precious articles
to strange uses. Chaotic combinations of furniture also take place.
Mattresses and bedding appear in the dining-room; the glass and china
get into the conservatory; the great dinner service is set out in heaps
on the long divan in the large drawing-room; and the stair-wires, made
into fasces, decorate the marble chimneypieces. Finally, a rug, with
a printed bill upon it, is hung out from the balcony; and a similar
appendage graces either side of the hall door.

Then, all day long, there is a retinue of mouldy gigs and chaise-carts
in the street; and herds of shabby vampires, Jew and Christian, over-run
the house, sounding the plate-glass minors with their knuckles, striking
discordant octaves on the Grand Piano, drawing wet forefingers over the
pictures, breathing on the blades of the best dinner-knives, punching
the squabs of chairs and sofas with their dirty fists, touzling the
feather beds, opening and shutting all the drawers, balancing the silver
spoons and forks, looking into the very threads of the drapery and
linen, and disparaging everything. There is not a secret place in the
whole house. Fluffy and snuffy strangers stare into the kitchen-range as
curiously as into the attic clothes-press. Stout men with napless hats
on, look out of the bedroom windows, and cut jokes with friends in the
street. Quiet, calculating spirits withdraw into the dressing-rooms with
catalogues, and make marginal notes thereon, with stumps of pencils. Two
brokers invade the very fire-escape, and take a panoramic survey of the
neighbourhood from the top of the house. The swarm and buzz, and going
up and down, endure for days. The Capital Modern Household Furniture,
&c., is on view.

Then there is a palisade of tables made in the best drawing-room; and
on the capital, french-polished, extending, telescopic range of Spanish
mahogany dining-tables with turned legs, the pulpit of the Auctioneer
is erected; and the herds of shabby vampires, Jew and Christian, the
strangers fluffy and snuffy, and the stout men with the napless hats,
congregate about it and sit upon everything within reach, mantel-pieces
included, and begin to bid. Hot, humming, and dusty are the rooms all
day; and--high above the heat, hum, and dust--the head and shoulders,
voice and hammer, of the Auctioneer, are ever at work. The men in the
carpet caps get flustered and vicious with tumbling the Lots about, and
still the Lots are going, going, gone; still