4 i, * if laa j — Sem I ht THES With TTS LL! LW ISI LS SEES 51) UY | / tis } iif j H Wik oe l I if} Nit m | 7 Hy LALLY //, I] /f I) mM | id nN | Zp Nj AN X Nas Wry NUS RNS Sh a + Ni iN a LN A) Uy S SS \] KY \ N \ SLI pA a 7 NS My j Nie An ~— 5 We l CLL, LW Y My A Vin La ae =—— Ss p. 42. THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS; OR, Memoirs of the Ladp Seraphina. BY THE AUTHOR OF “LETTERS FROM MADRAS,” “HISTORICAL CHARADES,” ETC. ETC. WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY HABLOT K. BROWNE. : LONDON: | GRANT AND GRIFFITH, 3 (SUCCESSORS TO J. HARRIS,) CORNER OF ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD. MDCCCLII., LONDON : PRINTED BY ROBSON, LEVEY, AND FRANKLYN, Great New Street, Fetter Lane. PREFACE. My principal intention, or rather aim, in writing this little book was to amuse children by a story founded on one of their favourite diversions, and to inculcate a few such minor morals as my little plot might be strong enough to carry ; chiefly the domestic happiness produced by kind tempers and consideration for others. And further, I wished to say a word in favour of that good old-fashioned plaything, the Doll, which one now sometimes hears decried by sensible people who have no children of their own. THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS, CHAPTER I. I BELONG to a race the sole end of whose existence is to give pleasure to others. None will deny the goodness of such an end, and I flatter myself most persons will allow that we amply fulfil it. Few of the female sex especially but will acknowledge, with either the smile or the sigh called forth by early recollections, that much of their youthful happiness was due to our presence ; and some will even 2°0 80 far as to attribute to our influence many a habit of housewifery, neatness, and industry, which orna- ments their riper years. But to our influence, our silent unconscious in- fluence alone, can such advantages be ascribed ; for neither example nor precept are in our power ; our race cannot boast of intellectual endowments; and though there-are few qualities, moral or mental, that have not in their turn been imputed to us by partial friends, truth obliges me to confess that they exist B 2 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. rather in the minds of our admirers than in our own persons. We are a race of mere dependents ; some might even call us slaves. Unable to change our place.or move: hand or foot at our own pleasure, and forced to submit to every caprice of our possessors, we can- not be said to have even a will of our own. But every condition has its share of good and evil, and I have often considered my helplessness and depend- ence as mere trifles compared with the troubles to which poor sensitive human being’s are subject. Pain, sickness, or fatigue I never knew. While a fidgetty child cannot keep still for two minutes at a time, I sit contentedly for days together in the same attitude; and I have before now seen one of those irritable young mortals cry at a scratch, while I was bearing needles drawn in and out of every part of my body, or sitting with a pin run straight through my heart, calmly congratulating myself on being free from the inconveniences of flesh and blood. Of negative merits I possess a good share. I am never out of humour, never impatient, never mischievous, noisy, nor intrusive; and though I and* “my fellows cannot lay claim to brilliant powers either in word or deed, we may boast of the same qualifications as our wittiest king, for certainly none THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 3 of us ever “said a foolish thing,” if she “ never did a wise one.” Personal beauty I might almost, without va- nity, call the “badge of all our tribe.” Our very name is seldom mentioned without the epithet pretty ; and in my own individual case I may say that I have always been considered pleasing and elegant, though others have surpassed me in size and gran- deur. But our most striking characteristic is our power of inspiring strong attachment. The love bestowed on us by our possessors is proof against time, fami- liarity, and misfortune : “ Age cannot wither” us, “ nor custom stale” Our “infinite variety.” With no trace of our original beauty left,—dress in tatters, complexion defaced, features undistinguish- able, our very limbs mutilated, the mere wreck of our former selves,—who has not seen one of us still the delight and solace of some tender young heart ; the confidant of its fancies, and the soother of its sorrows ; preferred to all newer claimants, however high their pretensions ; the still unrivalled favourite, in spite of the laughter of the nursery and the quiet contempt of the schoolroom ? | 3 Young and gentle reader, your sympathy or 4 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. your sagacity has doubtless suggested to you my name. I am, as you guess, a DoLL; and though not a doll of any peculiar pretensions, I flatter my- self that my life may not be quite without interest to the young lovers of my race, and in this hope I venture to submit my memoirs to your indulgent consideration. I am but a small doll; not one of those splen- did specimens of wax, modelled from the Princess Royal, with distinct fingers and toes, eyes that shut, and tongues that wag. No; such I have only contemplated from a respectful distance as I lay on my stall in the bazaar, while they towered sublime in the midst of the toys, the won- der and admiration of every passing