. Round him were crowded about one hundred
shabbily dressed persons, a large proportion of whom were Jews. Just as
I entered the auctioneer rapped sharply with his mallet on the desk in
front of him and spoke as follows:--
"Gentlemen, I have to-day to offer you some of the choicest articles
of furniture that have ever come under my hammer, and I will but
express the hope that you have brought with you plenty of money to
buy with, and plenty of pluck to bid with, and proceed to business.
Jim, move that chest of drawers forward, so that the gentlemen
can see it. There, gentlemen, what do you say to that? a piece of
furniture that would give a distinguished appearance to the meanest
bedchamber--best cabinetmaker's work too. Shall we say five pounds for
the chest of drawers? What, no bidders? Well, start it at what you
like--say ten shillings for this magnificent piece of furniture--twelve
shillings--fourteen shillings--one pound bid in two places--this
remarkably handsome specimen of cabinetmaker's work going for one
pound--twenty-five shillings bid," &c. &c., until it was finally
knocked down for fifty shillings. The next thing disposed of was a
clock, and then a sewing-machine was put up, which was just the thing I
knew my wife wanted.
"Gentlemen," said the auctioneer, "the sewing-machine I now have
to offer to you is the property of a widow lady in distressed
circumstances. I will with your permission read a letter I received
from her at the time the machine was forwarded to me, and I am
confident that you will sympathise with this poor bereaved lady, who
has not only had the misfortune to lose her husband, but is now,
alas! about to lose her sewing-machine!" He then read the letter, the
contents of which I have forgotten, though I recollect it stated that
the machine was a "Wheeler and Wilson" in good order.
"Gentlemen," continued the auctioneer, "I am sure the letter I have
just read must have excited feelings of compassion in each manly
breast. Show it by bidding freely for the widow--or rather, I mean
for the widow's sewing-machine. Shall we start it at a pound? What!
no bid at a pound? Where are your bowels of compassion, gentlemen?
Well, say ten shillings--ten shillings for a 'Wheeler and Wilson'
sewing-machine--fifteen shillings for this splendid piece of
mechanism--sixteen shillings offered--sixteen shillings for a beautiful
widow's sewing-machine--seventeen shillings offered--eighteen shillings
in two places for the widow--nineteen shillings--in perfect working
order--one pound offered for this beautiful machine of a lone widow in
good working order one pound two and six offered--any advance on one
pound two and six?"
"One pound five!" I shouted; and the second after down came the hammer,
and the machine as my property. It was moved away by Jim into a little
sideroom, and the auctioneer took down my name.
I went to inspect my purchase, and to my disgust found it would not
move, and also discovered it was not a "Wheeler and Wilson" at all.
Catching sight of Jim, who was no other than the performer on the bell,
I said--"Look here, my man, this is not a 'Wheeler and Wilson' machine
at all, and it is all rusty and won't work!"
"Can't help it, sir," replied Jim. "When you buys at auctions, you buys
for weal or woe!"
"Oh! the wheel's right enough, and there is no question about the
whoa," I sarcastically remarked, "for it won't move an inch; but I
will not pay for it; it's not a 'Wheeler and Wilson,' as the auctioneer
stated!" and in a state of righteous indignation I strode out of the
place, leaving my chops unwittingly behind me.
There are eight or nine of these rooms, or marts, in Queen Street, and
the system of selling all sorts of things daily by auction gives a
sort of Cheap Jack air to the thoroughfare. Surely, if this method of
disposing of goods of all descriptions is necessary to the happiness of
the good citizens of Auckland, some side street might be selected in
which the business could be carried on, and the peace and dignity of
the principal thoroughfare in the city left undisturbed.