WOOL AUCTIONS.
THE Wool Trade, though in magnitude it ranks below cotton, is far the more ancient and inieresting of the two in- dustries. Wool has been used for clothing from time imme- morial. Abel was a keeper of sheep, the patriarchs of Palestine and Syria were rich in flocks and herds, and there is abundant evidence to show that the Proto-Helvetians, the lake-dwellers of Central Europe, kept sheep and carded wool when their weapons of warfare and the chase were stone hatchets and flint-headed arrows. The curious in such matters may see in Swiss museums bits of cloth and carding combs which are probably older than either the Temple of Solomon or the Tower of Babel. The widespreal use of wool for clothing of course arises from the fact that sheep can live almost anywhere ; and wherever sheep are found, the iugenuity of their owners has turned their fleeces to account. The wool trade of these islands has gone though many phases. The latest phase was a revolution. British woollsns were in vogue at Rome in the time of the Cmsars, and less than a century since British woollen cloths were made almost wholly of native-grown material. At present, we im- port for home consumption, taking one year with another, wool of an estimated value of some ten millions sterling, so greatly have the needs of our ever-waxing population outgrown the capacity of production. Yet, if we include our Australian Colonies, the British Empire is not alone a large wool-consumer, but produces nearly half as much wool as all the rest of the world put together. England alone produces almost as much as France, and more than any other European country except France. The history of the Australian wool trade reads like a romance. It dates from 1810, when our Antipodean Colonies shipped to England a single bale weighing 167 lb. Fifty years later their exports were sixty million pounds. In 1865, they exceeded a hundred millions; they are now more than three hundred and fifty million pounds, and are of a value of eighteen millions sterling. The wool trade of Australasia, as also of the Cape and India, so far follows the flag that, albeit much of the staple is consumed on the Continent, it nearly all travels to its destination by way of the Thames ; not so much, however, because of any sentimental affection entertained by squatters and shippers for the national emblem, as that London is the best and the biggest wool market in the world. This arises in about equal measure from the freedom of our commerce, the superiority of our shipping, and the skill, energy, and enterprise which have made the trade one of the best organised that the Empire possesses.
There is no more curious sight in the City than one of the wool auctions which are now being held every afternoon in the Wool Exchange, Coleman Street. Imagine a large and lofty room, capable of holding about five hundred people. Benches, in the form of a semi-circle, rise tier above tier, so that all the sitters are plainly visible from the tribune, or rostrum.—an elevated desk at the bottom of the room. Every seat is numbered, and the highest number is 398. A narrow gallery provides accommodation for the few spectators. Five minutes before four, nearly every seat is occupied, the demand for them exceeding the supply ; and as the clock strikes the hour, the auctioneer, or selling broker, takes his place in the tribune. He is a cool, self-possessed, good-looking man, with a keen eye, rosy cheeks, and hair parted in the middle. On either side of him sits a clerk,—one bud and dark, the other hirsute and blonde. No time is lost in prsliminaries ; an eloquent wool-auctioneer w.nild be an iutoleratile nuisance, and this one is as sparing of words as a telegram from China. Every buyer before him is the busiest of men, and he has to sell. a hundred thousand pounds' worth of wool before six o'clock. "Lot 213, ten bales," he says. Simple words, but the signal for a very tempest of excitement. From every part of the room come, as it were, scattered shots in quick succession—" Eight, half, nine, ten, ten half." Then up Spring a dozen, or it may be a score, of eager, earnest men, who
shout passionately at the top of their voices, and almost in chorus, "Ten-half, ten-half, ten-half, ten-half," until it almost seems as if the roof would split. Some stretch their arms towards the tribune, as if they were threatening a foe ; others work them to and fro, as if they were engaged in mortal combat ; others, again, raise them upward, as if they were appealing to Heaven. They yell still more loudly, gesticulate still more wildly, some in their excitement bending forward until they nearly topple over on the seats below. It is a bear-garden, a Babel, a scene of indescribable confusion, and to the uninitiated spectator it seems as if the frantic bidders were about to spring from their places and punch each others' heads. But the auctioneer speaks one word, and the storm is stilled ; every voice is hushed,. every man resumes his seat. That word is " Tomkins." The lot has been knocked down to Tomkins. Without drawing breath, the selling broker goes on to the next lot, and then there is another startling roar, followed by an equally sudden collapse.. The faces of some of the bidders are a study. One gentleman,. with a bald head, surrounded by a fringe of black hair, and features. unmistakably French, gets so excited that you fear he may break a blood-vessel or have a fit of apoplexy. His wide nostrils quiver, his swarthy face becomes dark-red, he fights the air with his arms, and hurls his bids at the auctioneer as if he would annihilate- him. Near the Gaul is a fair Teuton, stalwart and tall, shout- ing offers as if he were crying " Vorwarts !" in the smoke of battle, and glaring at his competitors as if he would like to charge down upon them as the Uhlans charged down on the French at Gravelotte and Sedan. Not far from the foreigners sits a gentleman whose east of features and style of dress leave little doubt that he is a manufacturer or woolstapler, and hails from a Northern county. To make his bid more effective, he puts one hand to the side of his mouth, and gesticulates with the other ; but he needs no artificial aid, for he has a voice of thunder, and shouts like a Boanerges.