child. I am not even one of those less magnificent, but. still dignified, leathern-skinned individuals, requiring clothes to take off and put on, and a cradle to sleep in, with sheets, blankets, and every thing complete. Neither can I found my claim to notice upon any thing odd or unusual in my appearance: I am not a negro doll, with wide mouth and woolly hair; nor a doll with a gutta-percha face, which can be twisted into all kinds of grimaces. I am a simple English doll, about six inches high, with jointed limbs and an enamel face, a slim waist and upright figure, an amiable smile, an in- THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 5 telligent eye, and hair dressed in the first style of fashion. I never thought myself vain, but I own that in my youth I did pique myself upon my hair. There was but one opinion about that. I have often heard even grown-up people remark, “ How ing‘eni- ously that doll’s wig is put on, and how nicely it is arranged !” while at the same time my rising vanity was crushed by the insinuation that I had an ab- surd smirk or a ridiculous stare. However, the opinions of human beings of ma- ture age never much disturbed me. The world was large enough for them and me; and I could con- tentedly see them turn to their own objects of in- terest, while I awaited in calm security the unquali- fied praise of those whose praise alone was valuable to me—their children and grandchildren. I first opened my eyes to the light in the Pan- theon Bazaar. How I came there I know not; my conscious existence dates only from the moment in which a silver-paper covering was removed from my face, and the world burst upon my view. A feeling of importance was the first that arose in my mind. As the hand that held me turned me from side to side, I looked about. Dolls were before me, dolls behind, and dolls on each side. For a con- siderable time I could see nothing else. The world seemed made for dolls. But by degrees, as my 6 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. powers of vision strengthened, my horizon extended, and I perceived that portions of space were allotted to many other objects. I descried, at various dis- tances, aids to amusements in endless succession,— balls, bats, battledores, boxes, bags, and baskets ; carts, cradles, and cups and saucers. I did not then know any thing of the alphabet, and I cannot say that I have quite mastered it even now; but if I were learned enough, I am sure I could go from A to Z, as initial letters of the wonders with which I soon made acquaintance. | Not that I at once became aware of the uses, or even the names, of all I saw. No one took the trouble to teach me; and it was only by dint of my own intense observation that I gained any know- ledge at all. I did not at first even know that I was a doll. But I made the most of opportunities, and my mind gradually expanded. I first learned to distinguish human beings. Their powers of motion made a decided difference - between them and the other surrounding objects, and naturally my attention was early turned to- wards the actions of the shopwoman on whose stall I lived. She covered me and my companions with a large cloth every night, and restored the daylight to us in the morning. We were all perfectly help- less without her, and absolutely under her control. THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. Z At her will the largest top hummed, or was silent ; the whip cracked, or lay harmlessly by the side of the horse. She moved us from place to place, and exhibited or hid us at her pleasure; but she was always so extremely careful of our health and looks, and her life seemed so entirely devoted to us and to our advantage, that I often doubted whether she was our property or we hers. Her habits varied so little from day to day, that after watching her for a reasonable time, I felt myself perfectly ac- quainted with her, and in a condition to make ob- servations upon others of her race. | One day a lady and a little girl stopped at our stall. “Oh, what a splendid doll!” exclaimed the child, pointing to the waxen beauty which outshone the rest of our tribe. It was the first time I had heard the word Doll, though I was well acquainted with the illustrious individual to whom it was ap- plied ; and it now flashed upon my mind, with pride and pleasure, that, however insignificant in compa- rison, I too was a doll. But I had not time to think very deeply about my name and nature just then, as I wished to listen to the conversation of the two human beings. “ May I buy her ?” said the little girl. “Can you afford it?” asked the lady in return. _“ Remember your intentions for your brother.” 8 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. “Perhaps I have money enough for both,” an- swered the child. “ How much does she cost ?” “Seven shillings,” said the shopwoman, taking the doll from her place, and displaying her pretty face and hands to the utmost advantage. | “T have three half-crowns,” said the little girl. “ But if you spend seven shillings on the doll,” answered the lady, “you will only have sixpence left for the paint-box.” “What does a paint-box cost ?” asked the child. “ We have them of all prices,” replied the shop- keeper ; “ from sixpence to seven shillings.” The little girl examined several with great care, and stood some time in deliberation; at last she said, “I don’t think Willy would like a sixpenny one.” “It would be of no use to him,” answered the lady. “He draws well enough to want better