is tray
contains a very recherchy lot--a collection of trifles for the
drawing-room table--and trifles make the sum _of_ human things--nothing
more important than trifles--(yes, Mr. Ladislaw, yes, by-and-by)--but
pass the tray round, Joseph--these bijoux must be examined, ladies.
This I have in my hand is an ingenious contrivance--a sort of
practical rebus, I may call it: here, you see, it looks like an elegant
heart-shaped box, portable--for the pocket; there, again, it becomes
like a splendid double flower--an ornament for the table; and now"--Mr.
Trumbull allowed the flower to fall alarmingly into strings of
heart-shaped leaves--"a book of riddles! No less than five hundred
printed in a beautiful red. Gentlemen, if I had less of a conscience,
I should not wish you to bid high for this lot--I have a longing for
it myself. What can promote innocent mirth, and I may say virtue, more
than a good riddle?--it hinders profane language, and attaches a man to
the society of refined females. This ingenious article itself, without
the elegant domino-box, card-basket, &c., ought alone to give a high
price to the lot. Carried in the pocket it might make an individual
welcome in any society. Four shillings, sir?--four shillings for this
remarkable collection of riddles with the et caeteras. Here is a
sample: 'How must you spell honey to make it catch lady-birds?
Answer--money.' You hear?--lady-birds--honey money. This is an
amusement to sharpen the intellect; it has a sting--it has what we call
satire, and wit without indecency. Four-and-sixpence--five shillings."

The bidding ran on with warming rivalry. Mr. Bowyer was a bidder, and
this was too exasperating. Bowyer couldn't afford it, and only wanted
to hinder every other man from making a figure. The current carried
even Mr. Horrock with it, but this committal of himself to an opinion
fell from him with so little sacrifice of his neutral expression, that
the bid might not have been detected as his but for the friendly oaths
of Mr. Bambridge, who wanted to know what Horrock would do with blasted
stuff only fit for haberdashers given over to that state of perdition
which the horse-dealer so cordially recognized in the majority of
earthly existences. The lot was finally knocked down at a guinea to
Mr. Spilkins, a young Slender of the neighborhood, who was reckless
with his pocket-money and felt his want of memory for riddles.

"Come, Trumbull, this is too bad--you'v