We prefer middle-aged, reasonable ideas that have outgrown the diseases of infancy.  No ideas need apply that will lie awake at night and disturb the neighbors, or will come home very late and wake the other tenants.  This is an orderly mind, and no gambling, loud laughter and carnival or Pomeranian dogs will be admitted.

If necessary, the premises can be improved to suit high-class tenants.

No lease longer than six months can be given to any one idea, unless it can furnish positive guarantees of good conduct, no bolshevik affiliations and no children.

We have an orphanage annex where homeless juvenile ideas may be accommodated until they grow up.

The southwestern section of our mind, where these apartments are available, is some distance from the bustle and traffic, but all the central points can be reached without difficulty.  Middle-aged, unsophisticated ideas of domestic tastes will find the surroundings almost ideal.

For terms and blue prints apply janitor on the premises.

WALT WHITMAN MINIATURES

I

A decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that one should have some excuse for being away from the office on a working afternoon.  September sunshine and trembling blue air are not sufficient reasons, it seems.  Therefore, if any one should brutally ask what I was doing the other day dangling down Chestnut Street toward the river, I should have to reply, “Looking for the Wenonah.”  The Wenonah, you will immediately conclude, is a moving picture theater.  But be patient a moment.

Lower Chestnut Street is a delightful place for one who does not get down there very often.  The face of wholesale trade, dingier than the glitter of uptown shops, is far more exciting and romantic.  Pavements are cumbered with vast packing cases; whiffs of tea and spice well up from cool cellars.  Below Second Street I found a row of enormous sacks across the curb, with bright red and green wool pushing through holes in the burlap.  Such signs as WOOL, NOILS AND WASTE are frequent.  I wonder what noils are?  A big sign on Front Street proclaims TEA CADDIES, which has a pleasant grandmotherly flavor.  A little brass plate, gleamingly polished, says HONORARY CONSULATE OF JAPAN.  Beside immense motor trucks stood a shabby little horse and buggy, restored to service, perhaps, by the war-time shortage of gasoline.  It was a typical one-horse shay of thirty years ago.

I crossed over to Camden on the ferryboat Wildwood, observing in the course of the voyage her sisters, Bridgeton, Camden, Salem and Hammonton.  It is curious that no matter where one goes, one will always meet people who are traveling there for the first time.  A small boy next to me was gazing in awe at the stalwart tower of the Victor Company, and snuffing with pleasure the fragrance of cooking tomatoes that makes Camden savory at this time of year.  Wagonloads of ripe Jersey tomatoes making their way to the soup factory are a jocund sight across the river just now.