colours. If you gave it to him, he would thank you and try to seem pleased, but he would not really care for it. However, he does not know that you thought of making him a birthday present, so you are at liberty to spend your money as you like.” “* W ould he care for a seven shilling one ?” asked the little girl. “ Yes; that is exactly what he wants.” “ Then he shall have it,” exclaimed the good- THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 9 natured little sister. ‘“ Poor dear Willy, how many more amusements I have than he !” She bought the best paint-box, and received sixpence in change. “Is there any thing else I can shew you ?” asked the shopkeeper. “No, thank you,” she replied; and turning to the elder lady, she said, “ May we go home at once, Mama? It would take me a long time to choose what I shall spend my sixpence in, and I should like to give Willy his paint-box directly.” “ By all means,” answered the lady ; “we will lose no time; and I will bring you again to spend the sixpence whenever you please.” Without one backward glance towards the beau- tiful doll, the child tripped away by the side of her companion, looking the brightest and happiest of her kind. I pondered long upon this circumstance; how long I cannot say, for dolls are unable to measure time, they can only date from any particularly strik- ing epochs. For instance, we can say, “Such an affair happened before I lost my leg ;” or, “Such an event took place before my new wig was put on; but of the intricate divisions known to mortals by the names of hours, days, months, &c., we have no idea. 10 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. However, I meditated on the kind little sister during what appeared to me a long: but not tedious period, for I was gratified at gaining some insight into the qualities proper to distinguish the human race. Readiness to shew kindness, and a prefer- ence of others’ interests to her own, were virtues which I easily perceived in the little girl’s conduct; but one thing perplexed me sadly: I could not un- — derstand why a doll would not have answered her kind intentions as well as a paint-box; why could she not have bought the doll which she admired so much, and have given that to her brother. My thoughts were still engaged with this sub- ject when a boy approached the stall. Boys were new characters to me, and I was glad of the oppor- tunity to observe one. He did not bestow a look on the dolls and other toys, but asked for a box of carpenter's tools. The shopkeeper dived into some hidden recess under the counter, and produced a clumsy-looking chest, the merits of which I could not discover ; but the boy pronounced it to be “ just the thing,” and willingly paid down its price. I followed him with my eyes as he walked about with his great box under his arm, looking from side to side, till he caught sight of another boy rather younger than himself, advancing from an opposite corner. THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 11 “ Why, Geoffrey,” “exclaimed my first friend, “ where have you been all this time? I have been hunting every where for you.” Geoffrey did not immediately answer, his mouth being, as I perceived, quite full. When at last he could open his lips, he said: “ Will you have a cheesecake ?” “No, thank you,” replied his friend. “ We must 20 home to dinner so soon, that you will scarcely have time to choose your things. Where have you been ?” “ At the pastrycook’s stall,” answered Geofirey ; “and I must go back again before I can buy any thing. I left my five shillings there to be changed.” The boys returned together to the stall, and 1 saw its mistress hand a small com to Geoffrey. “ Where is the rest?” said he. “ That is your change, sir,” she replied. ‘¢ Why, you don’t mean that those two or three tarts and jellies cost four and sixpence!” he ex- claimed, turning’ as red as the rosiest doll at my side. ( J think you will find it correct, sir,” answered the shopkeeper. “ ‘T'wo jellies, sixpence each, make one shilling; two custards, sixpence each, two shil- lings; a bottle of ginger-beer, threepence, two and threepence; one raspberry cream, sixpence, two and 12 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. ninepence; three gooseberry tarts, threepence, three shillings; two strawberry tarts, three and twopence; two raspberry ditto, three and fourpence; four cheesecakes, three and eightpence; two Bath buns, four shillings; and one lemon ice, four and sixpence.” “What a bother !” said Geoffrey, as he pocketed the small remains of his fortune. “I wish I could give her some of the tarts back again, for they weren’t half so nice as they looked, except just the first one or two.” “ Because you were only hungry for the first one or two,” said the other boy. “ But it can’t be helped now; come and spend the sixpence better.” “There won’t be any thing worth buying for sixpence,” said Geoffrey gloomily, as he shuffled in a lazy manner towards my stall. “ I want a spade,” said he. Several were produced, but they cost two shil- lings or half-a-crown. There were little wooden spades for sixpence; but from those he turned with contempt, saying they were only fit for babies. Nothing at our table suited him, and he walked towards our opposite neighbour, who sold books, maps, &c. On his asking for a dissected map, all the countries of the world were speedily offered to his choice; but alas! the price was again the ob- stacle. The cheapest map was half-a-crown; and THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 13 Geoffrey’s sixpence would buy nothing but a childish puzzle of Old Mother Hubbard. Geoffrey said it was a great shame that every thing should be either dear or stupid. “ Can’t you lend me some money, Ned?” con- tinued he. “ T can’t, indeed,” replied the other ;. “ mine all went in this box of tools. Suppose you don’t spend the sixpence at all now, but keep it till you get some more.” “No, I won’t do that; I hate saving my money.” So saying, he wandered from stall to stall, ask- ing the price of every thing, as if his purse was as full as his stomach. “ How much is that sailor kite?” “ Two shil- lings, sir.”