it is not quite Boston. It is everything. This sea washes down by enchanted purple islands and touches at the coast of Spain. But if one can but turn one's eyes from it for a moment, Boston is a fine and good thing, and interesting."
"I think it is—from several points of view," I agreed.
"Tell me what you find that interests you in Boston," said my friend Annabel Lee.
"There are many things," I replied. "I have found a little corner down by the East Boston wharf where often I sit on cold days. The sun shines bright and warm on a narrow wooden platform between two great barrels, and I can be hidden there, but I can watch the madding crowd as it goes. The crowd is very madding down around East Boston. And I do not lack company—sometimes brave, sharp-toothed rats venture out on the
