brow, and his thoughtful eyes bent down, while the gay little girl trips
lightly along, as if she were forced to keep hold of my hand, lest her
feet should dance away from the earth. Yet there is sympathy between us.
If I pride myself on anything, it is because I have a smile that children
love; and, on the other hand, there are few grown ladies that could
entice me from the side of little Annie; for I delight to let my mind go
hand in hand with the mind of a sinless child. So, come, Annie; but if I
moralize as we go, do not listen to me; only look about you, and be
merry!

Now we turn the corner. Here are hacks with two horses, and stage-
coaches with four, thundering to meet each other, and trucks and carts
moving at a slower pace, being heavily laden with barrels from the
wharves, and here are rattling gigs, which perhaps will be smashed to
pieces before our eyes. Hitherward, also, comes a man trundling a
wheelbarrow along the pavement. Is not little Annie afraid of such a
tumult? No; she does not even shrink closer to my side, but passes on
with fearless confidence, a happy child amidst a great throng of grown
people, who pay the same reverence to her infancy that they would to
extreme old age. Nobody jostles her; all turn aside to make way for
little Annie; and, what is most singular, she appears conscious of her
claim to such respect. Now her eyes brighten with pleasure! A street-
musician has seated himself on the steps of yonder church, and pours
forth his strains to the busy town, a melody that has gone 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 loath 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