The Rambles of an Idler 



way off from Paradise regained. The former 

 is too like rotten fruit; the latter too like that 

 which is green. Neither is to my liking, so I 

 pass them by. Good, matured fruit, such as de- 

 lights me, I found in a back street, an old thor- 

 oughfare but little travelled now. Too far 

 from business, thinks the merchant and the land 

 is not sought for warehouses. Nobody that is 

 anybody lives here, comments the newly-mar- 

 ried woman and she passes it by. Happy side 

 street! Fortunate, truly, in the neglect shown 

 it. It rejoices, in its calm, dignified way, in 

 an old house; one with oak beams and honest 

 walls, with a fire-place instead of a stove-pipe 

 hole; a house with an odor of antiquity, which 

 is vastly preferable to the odor of sanctity ; and 

 here lives David Pickup, dealer in Old, Furni- 

 ture. 



It was by mere chance that I passed that way, 

 a happy impulse due to the fact that here I had 

 played full fifty years ago. The old occupant 

 of the house has long been gone. David is a 

 comparatively new comer. I was struck by the 

 name stenciled on the little sign above the door. 

 Such a name ! and that too coupled with such a 

 business. I was so far interested that I made 



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