But why all this noise; why cannot a wool auctioneer knock down his wares to the highest bidder, like any other auctioneer There is the rub; the difficulty is to " spot " the highest bidder. All the firms represented at the auction know to a fraction the value of every parcel they wish to acquire, and five, or ten, or a score, as the case may be, are willing buyers of a certain lot at, let us say, a shilling a pound,—more they cannot afford to give. The rule is, when there are several bidders at the same price—and there generally are several bidders—to prefer the one who bids. the first, which is practically the one who first succeeds in attract,. ing the auctioneer's attention. In such a contest the feeble- voiced have no chance, and the loudest shouters are the most likely to come out of it victorious. When the selling broker names the buyer who has caught his ear, all the rest subside like would-be orators in the House of Commons who fail to. catch the Speaker's eye. The confidence in the auctioneer's impartiality seems to be absolute ; he never loses his self-posses- sion, and time is too precious to be wasted in wrangling.
The money turned over at these sales in the course of a twelve- month is something enormous, probably twenty-five millions,. more or less, according to the amount imported and the price of the material. At present, the price of wool, like that of most other commodities, is unusually low. There are four sales a year, each generally lasting about six weeks, and it is now proposed to have a fifth sale. Individual brokers often sell a quarter of a million's worth of wool in six days, the brokerage on which,. at a half per cent,, amounts to £1,250,—not a bad week's- work, especially as the incidental charges are believed to cover their expenses. More than one broker is reported to make an income exceeding fifty thousand a year. But their work does not consist solely in selling and presenting accounts. In the intervals between the sales they have much to do down at the docks in arranging the bales—" lotting" them, as it is called—submitting them to the inspection of intending buyers, and preparin.g their catalogues. The buyers are mostly middle- men, very few manufacturers being able to obtain at the sales the selections they want without buying more than they need. Many of the former are foreigners, wool being reshipped to the Continent to the extent of nearly fifteen millions sterling a year. There would seem to be no reason in the nature of things why all this wool should pass through English handa and pay toll to English trade, and more than one attempt has been made to establish periodical wool sales in Bremen, Havre, and Hamburg. But they do not succeed. German and French sellers are timid; they dare not offer their wool as it is offered in Lonflon, without reserve; and not only do reserved prices take- all the spirit out of an auction sale, but buyers, especially buyers from a distance, cannot be induced to attend a sale that may be rendered abortive by the caprice of a broker or the nervousness of a consignee. The result is that we keep a trade which is worth, to those concerned in it, more than a million a year,—the cost .of laying down and selling the staple in London laeing estimated at 711,- per cent., and the exports to the Continent averaging more than fourteen millions sterling. There is also the incidental advantage that, as the imports from Australasia and the Cape tend to the development of other branches of trade with those colonies, so the re-exports of wool to the Continent react favourably on our general commerce with Continental countries. For these advantages we have to thank the spirit and enter- prise of our merchants, and that wise fiscal system which has saiade London the mart and emporium of the world. These two, in fact, may be regarded as cause and effect ; for, as free- dom, whether in trade or in politics, is healthy and invigorat- ing, so is protection unwholesome and enervating, and those who put their trust in it lose thereby much of their native spirit and resolution.
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