What would Annie think if， in the book which I mean tosend her on New Year’s day， she should find her sweet littleself bound up in silk or morocco with gilt edges， thereto remain till she become a woman grown with childrenof her own to read about their mother’s childhood？ Thatwould be very queer.
Little Annie is weary of pictures and pulls me onwardby the hand， till suddenly we pause at the most wondrousshop in all the town. Oh， my stars！ Is this a toyshop， oris it fairy-land？ For here are gilded chariots in which theking and queen of the fairies might ride side by side，while their courtiers on these small horses should gallopin triumphal procession before and behind the royal pair.
Here， too， are dishes of chinaware fit to be the diningsetof those same princely personages when they makea regal banquet in the stateliest hall of their palace—fullfive feet high—and behold their nobles feasting adownthe long perspective of the table. Betwixt the king andqueen should sit my little Annie， the prettiest fairy ofthem all. Here stands a turbaned Turk threatening us withhis sabre， like an ugly heathen as he is， and next a Chinesemandarin who nods his head at Annie and myself. Herewe may review a whole army of horse and foot in red-andblueuniforms， with drums， fifes， trumpets， and all kindsof noiseless music； they have halted on the shelf of thiswindow after their weary march from Liliput. But whatcares Annie for soldiers？ No conquering queen is she—neither a Semiramis nor a Catharine； her whole heart isset upon that doll who gazes at us with such a fashionablestare. This is the little girl’s true plaything. Though madeof wood， a doll is a visionary and ethereal personageendowed by childish fancy with a peculiar life； the mimiclady is a heroine of romance， an actor and a sufferer in athousand shadowy scenes， the chief inhabitant of that wildworld with which children ape the real one. Little Anniedoes not understand what I am saying， but looks wishfullyat the proud lady in the window. We will invite her homewith us as we return. Meantime， good-bye， Dame Doll！ Atoy yourself， you look forth from your window upon manyladies that are also toys， though they walk and speak， andupon a crowd in pursuit of toys， though they wear gravevisages. Oh， with your never-closing eyes， had you but anintellect to moralize on all that flits before them， what awise doll would you be！ Come， little Annie， we shall findtoys enough， go where we may.
Now we elbow our way among the throng again. Itis curious in the most crowded part of a town to meetwith living creatures that had their birthplace in somefar solitude， but have acquired a second nature in thewilderness of men. Look up， Annie， at that canarybirdhanging out of the window in his cage. Poor littlefellow！ His golden feathers are all tarnished in this smokysunshine； he would have glistened twice as brightly amongthe summer islands， but still he has become a citizen inall his tastes and habits， and would not sing half so wellwithout the uproar that drowns his music. What a pitythat he does not know how miserable he is！ There is aparrot， too， calling out， “Pretty Poll！ Pretty Poll！” as wepass by. Foolish bird， to be talking about her prettinessto strangers， especially as she is not a pretty Poll， thoughgaudily dressed in green and yellow！ If she had said “PrettyAnnie！” there would have been some sense in it. Seethat gray squirrel at the door of the fruit-shop whirlinground and round so merrily within his wire wheel！ Beingcondemned to the treadmill， he makes it an amusement.
Admirable philosophy！
Here comes a big， rough dog—a countryman’s dog—insearch of his master， smelling at everybody’s heels andtouching little Annie’s hand with his cold nose， buthurrying away， though she would fain have patted him.
Success to your search， Fidelity！ And there sits a greatyellow cat upon a window-sill， a very corpulent andcomfortable cat， gazing at this transitory world with owl’seyes， and making pithy comments， doubtless， or whatappear such， to the silly beast. Oh， sage puss， make roomfor me beside you， and we will be a pair of philosophers.
Here we see something to remind us of the town-crierand his ding-dong-bell. Look！ look at that great clothspread out in the air， pictured all over with wild beasts， asif they had met together to choose a king， according totheir custom in the days of .sop. But they are choosingneither a king nor a President， else we should hear a mosthorrible snarling！ They have come from the deep woodsand the wild mountains and the desert sands and the polarsnows only to do homage to my little Annie. As we enteramong them the great elephant makes us a bow in thebest style of elephantine courtesy， bending lowly downhis mountain bulk， with trunk abased and leg thrust outbehind. Annie returns the salute， much to the gratificationof the elephant， who is certainly the best-bred monsterin the caravan. The lion and the lioness are busy with twobeef-bones. The royal tiger， the beautiful， the untamable，keeps pacing his narrow cage with a haughty step，unmindful of the spectators or recalling the fierce deeds ofhis former life， when he was wont to leap forth upon suchinferior animals from the jungles of Bengal.
