dream of being stirred up with a boot, and
also of a voice saying: " Come, it's late.
Be off!"

"Well! " he said, scrambling from the sofa.
"I must take my leave of you though. I
say. Your's is very good tobacco. But it's
too mild."

"Yes, it's too mild," returned his
entertainer.

"It's— it's ridiculously mild," said Tom.
"Where's the door? Good night!"

He had another odd dream of being taken
by a waiter through a mist, which, after
giving him some trouble and difficulty,
resolved itself into the main street, in
which he stood alone. He then walked
home pretty easily, though not yet free
from an impression of the presence and
influence of his new friend— as if he were
lounging somewhere in the air, in the same
negligent attitude, regarding him with the
same look.

The whelp went home, and went to bed.
If he had had any sense of what he had done
that night, and had been less of a whelp and
more of a brother, he might have turned
short on the road, might have gone down to
the ill-smelling river that was dyed black,
might have gone to bed in it for good and
all, and have curtained his head for ever with
its filthy waters.

             THE ROVING ENGLISHMAN.

              A TURKISH AUCTIONEER.

IT was the sale of a bankrupt's effects, and
they were huddled together in disorderly
confusion under a little craggy shed just
outside the town. I was attracted thither by the
shouts of a Turk, with a stentorian voice,
who was running about in a state of great
excitement, stopping persons in the street
to insist on their examining the articles
which he carried in his hand. He was the
auctioneer of the place; and I followed him
into the crazy shed as a student of manners.
There was a considerable crowd of those
greasy, dingy persons, who seem to have an
abstract love of second-hand goods, and who
have always appeared to me to be evoked by
the auctioneers of all countries like familiar
spirits. This resemblance, however, borne by
this crowd to similar people in England, is
merely personal. It is confined to the length
and sharpness of nose among the buyers; to an
air of unpeasant sleekiness about them, with a
strong smell of bad tobacco; and to a prevailing
odour of the damp and fustiness of small
streets. There the likeness ends. In Britain, a
sale by auction is a plain business-like, twice-
two-are-four sort of affair; in Turkey it is a
source of pleasurable excitement for a whole
city. It furnishes the inhabitants of the
place with a conversational topic of more
than usual liveliness and interest. It also
gives them a delightful excuse for laying or
lounging about in the sun doing nothing,
which is a never-ending entertainment to an
oriental.

It is proper to mention that the Turkish
auctioneer is by no means so august and
dignified a person as with us. He is not the
sovereign lord and autocrat of the saleroom;
he is the servant of a popular and
rumbustical assembly. Before I have well had
time to settle myself upon a stone, and light
a cigar, I observe that he has returned three
times from a sally to sell the same cracked
pipkin, and three times he has been thrust
back by the scruff of the neck from not having
obtained a reasonable offer for it.
Somebody in the shed bids for it at last, and
the delighted auctioneer with a most villanous
wink at me is preparing to hand over his
unsaleable pipkin to the somebody in question,
when the same remorseless knuckles, as usual,
are thrust between the collar of his shirt and
the nape of his neck. Our friend, thus
goaded, makes another excited bolt out of
the shed and, next moment, is heard
shouting about the cracked pipkin again, in
the same furious manner as that which first
attracted my attention. The somebody who
was disposed to become a purchaser looks
rather disconcerted: I suspect he is not
thoroughly broken in at auction; but
nobody else pays any further attention to the
proceedings for the present. In fact, all
seem to be rather glad to have got rid of the
auctioneer than otherwise, probably in the
hope that the festive occasion may be prolonged
until a later hour. So they sit down and light a
great number of paper cigars as a necessary
preliminary to the discussion of the news of
the day. Their conversation is composed
merely of coffee-house politics and their
neighbours' business. Woe to the Costaki, or
Nikolaki who does not happen to be present;
the character of that Costaki or Nikolaki is.
handled with a ferocity which quite makes
one's ears tingle; and I listen attentively for
one pleasant thought or kindly expression;
for one plain sensible idea, or healthy view of
anything talked about, in vain.

Presently the auctioneer returns. While the
majority of his customers are wrangling, he
has slily disposed of the pipkin to the somebody
who first bid for it; and I think another
roguish wink to the purchaser signified that
he should expect a con-si-de-ra-tion for
himself at a convenient season. After this
sale of the pipkin— the only thing disposed
of yet— the auctioneer desires a little
repose, and squatting cross-legged on the
bankrupt's counter, sends for a nargilly,
and joins in the general discourse. The
whole company then present a picture of
oriental manners sufficiently striking and
characteristic. They have entirely forgotten
why they assembled together; and are idling
away their time in that slothfulness which is
the  root of all evil, and from which
spring, certainly, nine-tenths of their
national disasters. Lazy louts of boys begin