—“ How much is that bat?” Seven and sixpence.”—“ How much is that wooden box with secret drawer?” “ Three shillings.” “ How provoking!” he exclaimed. “I want heaps of thing's, and this stupid sixpence is no good at all.” “It is better than nothing,” said Edward. “It is not every day that one’s aunt sends one five shil- lings to spend in the bazaar; and in common times sixpence is not to be despised. After all, there are plenty of things it will buy. Do you want a top?” “ No; I’ve got four.” 14 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. “ Garden seeds ?” What is the use of them, when I can’t get a spade ?” “ Steel pens? You said this morning you could not write with quills.” “ T don’t like buying those kind of things with my own money.” | - “A box? Yesterday you wanted a box.” “ T don’t care for boxes that won't lock, and L can’t get one with a lock and key for sixpence.” © A knife?” | “ Sixpenny knives have only one blade ; I want two.” “ Sealing-wax? wafers? a penholder? a paint- box? India-rubber? pencils ?” “ Stupid things !” “A ball? You might have a very good ball.” “ Not a cricket-ball ; and I don’t care for any other.” “ What a particular fellow you are! I am sure I could always find something to spend sixpence in. String? One is always wanting string. You may have.a good ball of whipcord.” “ These sort of places don’t sell it.” “Then, I say again, keep your money till you want it.” “No, that I’ll never do, when I came on pur- THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 15 pose to spend it. After all, the only thing I can think of,” contmued Geoffrey, after a pause, “ is to go back to the pastrycook’s. There was one kind of tart I did not taste, and perhaps it would be nicer than the others. I’ll give you one if you like.” “ No, thank you; I am much obliged to you all the same; but I won’t help you to spend your money in that way. Don’t buy any more tarts. Come and walk about ; there are plenty more shops to look at.” They sauntered on, but Geoftrey, by various turns, worked his way back to the pastrycook’s ; and as no persuasions could then bring him away, Kd- ward walked off, not choosing, as he said, to en- courage him. Presently I saw a tall gentleman enter the ba- zaar, and I wondered what he would buy. I did not then understand the difference between grown- up people and children, and as he approached my stall, I could not repress a hope that he would buy me. But his quick eye glanced over the tables with- out resting on any of the toys. “ Can I shew you any thing, sir ?” said my mis- tress. “ No, I am much obliged to you,” he answered, with a pleasant smile. “I am only in search of some young people who, I dare say, have been 16 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. better customers than I. Ah, here they are,” he continued, as the two boys of whom I had taken so much notice ran up to him from different ends of the room. “Well, boys,” said he, “ what have you bought? Must we hire a wagon to carry your property home 2” - _ “Not quite,’ answered Edward. “TI have bought a wagon-load of amusement, but I can carry it home well enough myself; I have spent all my money in this box of tools.” “A very sensible and useful purchase,” said the gentleman ; “ they will give you plenty of plea- sant employment. The only objection is, that they are likely to be lost or broken at school.” “IT do not mean to take them to school, papa. I shall use them in the holidays, and leave them with Willy when I go back to school; that was one reason why I bought them. Willy could do a good deal of carpentering on his sofa.” “True, my boy, and a kind thought. They will be a great amusement to poor Willy, and he will take good care of them for you.” “ Now, Geoffrey, how have you invested your capital? I hope you have found a strong spade. It is fine weather for gardening.” “No, I haven't,” stammered Geoffrey. Wy fay). Ly f, —7 i] fi full} ie | ~ we | SIT ‘ye ~? " vm a7 Aan || . | ‘ SWyps WV), Ny . Vs : ef: cae — PP A i ae =- = Ch rf , | —F \ ~\-| | See a — . a SS \ 7 SAS 2 tah) Wi < >a on Bn ‘WSs S. wl S } h >! ~~ 7 Cig Ya y | | | ais uj ! i= — ii ) | THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 17 © Well, what have you bought ?” “ I don’t know,” said Geoffrey. “ Do you mean that you have not spent your money yet? Make haste, then, for I can only allow you five minutes more. I expected to find you ready to go home. Be brisk; there is every thing on that stall that the heart of boy can wish,” said the gentleman, pointing to my abode. But Geoffrey did not move. “I don’t want any thing,” said he at last. “ What a fortunate boy !” said the gentleman; but he presently added, “ Have you lost your money ?” « Ne.” “ Shew it to me.” Geoffrey slowly produced his sixpence, almost hidden in the palm of his hand. “Where is the rest?” asked the gentleman. “ Have you spent it ?” “ Yes.” “And nothing to shew for it? Nothing ?”