LONDON PRIDE!

Waikato Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 2710, 23 November 1889, Page 5 (Supplement)

LONDON PRIDE!

|By James Greenwood, is Bristol Times.] "LOT 19." Within no great distance of the Monument on Fish-street-hill, there ranges with other handsome and commodious buildings one that is devoted entirely to the disposal by auetiou of the accumulated unredeemed pledges from at. least half I he pawnbroking establishments in the metropolis. It may be mentioned, for the enlightenment of the reader, who, of course, knows nothing of such matters, that all goods ou which money has been advanced in the way indicated are redeemable within twelve months and seven days. After that, the pawnbroker is bound by law to dispose of them at public auction, and to keep a record of the sum they realised, with a view,— bnt some who trade under the triple spheres are, in this respect, exceedingly short-sighted,—of returning to the depositor auy moneys that may remain after debt, and interest, and expenses have been paid. It is called a public auetiou, and so it is to the extent that the great rooms where the sales take place are opeii to anyone. But very few private persons find their way thcro. The business done is too exteusive to admit of the tedious process of submitting each lot, descriptively and .it length, to the consideration of those assembled. With a catalogue of some dozen closely printed of lots to bo disposed of during the day, no timo must be wasted, and parcels are "put up " and "knocked down " at the rate of forty or fifty within the hour. Judging from the aspect of the regular buyers, who, ou " jewellery days," are accommodated with seats in the front row, it would appear that poetry or sentiment would be quite out of place in a pawnbroker's auction room. They are, as a rule, coarse and common-looking' individuals, seedy and shabby, and as though iu nei'd of avuncular assistance rather than able and willing to relieve their obliging relative of unredeemed mortgages to any amount. But despite their unpromising exterior, they are, many of them, men of means, and the shrewdest in their particular trade to be found in England. They had need be keen sportsmen, the game they bring to bag is so quick on the wing. There is scant time to examine the lots as they are handed round while the auctioneer is poising his hammer. But they are old hands the business, and after a cursory glance and a merely momentary handling they give off a bid, which is quickly followed by another and another —bang—bang—bang at the same " bird " as it makes swift flight round the front circle till a sharp " rap" decides which gunner has brought it down. It is most likely, however, that the more precious of the good have been inspected before hand. They were ou view the previous day, and either the dealer or his ageut probably was present to make note of and price the lots that would best suit him. Actuated by curiosity, and not by business motives, I recently availed myself of the lastmentioned privilege. With such a rich gleauing of poeketable articles lyiug about, however, a stranger would, as a matter of ordinary precaution, be sharoly .oolsed after, and to avoid any such un-

pleasantness I made friends with a gentleman named Screwbury, a gold chronometer buyer, with a partiality for dabbling in diamonds, of which costly gems he generally carried in his waistcoat pocket a hundred pounds' worth or so, contained in wisps of dirty paper, as persons of untidy habits sometimes carry snuff. Mr Screwbury was well-known to Daniel, the chief custodian, and we were allowed to handle the various lots without close supervision.

Talk of sentiment being incompatible with pawnbrokers ! My mind was soon set at rest on that question. Of course there were many "lots" with which poetic speculation llatly refused to have anything to do. "Six teaspoons, three table ditto, and a fish-slice," for example, were not objects that invited a fanciful flight to the imagination, nor were " a silver plated cruet-stand, a toast-rack, and seven silver-plated skewers." But I had got no further than "Lot 10," when I discovered material enough for half a dozen novelettes of the tenderest and most emotional kiud. It was decidedly a miscellaneous lot—and my companion, after examining the items of which? it was composed, pronounced it " gimcrack rubbish. But it did not appear so to me, arid I would much rather have bid for it than for "Lot 20," and ugly old pot-bellied silver teapot, which Mr Screwbury instantly fell in love with and marked for his own.

Lot 1!) consisted of a baby's coral, a lady's gold necklet, to which was attached a locket, heart-shaped, and inlaid with the words " forget me not," in the shape of a true lover's knot, a brooch with a portrait in front, and at the back, visible through a crystal lid, a tiny curl of hair, three wedding rings, and a military medal, inscribed '"Lucknow." They were all looped together on a piece of dirty tape, and I inquired of Mr Screwbury (who had purchased a tiny "steel-yard," aud was weighing the teapot) as to what the lot would probably realise. About 18s, he replied, and he wouldn't be troubled with it at that.

"There's nothing in it," he remarked. " Break up the gold and put it in the pot, and you'll get a nine carrat lump, about the size of a brace-button."

I suspected from the first that there was not much sentimentality in Mr Screwbury's nature, and now I felt convinced of it.

Alas, for the little golden necklet with the heart attaohed! It was not at all worn,—merely tarnisned, through lying twelve months in limbo. What else could it have been originally but a sweetheart's present ? A betrothal gift, possibly, from a loviujr lad to his hiss when all was sunshine and roses, and a lifelong blissful future for them so sure and certain, that, only that it added to the trinkets prettiness, the wording within the true lovers' knot was ridiculously superfluous. Could she ever— over forget him, or he tho look of fond confidence she gave him when he placed the pretty gift round her neck arid kissed hor ? Guess at that moment the most improbable thing in the world, and what could be nearer the mark than that, one day, the precious present would contribute to a cluster of >o-called "gimcrack rubbish," and be disposed of to a "melterata pawnbroker's auction. Here it was, however. How did it come about? Did he prove after all to be only a fair-weather lover? and meanly' discarded her when he discovered that her father was a bankrupt, and that she, poor girl secretly did dressmaking to help to support her younger brothers and sisters? Such things have been. Or she might have died, poor little maid, and her precious relics may have fallen into the hands of mercenary wretches, who set no more than a money value on them. Or, again, she may have found out, for all his good looks and his fascinating ways, he was of the fast young man order, and addicted to betting and billiards, and, like a sensible girl, returned him his love tributes, with a note of dismissal. In which case it would greatly gratify his mean spirit -especially if he happened to be hard-up at the time, to carry thn rejected gifts to the pawnshop, and go on thesprse with the money raised on them.

