astray among the tramp of footsteps, the buzz of voices and the war of
passing wheels. Who heeds the poor organ-grinder? None but myself and
little Annie, whose feet begin to move in unison with the lively tune,
as if she were loth that music should be wasted without a dance. But
where would Annie find a partner? Some have the gout in their toes or
the rheumatism in their joints; some are stiff with age, some feeble
with disease; some are so lean that their bones would rattle, and
others of such ponderous size that their agility would crack the
flagstones; but many, many have leaden feet because their hearts are
far heavier than lead. It is a sad thought that I have chanced upon.
What a company of dancers should we be! For I too am a gentleman of
sober footsteps, and therefore, little Annie, let us walk sedately on.

It is a question with me whether this giddy child or my sage self have
most pleasure in looking at the shop-windows. We love the silks of
sunny hue that glow within the darkened premises of the spruce
dry-goods men; we are pleasantly dazzled by the burnished silver and
the chased gold, the rings of wedlock and the costly love-ornaments,
glistening at the window of the jeweller; but Annie, more than I,
seeks for a glimpse of her passing figure in the dusty looking-glasses
at the hardware-stores. All that is bright and gay attracts us both.

Here is a shop to which the recollections of my boyhood as well as
present partialities give a peculiar magic. How delightful to let the
fancy revel on the dainties of a confectioner--those pies with such
white and flaky paste, their contents being a mystery, whether rich
mince with whole plums intermixed, or piquant apple delicately
rose-flavored; those cakes, heart-shaped or round, piled in a lofty
pyramid; those sweet little circlets sweetly named kisses; those dark
majestic masses fit to be bridal-loaves at the wedding of an heiress,
mountains in size, their summits deeply snow-covered with sugar! Then
the mighty treasures of sugarplums, white and crimson and yellow, in
large glass vases, and candy of all varieties, and those little
cockles--or whatever they are called--much prized by children for
their sweetness, and more for the mottoes which they enclose, by
love-sick maids and bachelors! Oh, my mouth waters, little Annie, and
so doth yours, but we will not be tempted except to an imaginary
feast; so let us hasten onward devouring the vision of a plum-cake.

Her