— and the gentleman looked at the boy more narrowly. “ Nothing,” said he again, “except a few crumbs of pie-crust on your waistcoat? Oh, Geoffrey !” There was a short silence, and the boy coloured a good deal; at last he said, “It was my own money.” C 18 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. “ You will wish it was your own again before long’, I dare say,” said the gentleman. “ However, we must hope you will be wiser in time. Come home now to dinner.” “ T don’t want any dinner,” said Geoffrey. “Probably not, but Edward and I do. We have not dined on tarts; and I dare say Ned is as hungry as I am.” So saying, he led the way towards the door, leaving me, as usual, pondering over what had passed. One word used by the gentleman made a great impression on me—USEFUL. What could that mean? Various considerations were suggested by the question. Some things, it seemed, were useful, others not; and what puzzled me most was, that the very same things appeared to be useful to some people, and not to others. For instance, the sixpenny paint-box, which had been re- jected as useless to Willy, was bought soon after- wards by a small boy, who said it would be the most useful toy he had. Could this be the case with every thing? Was it possible that every thing properly applied might have its use, and that its value depended upon those who used it? If so, why was Geoffrey blamed for spending his money in tarts? He liked them. Perhaps he had plenty of food at home, and that THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 19 uselessness consisted in a thing’s not being really wanted. I revolved the subject in my mind, and tried to discover the use of every thing I saw, but I was not always successful. The subject was per- plexing ; and gradually all my thoughts became fixed on the point of most importance to myself — namely, my own use. How changed were my ideas since the time when I imagined the world to belong to dolls! Their whole race now seemed to be of very small importance; and as for my individual self, I could not be sure that I had any use at all, and still less what, or to whom. Day after day I lay on my counter unnoticed, except by the shopwoman who covered us up at night, and re-arranged us in the morning’; and even this she did with such an indifferent air, that I could not flatter myself I was of the smallest use to her. Every necessary care was bestowed upon me in common with my companions; but I sighed for the tender attentions that I sometimes saw lavished by children upon their dolls, and wished that my mistress would nurse and caress me in the same manner. She never seemed to think of such a thing. She once said I was dusty, and whisked a brush over my face; but that was the only separate mark 90 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. of interest I ever received from her. I had no rea- sonable ground of complaint, but I began to grow weary of the insipidity of my life, and to ask myself whether this could be my only destiny. Was I never to be of use to any body? From time to time other toys were carried away. Many a giddy top and lively ball left my side in childish company, and disappeared through those mysterious gates by which the busy human race entered our calm se+ clusion. At last even dolls had their day. The beauti- ful waxen princess no longer graced our dominions. She was bought by an elderly lady for a birthday present to a little grand-daughter; and on the very same day the “old familiar faces” of six dolls who had long shared my counter vanished from my sight, one after another being bought and carried away. I was sorry to lose them, though while we lived togethét we had had our little miffs and jealousies. I had sometimes thought that the one with the red shoes was always sticking out her toes; that she of — the flaxen ringlets was ready to let every breath of wind blow them over her neighbours’ faces; that another with long legs took up more room than her share, much to my inconvenience. But now that they were all gone, and I never could hope to see THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 21 them again, I would gladly have squeezed myself into as. small compass as the baby doll in the walnut-shell, in order to make room for them once more. One thing, however, was satisfactory: dolls certainly had their use. Seven had been bought, and therefore why not an eighth? I had been sink- ing almost into a state of despondency, but now my hopes revived and my spirits rose. My turn might come. And my turn did come. Every circumstance of that eventful day is deeply impressed on my me- mory. I was as usual employed in making remarks upon the passing: crowd, and wondering what might be the use of every body I saw, when I perceived the lady and the little girl who had been almost my first acquaintances among the human race. As they approached my stall, I heard the mama say, “ Have you decided what to buy with the sixpence ?” “Oh yes, quite,” answered the child ;*““ I am going to buy a siapenny doll.” The words thrilled through me; her eyes seemed fixed on mine, and the sixpence was between her fingers. I imagined myself bought. But she con- tinued: “ I think, if you don’t mind the trouble, I should like to go round the bazaar first, to see which are the prettiest.” 