“Well,” said Marpeet, “that beats cock-fighting.”
CHAPTER X.
Two great sources of attraction to young men existed in Calcutta at the time of which I am now writing (upwards of twenty-five years ago), and do still exist, for anything I know to the contrary, Tulloh’s and other auction-rooms, and the China bazaar. At the former almost daily sales took place of every kind of property from a ship to a penknife, a rabbit to an elephant; in the latter, all the heterogeneous commodities of an American store were to be seen mingled pell-mell—raspberry jam, Milroy’s saddles, best pickles, regulation-swords, wall-shades, China dishes, hog-spears, Harvey’s sauce, &c.—of which, however, more anon. Catalogues of the various articles to be disposed of at the day’s sale at Tulloh’s are (or were) left daily at the houses in or near Calcutta, and made their appearance, regularly with the newspapers at the break-table, tempting to extravagance, by stimulating latent desires or creating fictitious wants.
In our commercial country and its dependencies, where Plutus is the deity chiefly adored, it seems proper and strictly in character that the pulpits connected with his worship, however remotely, should be ably and efficiently filled. Here, in England, we know this to be generally the case, and what lustre the eloquence of some of our leading auctioneers has shed on the profession; how truly, indeed, more than one of them merit the praise which Johnson, happily quoting from Horace, bestowed on the genius of Goldsmith:—“Nihil quod tetigit non ornavit.”
There was no lack of this shining talent, oratorical power, and technical tact, amongst the auctioneers of Calcutta, seasoned with humour, pathos, or persuasion, according to the occasion. How often have I heard the merits of a venerable steed proclaimed; his infirmities and defects (with a delicate regard to his presence) lightly touched upon, or at most so disposed, like the shades in a picture, as to heighten and improve the general effect! How frequently have I been pleasantly reminded of the good old maxim “de mortuis nil nisi bonum,” when listening to the commendations of a batch of dead and ullaged beer! And how often tempted to make an investment in a cheap “gross of green spectacles,” “a lot of damaged huckaback,” or the like, from a strong impression, fostered by the auctioneers persuasive eloquence, “that they might some day come into use,” a contingent probability largely insisted upon!
What a Herculean task it is to conjure money out of some people’s pockets! Consummate tact is requisite to effect this end. What a world of machinery must be put in motion before the movable crank, the owner’s hand, finds its way into that pecuniary receptacle! A bungler may fumble for a month and not find the motive spring, whilst an adept will touch it in a moment. Yes, I see no reason on earth why the auctioneers should not rank with the liberal professions. Does not the craft combine, in an eminent degree, many of the leading features of those professions, which (always considering the predominant turn of the national mind) unaccountably rank higher in public estimation—the special pleading of the lawyer, the eloquence of the senator, and the business-like airs of the merchant? Does not the auctioneer, like another Charles Martel—ay, and with the same weapon, too—knock down his lots with as much effect as the soldier does his? Does he not pronounce orations over the dead, as has been already shown, and display a beautiful morality in covering, as with the mantle of charity, a multitude of defects? Is not his “going, going, gone,” too, a brief and pithy sermon, touchingly calculated to remind us of our common mortality?
And in all these, are not the functions of a higher pulpit strikingly exercised? Ought he not to be a poet, painter, critic—in short, a man of taste and general information, or how is he to descant with effect on the merits of his multifarious wares? Should he not be a phrenologist, that he may suit his arguments to the several developments of his bidders; a physiognomist, that he may judge of the effect by the unerring index of the countenance, whether rallying, bantering, bullying, or wheedling, is the cue; and a casuist, that he may reconcile his mind to the various tricks of the trade? and, finally, should he not have a deep insight into human nature in general, and know well its various assailable points? “Shall I say, 1,000 rupees for you, sir, for that Arab? no animal can look better, well mounted, I assure you; he will suit your weight and figure to a nicety—was ridden by the Hon. Capt. Dangle, just gone home, a gentleman very much of your appearance, sir, and who lately, to borrow the language of our immortal bard, was wont on our course here ‘to witch the world with noble horsemanship,’ upon that very Arab. Sir—shall I take your bid?” A complaisant nod—the business is done. “Thank you, sir—1,000 rupees for the Arab—going, going, gone!”
One morning, Grundy and I breakfasted together in my room, which was within a few doors of his own, when one of the afore-mentioned catalogues found its way into our possession.
“Grundy,” said I, “whilst I despatch this fish and rice, as you appear to have done, do just read what there is for sale to-day at the auction. I have a feeling that I want something, though, hang me if I can exactly tell what it is.”
Grundy commenced, and read as follows:—“Lot 1st. Three fine alderney cows.”