Little Annie does not understand what I am saying, but looks
wishfully at the proud lady in the window. We will invite her home
with us as we return.--Meantime, good-bye, Dame Doll! A toy yourself,
you look forth from your window upon many ladies that are also toys,
though they walk and speak, and upon a crowd in pursuit of toys,
though they wear grave visages. Oh, with your never-closing eyes, had
you but an intellect to moralize on all that flits before them, what a
wise doll would you be!--Come, little Annie, we shall find toys
enough, go where we may.

Now we elbow our way among the throng again. It is curious in the most
crowded part of a town to meet with living creatures that had their
birthplace in some far solitude, but have acquired a second nature in
the wilderness of men. Look up, Annie, at that canary-bird hanging out
of the window in his cage. Poor little fellow! His golden feathers are
all tarnished in this smoky sunshine; he would have glistened twice as
brightly among the summer islands, but still he has become a citizen
in all his tastes and habits, and would not sing half so well without
the uproar that drowns his music. What a pity that he does not know
how miserable he is! There is a parrot, too, calling out, "Pretty
Poll! Pretty Poll!" as we pass by. Foolish bird, to be talking about
her prettiness to strangers, especially as she is not a pretty Poll,
though gaudily dressed in green and yellow! If she had said "Pretty
Annie!" there would have been some sense in it. See that gray squirrel
at the door of the fruit-shop whirling round and round so merrily
within his wire wheel! Being condemned to the treadmill, he makes it
an amusement. Admirable philosophy!

Here comes a big, rough dog--a countryman's dog--in search of his
master, smelling at everybody's heels and touching little Annie's hand
with his cold nose, but hurrying away, though she would fain have
patted him.--Success to your search, Fidelity!--And there sits a great
yellow cat upon a window-sill, a very corpulent and comfortable cat,
gazing at this transitory world with owl's eyes, and making pithy
comments, doubtless, or what appear such, to the silly beast.--Oh,
sage puss, make room for me beside you, and we will be a pair of
philosophers.

Here we see something to remind us of the town-crier and his
ding-dong-bell. Look! look at that great cloth spread out in the air,
pictured all over with wild beasts, as if they had met together to