there," (the Innocent), "who bid three pounds," they positively assert, and recommend the auctioneer to insist on his taking it at that price. But by this time Mr Innocent smells the trick, so, thanking his lucky stars that he was not bit, he backs out of the transaction, and, according to the auction rules, the lot is put up again and re-sold. No one ventures now to touch the picture but Mr Benjamin's men, and without further fuss it is knocked down to that enterprising firm for seventeen shillings.

The leading principles of the conspirators are intimidation, bullying, and barefaced, baseless insinuations against the goods under sale. As I have mentioned, the melancholy reason why the auction was held was, that the head of the house had been cut off by death. Indeed, the poor gentleman had died of consumption, but only his immediate neighbours knew the fact.

Small-pox was prevalent, and that was the dastardly weapon of which the shabby crew availed themselves to get the widow's beds and bedding at about a sixth of their fair value. On the appearance of the first feather bed, Mr Benjamin, with great solemnity, wished to be informed had it been thoroughly disinfected.

Disinfected of what?" the auctioneer asked in sur

prise.

"Oh! there's no occasion to mention it; it ain't a werry pleasant subject," grinned Mr Benjamin. "I don't care, I've been waxinated myself."

Mr Auctioneer vehemently protested against the insinuation, and Benjamin and his men roared with laughter, and said it was only a little joke. It was effective, however. Beds, bedding, bedsteads, everything that pertained to the sleeping chambers, became the property of the conspirators without a shadow of

opposition. Altogether a very fair haul was made, and when it was all over, a merry band of "knock-outs," we adjourned to the public-house, at the bar of which morning refreshment had been taken, and there, in a private room and with the door locked, we proceeded to divide the spoil.

Mr Benjamin, as master of the ceremonies, took the chair at the head of the table, having first procured, from the landlord down stairs, change for a ten-pound note in silver, which he piled in a heap before him. Every knock-out had his catalogue and pencil in his hands. "Lot the first is the parlour chimney-glass. Thirty-five shillings it fetched; I'll give two pun' ten. Anybody give more?" No one seemed inclined to give more, and Mr Benjamin, taking fifteen shillings from his heap, laid them apart. "The drawing-room suite," continued the man with the large ears, consulting the catalogue, "it was agreed that Mrs Simmons should have for seven pun' ten. Six pound it fetched, and so we'll trouble you for thirty bob, Mrs S." With cheerful alacrity Mrs S. responded, and the pile of fifteen shillings on the table was increased to two pounds five.

It will be needless to enumerate the various articles that were so disposed of; the examples given will sufficiently explain the knock-out principle. When the knock-out gentry, by hook and by crook, have scrambled into their clutches all they want, the goods which have figured in the farce of sale by auction are submitted to fair competition, and realise something like their value. For instance, the bedding already mentioned on being "lumped," was found to have cost thirteen pounds. "I'll give twenty," said Mr. Benjamin. "Twenty-one," cried Mr. Davis. "Twenty-two and brandy-and-water round"

-and Mr. Benjamin was again the purchaser at a cost of placing nine pounds on the table for the "good of the company." Occasionally, however, the increasing heap is called on to pay a "deficiency." The clique is compelled at times to give really more than the value for goods, so as to keep the game in their own hands. "These here vauses-they fetched a awful lot more than they ought," said Mr. Benjamin dolefully; "one pun' three who'll take 'em at a pound-nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen! Yours, Mr. Abrahams;" and Mr. Benjamin, to whom the vases were "knocked down," took seven shillings from the savings heap and put them in his pocket.

When the spoil was all divided, the money heap on the table had increased to nearly twelve pounds, and there were eight of us to divide it amongst. As I was understood to be "in," I took my share and dutifully returned it per post-office order to the person who certainly had most right to it-the widow, who, by the kind permission of her worthy landlord, was permitted to reside in the kitchen of her late well-furnished house until a more prosperous tenant could be found to take possession of it.

And now comes the question who is to blame for the cruel injustice-robbery it might almost be called-of which the case recounted is an example, and which, it may be fearlessly averred, is of every day occurrence. It being an undoubted fact, that, in the majority of cases, those unfortunates who are compelled to give over their household goods to be sold by public auction suffer cruelly through the dishonest "dodges" practised among the members of a well-organised band of conspirators, it becomes a question, in what direction shall we turn for a remedy?

Is the auctioneer at all responsible for the malpractices of these ruthless devourers of the widow's goods and chattels? He is not altogether guiltless. A short time since, being present at a private house sale, I was witness to a dispute between the auctioneer, and one of the harpies in question. It was concerning some article which the clique had been manoeuvring to obtain at about a tenth of the true value, but which somehow slipped out of its clutches. "Look ye here!" exclaimed the exasperated knocker-out, the captain of the gang, I think he was-addressing the auctioneer, with his dirty face distorted with fury, "I've followed you these six 'ears; I've b'lieved in you, and I've stuck to you all through. But never no more! I wouldn't give you another bid-no, not if it was to save yer!" And growling in approving chorus, the whole gang at once left the room.

Now, herein lies the key to the mystery. There is scarcely an auctioneer of third-rate practice in London who has not his " followers." He is not intimate with them, but they are on terms of easy nodding acquaintance,- —and he knows every man's name and address— in fact, keeps a register of the same-and can form a tolerably shrewd guess at each one's means, and the sort of goods in which it suits him to deal. As soon as a batch of new catalogues arrives from the printer's, the auctioneer's first care is to see that each one of his professed followers has one duly delivered him by post, with perhaps a line-if he be a follower constant and faithful as to the probability of this or that lot's going "easy."

At the same time I should wish it to be distinctly understood that I do not accuse the auctioneer who so acts with being in dishonest league with the clique; nay,

from his professional point of view, his conduct may be justifiable. His reputation and success depend in a great measure on his being able to command a good "attendance;" and there can be no doubt that, if free and uninterrupted competition prevailed, better prices may be obtained from the larger number than the few. In all probability auctioneers would tell you that it would be impossible to conduct their business with satisfaction to their clients, unless they took this precaution, and thereby ensured the attendance of the "trade." By so doing they provide against the possibility of an auction with no buyers, or, in the case of. an "unreserved " sale, of what may be yet worse-the chance that ten or a dozen private people may happen to drop in and sweep off the whole property at whatever price they chose to give for it. The attendance of the "trade" ensures bustle and attractive excitement. It comes with its carts and its vans, and it ⚫ comes with its hangers-on-the poor shabby pack who humbly wait on the well-to-do dogs of the chase, and who will in their small way back their interest, and, if need be, swear that black is white, on the chance of securing a mouthful of bread and cheese and a pot of beer when the time comes for dividing the spoil. They come with their baize aprons and their brazen impudence, to lounge in knots at the gate and at the street-door, and in a measure they serve as does the banger of the gong at the door of the caravan, in which the dwarf and the fat giantess are on view. They call the attention of the public to what is going forward, and promote the gathering of a crowd out of which may come bidders and buyers.

So far, the auctioneer's "followers " do no harm; but there will creep in the suspicion of harm beyond all this.