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There were shrieking and fainting, and every thing sold for twenty per cent. above its value, from a spirit of competition, and a want of practical knowledge; and this curiosity, we are bound to say, is carried to such an extreme, that even interdicted places, where rich furniture is to be sold, is incontinently visited by the ladies. Now, we like enterprise and competition, when judiciously directed; but it is quite amusing to witness some of the scenes, together with the ingenuity of the auctioneer, who, if clever, makes the most of these jarring conflicts. "That beautiful chimney glass, eighty inches by forty -a splendid size - very few to be had thank ye for a bid, ladies and gentlemen.' "Fifty dollars." "Oh, Mrs. Sightly, fifty dollars? one hundred and fifty you mean? why look at it; a little of the silver has run, but that's nothing — well, fifty to begin with — sixty-seventy-eighty-ninety- don't bid against yourself, Mrs. Jewel no one bids more?" "Thank ye ma'am - going for one hundred." "She shan't have it," said Miss Plumtree, in a loud whisper to her mother" let's go to ten more." "One hundred and ten- only half its value." "Mr. Auctioneer, can that hole in the silver be mended ?" "Oh yes, ma'am, for a triflegoing at one hundred and ten-going, gone; 'tis yours, ma'm." The glass might have been worth eighty dollars. "Now that suit of magnificent eurtains, crimson velvet with gold lace cost one thousand dollars at Paris were made for the duchess of

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Poomstock, by the celebrated upholsterer, Monsieur Fringpau- I'll thank you for a bid, ladies and gentlemen-how much shall I say ?" "Are you sure, Mr. Auctioneer, that they once belonged to her grace, the duchess?" "Oh, quite sure ma'am - have the certificate of Mr. Swartwout, the collector." "Well, then, say seven hundred dollars "Oh, my dear ma'am, such a bid for such a magnificent affair, got up by one of the royal upholsterers - well, seven hundred dollars only seven hundred dollars bid — pray look at them, Mrs. Courtly, you won't let them go for that price ?" "No, certainly not, one hundred dollars more." "Thank ye ma'am, I know your taste. Eight hundred dollars - eight hundred and fifty not yet half the price — eight hundred and fifty-five; I'll take a five bid now eight hundred and sixty, eight hundred and sixty-five; nobody bids more; going, going last call. Such a splendid article from the palace of Montmorency, going for eighthundred and sixty-five dollars, can't help it- great sacrifice-goinggone.' Larry Ackerman, or the Fyfes, or any of the New York upholsterers, would have knocked up a concern equally splendid for six hundred dollars. " Now for the paintings. A beautiful original of Raphael· The child eating citron - magnificent." "Are "Are you certain it is a Raphael?" says a gentleman in specs.

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Oh, positively, sir; we have the certificate from Brusells, from Mynheer Vonder Donk Sehilmpennick.” "That's all right sir, I'll bid you one hundred dollars

for it." "Only one hundred dollars bid for Raphael, inimitable coloring, divinely conceived, and only one hundred dollars-one hundred and twenty, thirty, forty, fifty-that's brisk; go on, sir, we have only one third yet-sixty, seventy, two hundred; going at two hundred dollars -going, gone; Mr. Capias. Thank you, Mr. Capias; men of taste know what a good thing is." It was sold at the Arcade baths last week for forty two dollars; but no matter. Thus they go on, pushing, squeezing, jostling each other-rumpling the ladies' ruffs, over-bidding, getting excited by competition, buying things not wanted, and paying far above their value; and at three, they all go home to dinner, puffing, jaded and fatigued, and the next morning they are up bright and early for the new campaign.

THE EYE.

ANONYMOUS.

WHAT is the little lurking spell
That hovers round the eye?
Without a voice, a word can tell
The feelings as they fly.

When tearless-it can speak of woe;
When weeping- still the same;

Or in a moment catch the glow
Of thoughts without a name.

Can beam with pity on the poor –
With anger on the proud

Can tell that it will much endure -
Or flash upon the crowd!

Now brightly raised, or now depressed
With every shade of feeling -

It is the mirror of the breast

The thought, the soul revealing!

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PAUL ANDERSON'S LUCK.

ANONYMOUS.

I WAS shocked, a few days since, on opening a southern newspaper to notice, among the sudden casualties, the death of my old friend, Paul Anderson. Poor Paul! His life was anything but a happy one; and it is well, perhaps, that he is removed from the trials and perplexities which always clustered about his pathway. He terminated his existence by leaping from a steamboat bound up the Mississippi, and obstinately refused to avail himself of the assistance which might have saved his life.

There are people let into the world, now and then, who, struggle as they may, can never, as it is called, get ahead. Everything unlucky attends their downsittings and their up-risings. They invest, but the dividends are not forthcoming. They buy and sell, but to no purpose. They dig and sow, but the harvest is never realized. Paul Anderson belonged to this class of unfortunates. His father was quite a different personage. He knew what it was to lie

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