Nothing can exceed the gentlemanly manner in which the auction is conducted, except the mode of doing business at Christie and Manson’s. Before the commencement, the salesman, with his flannel apron protecting his almost fashionable attire from scaly contact, is seen—behold him yonder!—seated behind his stall enjoying a mild Havannah, with an appearance of sublime indifference to all around him. Presently, his porter deposits a ‘lot’ of fish between him, and an eager group of buyers. He puts down his cigar and mounts his rostrum. “What shall we say, gentlemen, for this score of cod? Shall we say seven shillings a piece?” No answer. “Six?” Perfect silence. The auctioneer gives pause for consideration, and takes a whiff at his Havannah. Time is, however, precious, where fish is concerned, and he is not long in abating another shilling. “A crown?” “Done!” exclaims Mr. Jollins of Pimlico. “Five pounds, if you please!” demands the seller. A note is handed over, and the twenty cod are hoisted into Mr. Jollins’ cart, which stands in Thames Street, before a second lot is quite disposed of. This mild proceeding is going on all over the market. On looking to see if the remotest relic of such a being as a fish-fag is to be seen, we observe a gentleman who, though girded with the flannel uniform of the craft, has so fashionable a surtout, so elegant a neckerchief, and such a luxuriance of moustache and whiskers, that we mistake him for an officer in her Majesty’s Life Guards, selling fish by way of—what in Billingsgate used to be called—a ‘jolly lark.’ Enquiry proves, however, that he is the accredited consignee of one of the largest fishing fleets which sail out of the Thames. We are bound to confess that the high tone of refinement which had hitherto been so well supported on the occasion of our visit, became in a little while, slightly depressed. As the legislature of the British empire consists of Crown, Lords, and Commons; so also the executive of Billingsgate is composed of three estates: first, of the Lord Mayor (Piscine secretary of state, Mr. Goldham); secondly, of an aristocracy, and, thirdly, of a commonalty, of salesmen. The latter—called in ancient Billingsgate _Bummarees_, in modern ditto, ‘Retailers’—are middlemen between the smaller fishmonger and the high salesman aristocracy. They purchase the various sorts of fish, and arrange them in small assorted parcels to suit the convenience of suburban fishmongers, or of those peripatetic tradesmen, to whom was formerly applied the obsolete term almost of ‘Costermonger.’ The transactions between these parties were not conducted under the influence of those strict rules of etiquette which governed the earlier dealings of the morning. Indeed, we detected the proprietor of a very respectable looking donkey answering a civil enquiry from a retailer as to what he was ‘looking for’ with “Not you!”