THE OLD PICTURE-DEALER
The second landing-place. Above,
Sun-pictures for a shilling each.
Below, a haunt that Teutons love,—
Beer, smoke and pretzels all in reach.
Between the two, a mouldy nook
Where loungers hunt for things of worth—
Engraving, curio, or book—
Here drifted from all over Earth.
Be the day's traffic more or less,
Old Brian seeks his Leyden chair
Placed in the ante-room's recess,
Our connoisseur's securest lair:
Here, turning full the burner's rays,
Holds long his treasure-trove in sight,—
Upon a painting sets his gaze
Like some devoted eremite.
The book-worms rummage as they will,
Loud roars the wonted Broadway din,
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