One of the oldest merchants on our street

Is D. E. Clark, who deals in dry goods fine.
His store is filled with tasty things and neat,
And as to prices he will not be beat

By any other in the dry goods line.
And if we seek the cause of his success,

It may be in his judgment and good taste.
The ladies all, both young and old, confess
That from his stock they get the neatest dress,
In stylish pattern, and of colors chaste.
The ladies always like with him to deal,

And on his wide experience depend.
While shopping in his store, at home they feel,
While he displays discriminating zeal

In case a dollar or a cent they spend.
Towels and napkins, table-cloth and spread,
Silk, satin, cambric, woollen goods, mohair,
Linen, and proper sheeting for the bed,
A web of cotton cloth, a spool of thread-

All sorts of staples can one purchase there.
He is a man as friend one would select:
Quiet and modest, he commands respect.

At Mrs. H. N. Newell's one will find
A stock of millinery not behind

In size or fashion any other store

Outside the "Hub"-or in. Can we say more?
Of words it is indeed a needless waste,
Unless we mention Mrs. Newell's taste.
Her laces, feathers, ribbons without end,
In charming combination she will blend;
And shade and color she will neatly fit
With taste at once both pure and exquisite.
Her trade to many distant towns extends;

Her customers are scattered far and wide;
And ladies far away she counts as friends,
Who buying goods of her by mail have tried.
Her business to its present size has grown
By strict attention to its many calls.
She makes the cares of customers her own,
And very seldom into error falls.
Her five-cent counter is a glad surprise

From which the poorest need not stay away;
Ten thousand trinkets there to please the eyes,
And proper presents for the Christmas day.

Since when those early ancestors of ours
Were driven in disgrace from Eden's bowers.
And wandered forth in dire dismay, afraid,
With scanty clothing from the fig-leaf made,
Has want of clothing been to man a grief,
To which a tailor only gives relief.
How happy Eve and Adam would have been
Had they the sign of Stewart Brothers seen!
Indeed, they could have asked for little more
Except to see the goods, and to explore
T. W. & J. H. Stewart's store.

The senior partner quickly would display
Both home and foreign goods for their array.
The junior calmly would their measures take.
And in the latest style their garments make.
And is it not, to fickle fancy, food
To think of Father Adam as a dude,
And picture Eve in stylish hat and boots,
In one of Stewart's "nobby" tailor suits?
They lived too many centuries ago,
And at a time when things were very slow,
A tailoring establishment to know.
Their deprivations would drive us insane;
What was their loss has proved to be our gain.
Had it not been for the primeval curse,
What use would tailor's art have been to us?

The Stewarts keep the very best of stock;
For many years have they engaged in trade;
They fit one with a sack coat or a frock;
And as to fit, one need not be afraid
To claim their garments good as ever made.
Arrayed in suit of theirs, no man need fear
To walk Fifth Avenue or down Broadway,

Or think his garments out of style or queer.
The dudes on him will gaze with wild dismay,
While envious looks their envy will betray.
As private citizens, the Stewarts rate
Among the leading people of the state;

As upright merchants, so wide-spread their fame,
Intrinsic worth is coupled with their name.
The youth, Charles Stewart, promises to be
Admitted soon into their company.

The cloth they use will last an age, or while
It is protected from encroaching moth.
A garment made by them is made in style;
The suit they make, a poem is in cloth.

But when from clothes to higher things we soar,
And look about to cultivate the mind,
We straightway visit E. C. Eastman's store,

And books and books of every sort and kind
Upon his shelves in great profusion find.
Some books for children, some for scholars gray,

Some filled with mirth, and some with ancient lore,
Some filled with science grave, some sad, some gay,
Some classics written for all time, but more
But fated to be read and thrown away

When they have served their purpose for a day.
And Mr. Eastman, with a smiling face,

His large and handsome stock with pride displays :
He is the genial genius of the place,
Attends to all with never-failing grace,
And never an impatient haste betrays,
For well he knows politeness always pays.
A perfect store it is in every part,

And justly held in very high esteem—
Its walls and ceiling in the highest art:

