KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



113 



AH AUCTION. 

 BY THE AUTHOR OF " A CUP OF TEA-' 



Man is a child of sorrow ; and this world 



In which we breathe has cares enough to plague us. 



HAT A WORLD OF SORROW 

 THIS IS ! I NEVER WALK 

 ABROAD WITHOUT SEEING 

 SOMETHING WHICH TENDS 

 TO DEPRESS THE SPIRITS. 



What can suggest more 

 painful feelings, than the 

 cold, mechanical prepara- 

 tions for selling oft 1 — perhaps all that a man 



possesses ! 



I never like to see a house tricked out in 

 auction fineries : the lazy stair-carpets lolling; 

 from the upper windows ; and the lower ones 

 patched like a vulnerated face, — all convey 

 an idea of disgrace and dishonor. Within 

 the house, dislike deepens into melancholy. 

 Wno can bear to see the penetralia of any 

 place, that has once been the abode of human 

 beings, thrown open to the brazen stare and 

 the rude rush of strangers, who flock in, on 

 all sides, with craving eyes and gaping 

 mouths — like harpies snuffing about for food 

 and plunder? Often have I panted for the 

 ability of seeing some superannuated poker 

 *in my way, and clearing the mansion of its 

 intruders ! 



When an auction occurs, people imagine 

 that a house has lost all title to respect. 

 This is a barbarous feeling, unworthy of 

 being fostered in any bosom that beats in the 

 nineteenth century. AVhat ! shall we wander 

 with pauseful reverence among the ruins of 

 antiquity, and yet burst into an unoccupied 

 house, with grins that might grace a troop 

 of hungry bears ? The respect clue to the 

 very stones piled up into walls, might dictate 

 more dutiful conduct. But there is some- 

 thing that ought to be still more influential 

 in restraining " rude advances," — the recollec- 

 tion that it has been inhabited. Every man 

 who has a home is capable of estimating the 

 delights arising from its retirement and pri- 

 vacy ; and he ought to carry a homely feeling 

 with him when he attends any dwelling that 

 is exposed to the calamities of an auction- 

 day ; let him remember, that though ail is 

 now blank and cheerless, the sounds of family 

 voices, the sweet buzzes of home, once mur- 

 mured through the deserted chambers ! 



And who shall describe the hurly-burly at 

 the hall-door of a house under the endurance 

 of an auction ? 



Tnsequitur clamor que virum, stridor que 

 ' rudentium ! 



This is the hour for unimportant Importance 

 to swagger, and look on with an aristocratical 

 stare of indifference. This is the moment 

 for littleness to be greatness*, and men of 



_____ . . _ 



money to stir about their pockets, and dig 

 the pavement with their steel-tipped boots. 

 See yonder punchy little fellow ; with what an 

 air he taps his foot on the stones, whistles out 

 his consequence, and surveys the house from 

 top to bottom ! There, approaches a round- 

 faced personage, who swells herself along 

 with fat disdain, and waddles into the hall 

 as if the house itself would recede from her 

 advance. But the most presuming is yonder 

 white-cheeked man, dressed in black, and 

 strutting up aud down the hall, and into the 

 parlors, with a hissing impudence on his lip, 

 and an echo accompanying his feet. How 

 architecturally he measures the lofty walls 

 with his glance, opens the cupboards, and 

 wades, with his body on a dubious balance, 

 from room to room ! He would fain persuade 

 those around him, that he is something great 

 — that fa's. house is far beyond this in size and 

 magnificence, and therefore all that he sees 

 is unworthy any look of surprise. And is 

 he truly a man of consequence ? No ! 



Behind, in the small square garden, graver, 

 but not less snarling people, are traversing 

 round the winding gravel walks, curling their 

 noses at the bare remnants of fruit-trees and 

 flower-beds, and kicking the straggling rows 

 of box with most impertinent hauteur ; and 

 here it is that the family affairs of the owner 

 of the house undergo a severe inquisition. 

 This piece of business is generally transacted 

 by two elderly men, who, with their hands 

 crossed behind them, circle round the garden 

 regardless of anybody else, and in loud, but 

 critical tones, explode their sentiments and 

 opinions. 



If the "old gentleman 1 ' who belonged to 

 the mansion lias departed this life, his 

 stinginess, his cruel treatment of his first 

 wife, and the dreadful habit he had of cursing, 

 are duly exposed and censured. It is, more- 

 over, hinted by one of these inquisitors, that 

 the " old gentleman" has left a few awkward 

 impressions of himself in divers parts of the 

 country ! If it be in consequence of the 

 proprietor's extravagant style of living, that 

 his dwelling is u to be sold by auction," his 

 crimes are visited with showers of anathemas 

 and sarcasms. What business had he with 

 three men-servants, and six different wines 

 on his table every day ? Why did his " fine 

 wife" flaunt about the town, like a peacock, 

 on a Sunday morning, in her ostrich feathers 

 and superb satin pelisses ? And the daughters 

 too, — how they tossed their heads as they 

 sailed by their neighbors' doors ! What 

 necessity was there for their continual 

 presence at the theatres, the concerts, and 

 the races? Mr. Cheatall had much better 

 have paid his creditors. Thcylvixe no patience 

 to see such ridiculous pretension at the 

 expense of honesty and principle, — they saw 

 " how matters would end," long ago — it has 



