There were seventeen auctions last season, and all but two were
attended by me or my representatives.

A country auction is not so exciting as one in the city; still you must
be wide-awake and cool, or you will be fleeced. An experienced friend,
acquainted with the auctioneer, piloted me through my first sale, and
for ten dollars I bought enough really valuable furniture to fill a
large express wagon--as a large desk with drawers, little and big,
fascinating pigeon holes, and a secret drawer, for two dollars; queer
old table, ten cents; good solid chairs, nine cents each; mahogany
center-table, one dollar and sixteen cents; and, best of all, a tall and
venerable clock for the landing, only eight dollars! Its "innards" sadly
demoralized, but capable of resuscitation, the weights being tin-cans
filled with sand and attached by strong twine to the "works." It has to
be wound twice daily, and when the hour hand points to six and the other
to ten, I guess that it is about quarter past two, and in five minutes
I hear the senile timepiece strike eleven!

The scene was unique. The sale had been advertised in post-office and
stores as beginning at 10 A.M., but at eleven the farmers and their
women folks were driving toward the house. A dozen old men, chewing
tobacco and looking wise, were in the barn yard examining the stock to
be sold, the carts and farming tools; a flock of hens were also to be
disposed of, at forty cents each.

On such occasions the families from far and near who want to dispose of
any old truck are allowed to bring it to add to the motley display. The
really valuable possessions, if any, are kept back, either for private
sale or to be divided among the heirs. I saw genuine antiques
occasionally--old oak chests, finely carved oaken chairs--but these were