It did not pay to hold goods very long.  Eastern shippers seemed, by a curious unanimity, to send out many consignments of the same scarcity.  The result was that the high prices of today would be utterly destroyed by an oversupply of tomorrow.  It was thus to the great advantage of every merchant to meet his ship promptly, and to gain knowledge as soon as possible of the cargo of the incoming vessels.  For this purpose signal stations were established, rowboat patrols were organized, and many other ingenious schemes was applied to the secret service of the mercantile business.  Both in order to save storage and to avoid the possibility of loss from new shipments coming in, the goods were auctioned off as soon as they were landed.

These auctions were most elaborate institutions involving brass bands, comfortable chairs, eloquent “spielers,” and all the rest.  They were a feature of the street life, which in turn had an interest all its own.  The planking threw back a hollow reverberating sound from the various vehicles.  There seemed to be no rules of the road.  Omnibuses careered along, every window rattling loudly; drays creaked and strained; non-descript delivery wagons tried to outrattle the omnibuses; horsemen picked their way amid the melee.  The din was described as something extraordinary—­hoofs drumming, wheels rumbling, oaths and shouts, and from the sidewalk the blare and bray of brass bands before the various auction shops.  Newsboys and bootblacks darted in all directions.  Cigar boys, a peculiar product of the time, added to the hubbub.  Bootblacking stands of the most elaborate description were kept by French and Italians.  The town was full of characters who delighted in their own eccentricities, and who were always on public view.  One individual possessed a remarkably intelligent pony who every morning, without guidance from his master, patronized one of the shoe-blacking stands to get his front hoofs polished.  He presented each one in turn to the foot-rest, and stood like a statue until the job was done.

Some of the numberless saloons already showed signs of real magnificence.  Mahogany bars with brass rails, huge mirrors in gilt frames, pyramids of delicate crystal, rich hangings, oil paintings of doubtful merit but indisputable interest, heavy chandeliers of glass prisms, the most elaborate of free lunches, skillful barkeepers who mixed drinks at arm’s length, were common to all the better places.  These things would not be so remarkable in large cities at the present time, but in the early Fifties, only three years after the tent stage, and thousands of miles from the nearest civilization, the enterprise that was displayed seemed remarkable.  The question of expense did not stop these early worthies.  Of one saloonkeeper it is related that, desiring a punch bowl and finding that the only vessel of the sort was a soup-tureen belonging to a large and expensive dinner set, he bought the whole set for the sake of