“Thank you,” said I; “but as I’ve bought him, I’ll keep him; he’ll help to make up a pack, and I don’t see why he should not act up to his assumed character, and hunt very well; you see he knows how to give tongue, at all events.” “Ha! ha!” said Marpeet; “come, that’s not so bad; but he’s a brute, upon my life—a useless brute, kick him to the d—l.” “No,” I rejoined, a little nettled to hear my dog abused after that fashion; “I tell you I’ll keep him; besides, I have no acquaintance in the quarter you mention, and should be sorry to send him where he would be likely to annoy you again.” Here were symptoms of downright insubordination. The captain stared at me in astonishment, and emitted a long and elaborate “whew!” “’Pon my honour, regular disrespect to your superior officer. Well, after that, I must have a glass of brandy-pawny.” “So you shall,” said I, “with all my heart; but you really were a little too hard, and forgot the saying, ‘Love me, love my dog.’” To return, however, from this little episode. Grundy and I, in pursuance of our determination to visit the auction, got into our palankeens, and soon found ourselves amidst the dust, noise, and motion of Tank Square, near which the auction, or outcry (as it is more usually termed in India) is held. A long covered place, something like a repository, filled with palankeens, carriages, horses, &c., for sale, had to be passed through before we reached the auction-room, where goods of all kinds were disposed of. This we found crammed with natives, low Europeans, black Portuguese, and others of the motley population of Calcutta, mingled with a few civilians, and a “pretty considerable” sprinkling of redcoats from Barrackpore or the fort, all more or less intent upon the bidding. The auctioneer, a good-looking man and remarkably fluent, was mounted on his rostrum, and holding forth upon the merits of certain goods, which a native assistant, on a platform a little lower than the pulpit, was handing round for inspection. Grundy and I forced our way in, watching anxiously to see if any thing “in our way” was exhibiting. At last, the auctioneer took up a goodly-sized knife, with some dozen blades, &c. These he opened daintily and deliberately, and then, holding up the knife and turning it about, he said, “Now here’s a pretty thing—a highly-finished article—a perfect _multum in parvo_. Don’t all of you bid for this at once, gentlemen, if you please. Here’s a large blade, you see, to cut bread and cheese with, a small one to mend your pens, a corkscrew to open a bottle of Hodgson’s pale ale when you are out shooting, tweezers to pull the thorns out of your toes, pincers, file, gimlet—all complete. A most useful article that, and (with marked emphasis, and an eye towards Grundy and me, which made us exchange looks significant of purchase), one which no young sportsman should be without.”