And the three old wedding rings. One was woru almost to the thinness of a thread, but strong as cable-chain to hold the memory to bygone happier times. What else than a pitiful story could belong to it ? Bright and bran-new from the goldsmith, it "made one" a loving couple, young and hopeful, though with no store of wealth excepting that most precious of all. Nature's gift of health, and a cheerfulness on his part to work with a will, and do his best to make and maintain a happy home. What a history is looped and bound within the narrow compass of that well-worn circlet ! Gold is very durable, and a good stout wed-ding-ring will last through a wedded life. Alas, for the time when that old gold was new ! The hand on which the proud young husband placed it was not then skiuny, and shrivelled, and corned, and brown, but plump and pretty, and soft and white, and, maybe, it has never b-ft her finger since. Women are supersti tious as regards their wedding-ring. It is an ill omen should it break by accident, and a perilous defiance of fate to remove it out of mere whim. It is not unlikely, therefore, that she to whom it belonged, and who, when the bitter day came, crept so sorrowfully with it to the pawnbroker's and placed it on the pledgeboard, never before saw it off her hand since that bright morning when it lay on the clergyman's open Bool;, and he in whom was all her faith and trust gave it to her in token that he would be all in all to her ' 1 for richer for poorer, iu sickness and in health, till death did them part."

And as a wife good and true, she faithfully fulfilled all the solemn obligations to which the wedding-ring-was as a seal set to a bond. She has never been rich in a savings-bank set, but what woman calls herself poor who i 3 sure of a husband's affection, and has sons and daughters who love and honour her ? All gone now, however! Married and far away are some of her boys and girls, or though still near at hand, with large families of their own and a hard struggle to live. Other of her babies, large and small, long ago lwl low. Such is the story of her children. And then came the heaviest blow of all, that which fell ou her when her kind old man died, leaving her pinched and poor, but not as yet so destitute, thank heaven, but that she could still preserve the precious token that she was still his wife, though death had severed them. Not as yet, even when with strength and eyesight failing, it was a hard matter indeed for her to earn enough to buy a morsel of bread and a little firing to prevent the bitter cold of winter from nipping her too cruelly. No, and still steadfastly no, until came the day of dearth insupportable, and she had to choose between parting with the old wedding-ring and—the work-house ? Then it was that, with her eyes dimmed with trickling tears, she wrenched the golden thread over her bony old knuckle and parted with it for a paltry eighteen pence. God help her, poor soul. It must have been as hard almost to leave it behind her as it was to turn her back on her husband's opeu grave that dreadful day at the cemetery. What shall be said of the Luckuow medal —of a proud soldier's certificate of bravery engraved on a silver disc no larger than a half-crown, but as dearly prized by him who named it as the titledeeds of a great estate by their owner? How came the precious momenta) won

and woru by an ludian warrior to be brought to such a base use as to serve as a medium for "raising the wind"? Such mi insignificant puff of it! Could it be possible that the soldier himself pawned it ? Military men are not all teetotallers, and now and again one hears of men attached to the rank and file who are rash and reckless in arriving at a means of gra'-ifyine their propensity for the cup that cheers and at the same time inebriates. Was the Lucknow medal t iat wis literally Rnatched out of the fire —the flame of roaring artillery and the quick flash of death-dealing rifles - melted, as tho phrase is, one thirsty day in a gallon of ale Or was it consigued to " uncle's" keeping under circumstances more melancholy and less reprehensible Soldiers, the best and bravest of them, are but men, and sixpence a day is but sixpence, though granted by way of pension and reward by a mighty nation to those who wrestled with rebels for the safe keepiug of the Indian portion of the Queen's dominions. Grown old and helpless, the gallant redcoat, with nothing to shield him from daily want but a tiny coin of the realm, valued at six penny pieces, may have had all the pride squeezed ont of him in the grip of the vice, the twin jaws of which are cold and hunger, so that one day he unpinned the medal from his breast, and converted it into comfort tor his empty stomach.

And again, ns a part of "Lot 19," what as to the old-fashioned brooch with its picture of a young girl as a facing, and the receptacle at the back, through the glass lid of which is seen a tiny curl. It is long since the tiny portrait was painted. Long enough, judging from the fashion of the bodice sweet miss is wearin", for the bonny brown curls to have turned silvery grey—for the curly head itself, stricken with old age, to have been laid beneath the daises. But was there none of grandmamma's kith and kin who valued her portrait at no more thau its pawnable value ? Was she ever a grandmamma—a mother—a wife ? Who can tell ? I would fain ask Mr Screwbury for his opinion on the matter, but I know beforehand the sort of answer I shall get. The brooch, which is of the kind gentlemen used to fasten their neck-scirves with, is very little worn, old-fashioned though it is, and to the ring of it there is attached a scrap of much faded blue riband. Who knows ? Was it a faithful bachelor who wore that brooch, not on his shirt frout, but next his heart? Did his true love of fifty years ago die in maiden innocence, and did he, a poor—-a very poor—old bachelor, wear in his bosom this precious, priceless treasure to the last? " Did anyone ever tell of such a mean old miser," said his landlady, after he had breathed his last in the meanly-furnished back room, for which he paid, or rather should, and would have paid three shillings a week, had he not been so reduced in circumstances. " Fancy his wearing this gold thing round his neck, and which would pawn any day for live shillings, while he owed mo six weeks' rent" ! And that same afternoon—saying nothing about it—the brooch was pawned.