99 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. “ By all means,” replied the lady; and they walked on, carrying all my hopes with them. I had often fancied myself the prettiest doll of my size in the place; but such conceit would not support me now. I felt that there were dozens, nay scores, who more than equalled me; and alk discontented notions of my neglected merit now sunk before the dread that I had really no merit to neglect. | I began also to have some idea of what was meant by time. My past life had glided away so imperceptibly, that I did not know whether it had been long or short; but I learnt to count every mo- ment while those two mortals were walking round the bazaar. I strained my eyes to catch sight of them again; but when at last they re-appeared, I scarcely dared to look, for fear of seeing a doll in the child’s hands. But no; her hands were empty, except for the six- pence still between her finger and thumb. They came nearer—they stopped at another stall ; I could not hear what they said, but they turned away, and once more stood opposite to me. The child remained for some moments as silent as my- self, and then exclaimed, “ After all, Mama, I don’t think there are any prettier dolls than these in the whole room.” THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 23 “What do you say to this one, Miss?” said our proprietor, taking up a great full-dressed Dutch doll, and laying her on the top of those of my size and class, completely hiding the poor little victims under her stiff muslin and broad ribbons. But on the child’s answering, “ No, thank you, I only want a sixpenny doll not dressed,” the Dutch giantess was removed, and we once more asserted our humble claims. “ That seems to me a very pretty one,” said the mama, pointing to my next neighbour. The child for a moment hesitated, but presently exclaimed in a joyful tone, “ Oh no, this is the beauty of all; this little darlmg with the real hair and blue ribbon in it; I will take this one, if you please.” And before I could be sure that she meant me, I was removed from my place, wrapped up in paper, and consigned to her hands. My long-cherished wishes were ful- filled, and I was bought. At first I could scarcely believe it. Notwithstanding all my planning and looking forward to this event, now that it really happened, I could not understand it. My senses seemed gone. What had so lone occupied my mind was the work of a moment; but that moment was irrevocable, and my fate was decided. In my little mistress’ hands I passed the boundaries of the world of toys, and.entered upon a new state of existence. 24 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. CHAPTER II. A VERY different life now opened before me. I had no longer any pretence for complaining of neglect. My young mistress devoted every spare moment to the enjoyment of my company, and set no limits to her caresses and compliments; while I in return regarded her with all the gratitude and affection which a doll can feel. My faculties as well as my feelings were called into fresh exercise; for though I had no longer the wide range of observation afforded by the daily crowd of strangers in the bazaar, I had the new advantage of making inti- mate acquaintance with a small circle of friends. Having hitherto been so completely without any position in the world, I could not at first help feel- ing rather shy at the idea of taking my place as member of a family; and it was therefore a relief to find that my lot was not cast amongst total strangers, but that I had already some slight clue to the characters of my future companions. My mistress, whose name was Rose, was sister to the Willy for whom she had bought the paint- box, and. also to Edward, the purchaser of the . THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 25 tools. Geoffrey, the lover of tarts, was a cousin on _ avisit to them for the holidays; and they had also an elder sister named Margaret, besides their papa and mama, whom I had seen in the bazaar. The first of the family to whom I was introduced was Willy, and I soon became much interested in him. He was a pale thin boy, who spent the day on a sofa, to and from which he was carried in the morning and at night. In fine weather he went out in a wheel-chair; but he was unable to move with- out help, and was obliged to endure many priva- tions. Though he often looked suffering and weary, he was cheerful and patient, and always seemed pleased to hear other children describe enjoyments in which he could not share. Every body was fond of Willy, and anxious to amuse and comfort him. All that happened out of doors was told to him ; all the kindest friends and pleasantest visitors came to see him ; the new books were brought to him to read first; the best fruit and flowers always set apart for him; and all the in-door occupations arranged as much as possible with a view to his convenience. He and his little sister Rose were the dearest friénds in the world, and certain to take part in whatever interested each other. As soon as Rose brought me home from the Pantheon, she ran upstairs with me to Willy, whom I then saw for the first time, 26 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. sitting on the sofa with his feet up, and a table before him, on which stood several books, and my _ old acquaintances the paint-box and the chest of tools. “ Look at this, Willy ; is not this pretty?” ex- claimed Rose, laying me down on his open book. Willy looked up with a pleasant smile: “ Very pretty,” he answered. “TI suppose she is to be the lady of the new house; and with Ned’s tools, I hope to make some furniture worth her acceptance.” “Oh, thank