With all its many beauties it does seem
The consummation of a bookworm's dream.
The store, however, should be seen by all;
Its many beauties one cannot narrate ;
From every person it should have a call,
For many critics do not hesitate

To call the store the finest in the state.
Here meet the people who to books incline,-
The studious maiden, and her brother, too,
The lawyer, student, and the grave divine,
All who in literary circles shine;

The stately judge, and teachers not a few,
And lovely ladies who wear stockings blue.
Aside from books, in Mr. Eastman's line
Are pens and pencils, stationery fine,
Penholders, inkstands, diaries cheap or nice,
A thousand things of queer, unique device,
All offered at a fair and honest price.
The parent fond should see this rich display
Some weeks before the coming Christmas day.
Now Mr. Eastman has a well known name
In every town, and in the country back,

(All through the Granite State has spread his fame),
The publisher of Leavitt's Almanack.

Since ancient time has mankind felt the need

Of precious metals, and of jewels rare, To please the eye-their vanity to feed

To fasten garment or adorn the hair.
The ancient Hebrews, when they left the land
Of the Egyptians, so narrates The Book,-
A wholesale, sweeping robbery had planned,

And all the jewels of their neighbors took.
Since then have jewels been in great demand
Wherever on the records we may look.
Great potentates, their royal lives to save,
Crown jewels as a ransom freely gave.
A jewel as a gift was held to prove

The strength of friendship and the force of love.
All persons now prize jewels very high

As gift to bride, as present to a friend;

And all would know where they can safely buy,
And get good wares,-the cheapest in the end.
From distances afar it pays to go,

By railway, horse-cars, or by carriage slow,
To R. H. Ayer's, and see his watches fine;
The stock of goods he carries in the line
Of ornaments, of jewels bright and rare,
Of solid silver, and of plated ware;
The statuettes of bronze the finest sold,
And rings of purest California gold.
The spotless pearl which ladies wish to own,
The diamond "of purest ray serene;
The garnet, emerald, and every stone

To dress a maiden or adorn a queen. Eye-glasses, spectacles, soft feathery fans, And Parian marble goods he keeps in stock, And jewelry and plate of latest plans, Gold-headed canes, and every kind of clock.

It is a pleasure just to view his store,

And see the products of our modern art. You long to enter, hate to leave, his door;

From things of beauty one is loath to part.
And in his place of business you will be
Treated politely and with courtesy.

Dick Ayer, as he is known among his friends,
Is fair in dealing, honorable in trade;
Straightforward, truthful, to no fraud descends-
An honest man, if one was ever made.

In early ages, when primeval man

Emerged from cave to dwell upon the plain, His study of the healing art began.

With simple roots and herbs, by every plan,

He sought to heal his wound and soothe his pain. Then men were gathered into hostile bands,

For in those ancient days was savage war; They sought to plunder from each others' lands, Or tried resistance to unjust demands,

For might was right, and mankind knew no law.
The weakest could his land and home defend,
And slay an enemy, or help a friend.

Then into common use came drugs, quite sure
In hands unskilled to either kill or cure.

What would our forefathers have thought had they
Through all the ages lived until this day?

Just take one Concord drug-store: it would be
A wonder-land to all antiquity.

Suppose some ancient Greek could see no more
Than A. P. Fitch's elegant drug store,

"I would be to him profoundest mystery.
Attempt to understand what he might find
Would totter reason and unsettle mind.
The whole wide world contributes to his stock;
Each continent and ocean does its part;
His trusty messengers at distance mock,
Dash over land and on the billows rock,

To aid the surgeon's and physician's art.
Unto the lore of ancient alchemy,

Which with the dawn of history began, Is added skill of modern chemistry,

Acquired in every land and century

Since man has sought to heal his fellow-man. Beside his drugs and medicines you find

All sorts of dainty things the ladies use, Powder and perfume, soap of every kind, And toilet articles just to their mind

A large assortment out of which to choose. Is one a smoker?-he will travel far

To get a better than a Fitch cigar.

In all relations Mr. Fitch stands high,

In social circles and on business streets,
And meets all squarely when they sell or buy,
And every one with true politeness treats.
Honored by all, in Mr. Fitch you see
A man of worth and proud integrity.