you, Willy dear. And will you help me to choose a name for her? . What do you think the prettiest name you know 2” “ Rose,” answered Willy, laughing ; “ but I sup- pose that will not do. I dare say you want some- thing very fine and out-of-the-way.” “As fine as can be,” replied Rose; “I have been thinking of Seraphina or Wilhelmina: which do you like best ?” “ Call it Molly,” cried Edward, who just then entered the room; “ Molly and Betty are the best names: no nonsense in them.” “Call it Stupid Donkey,” mumbled a voice be- hind him; and Geoffrey advanced, his mouth as usual full of something besides words. “ Have any nuts, Willy ?” he asked, holding out a handful. “No, thank you,” answered Willy ; “I must not eat them.” THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 27 “JT wouldn't be you, I know,” said Geoffrey, cracking one between his teeth; “ never let to eat any thing but what’s wholesome, and always read- ing, or doing something stupid. I believe you are helping Rose to play with that doll now. Put it into the fire; that is the way to treat dolls. Stupid things. I hate ’em !” “Pray do not touch it, Geoffrey,” said Rose. “Leave it alone, Geff,” said Edward. “ You have your things, and Rose has hers. I don’t see the fun of dolls myself, but she does, and nobody shall interfere with her while I am here to protect her. Just remember that, will you ?” “The d-o-ll!” said Geoffrey, drawling the word, and making a face as if the pronouncing it turned him quite sick. “Oh, the sweet doll! Perhaps you would like to stay and play with Rose, and Willy, and the d-o-ll, instead of coming out to cricket.” “ Nonsense, you foolish fellow, you know better,” answered Edward. “But I won’t have Rose bullied ; and what’s more, I won’t have Willy quizzed. I should like to see you or me pass such an exami- nation as Willy could if he were at school. Why, he can learn as much in a day as we do in a week.” : “Well, he is welcome to learn as much as he 28 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. likes,” said Geoffrey ; “ and let’s you and I go and play. What stupid nuts these are! I’ve almost cracked one of my teeth with cracking them.” The boys ran off; and presently there came into the room the papa and mama, whom I already knew, and a young lady very like Rose, but older. I found. she was Margaret, the eldest sister. They inquired whether Willy wanted any thing before they went out; and Margaret fetched a drawing that he wished to copy, while his father and mother wheeled his sofa and table nearer the window that he might have more light. When he was made quite com- fortable, they told Rose that she might stay and take care of him till they returned; and she said she would bring her box of scraps and begin dress- mg me. Then I came in for my share of notice, and had every reason to be satisfied with the praises bestowed on me. The mama said that I deserved very neatly-made clothes; the papa, that my hair would be a pattern for Margaret’s ; and Margaret said I was charming, and that she would make me a pink satin gown. They admired the name Seraphina, though the papa suggested various others which he thought might suit Rose’s taste—Sophonisba, Cleopatra, Araminta, Dulcinea, Ethelinda, &c.; but as she remained steady to her first choice, the Lapy THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS: 29 SERAPHINA was decided to be thenceforth my name and title. : And now began the real business of my life. I was no longer doomed to fret at being of no use, for the object of my existence was plain enough, namely, to give innocent recreation to my young mistress when at leisure from her more serious employments. Every day she spent some hours in study with her mother or sister; and she would fly to me for relief between her lessons, and return to them with more vigour after passing a little time in my refreshing company. She often shewed her tasks to me, and discussed their difficulties. I think she repeated the multiplication-table to me nearly a hundred times, while I sat on the Zutor’s Assistant waiting for the recurrence of the fatal words, “ Seven times nine.” Day after day she could get no farther; but as soon as she came to “ Seven times nine,” I was turned off the book, which had to be consulted for the answer. At last, one day she came running into the room in great glee, exclaiming, “I have done the multi- plication-table. I have said it quite right, sixty- three and all. I made no mistake even in dodging. And you helped me, my darling Lady Seraphina. I never could have learned it perfect if you had not heard me say it so often. And now, look at your 30 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. rewards. Margaret has made you a bonnet, and Willy has made you an arm-chair.”’ Beautiful, indeed, was the bonnet, and commo- dious the arm-chair ; and I wore the one and re- clined in the other all the time Rose was learning the French auxiliary verbs étre and avoir. I flat- tered myself I was of as much use in them as in the multiplication-table; but I do not recollect receiv- ing any particular recompense. Indeed, after a little time, it would have been difficult to know what to give me, for I possessed every thing that a doll’s heart could wish, or her head imagine. Such a variety of elegant dresses as Rose made for me would have been the envy of all my old friends in the bazaar. I had gowns of pink satin and white satin; blue silk and yellow silk; coloured muslins without number, and splendid white lace. Bonnets enough to furnish a milliner’s shop were mine; but I was not so partial to them as to my gowns, be- cause they tumbled my hair. I believe a good many of my possessions were presents from Margaret to Rose on account of perfect lessons; but in course of time, I ceased to superintend Rose’s studies. Margaret said that I interrupted the course of history ; and the mama said that Rose was old enough to learn her lessons without bringing her play into THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. Sl them, and that I must be put away during school hours. Though I did not think that the fault was alto- gether mine, I quite acquiesced in the wisdom of this decree ; for during Rose’s last reading-lesson she had stopped so often to ask me which [I liked best, Lycurgus or Solon, Pericles or Alcibiades, &c., that Margaret was almost out of patience. And though { made no answer, and had really no choice at all between the characters, I felt that I rather hin- dered business. I was therefore now left to myself for several hours in the morning ; but I found ample and plea- sant employment in surveying the comforts and beauties of my habitation. For I was not forced to perform the part of an insignificant pigmy in the vast abodes of the colossal race of man: I possessed a beautiful little house proportioned to my size, plea- santly situated on a table in the furthest corner of the school-room, and commanding an extensive view of the whole apartment. I must describe my house at full length. It had been originally, as I heard, a mere rough pack- ing-case ; but what of that? The best brick house in London was once but clay in the fields; and my packing-case was now painted outside and pa- pered inside, and fitted up in a manner every way 32 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. suitable for the occupation of a doll of distine- tion. My drawing-room was charming; light and cheerful, the walls papered with white and gold, and the floor covered with a drab carpet worked with flowers of every hue. Rose worked. the carpet herself under the directions of Margaret, who pre- vailed on her to learn worsted-work for my sake. So there, again, how useful I was! From the ceil- ing hung a brilliant glass chandelier, a birthday present from Edward to Rose; and the mantelpiece was adorned by a splendid mirror cut out of a broken looking-glass by Willy, and framed by his hands. I cannot say that Willy ever seemed to care for me personally, but he took considerable interest in my upholstery, and much of my handsomest furniture was manufactured by him. He made my dining-room and drawing-room tables ; the frames of my chairs, which were covered with silk by Mar- garet ; my sofa, and my four-post bedstead ; and it was he who painted the floor-cloth in my hall, and the capital picture of the Queen and Prince Albert which hung over the dining-room chimney-piece. I had a snug bed-room, containing a bed with pink curtains, a toilette-table, with a handsome looking- glass, pin-cushion, and rather large brush and comb; a washing-stand, towel-horse, chest of drawers, and THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 33 wardrobe. But the last two, I must confess, were rather for show than for use. They were French- polished, and in appearance convenient as well as handsome, but in reality too small to hold my clothes. A few minor articles of dress were kept in them; but the mass of my gorgeous attire was always in larger boxes and trunks belonging to my mistress; her work-box, for instance, and at one time her desk; but her mama turned all my gowns out of the latter when she banished me from the lessons, and desired that, for the future, only writ- ing materials should be kept in it. “ Every thing in its proper place, Rose,” I heard her say. “ You have plenty of little boxes for doll’s clothes; and your doll ought to teach you to be more tidy instead of less so.” aa ee alk My dining-room was well adapted for all the purposes of hospitality, being furnished with a sub- stantial dining-table, chairs, and a sideboard, on which there always stood two trays, one filled with decanters and wine-glasses, and the other with knives and forks. My kitchen was resplendent with saucepans, kettles, pots and pans, and plates and dishes, ranged upon the dresser, or hung from the walls. ) < th Cr : 2 ZY KKK YQO™” 0 De wo MIVA Lia —— /} ’ p. 79. fad Hpddy WY | My =) | x i} i| x H SS HY i | ~ Vy ' > | — Hi yy fit \ THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. —68 “ How I wish you could have time to do this job! for it would bring you in a pretty penny, and I know my mistress would be pleased with your work ; but they are to be done very quickly, im time for the next ship, and I do not see that you could get through them with only one pair of hands.” “ We have two pair of hands,” cried Susan; “ here are mine.” “ Ah, but what can they do?” asked Sarah, “ and how can they do it? It is not enough to have four fingers and a thumb. Hands must be handy.” “ And so they are,” answered Susan’s mother. “ See whether any hands could do neater work than that.” And she pointed me out to Sarah. Sarah took me up, and turned me from side to side. Then she looked at my hems, then at my seams, then at my gathers, while I felt truly proud and happy, conscious that not a long stitch could be found in either. “ Well to be sure!” exclaimed she, after examin- ing me all over; “do you mean that all that is really Susan’s own work ?” “ Every stitch of it,” replied the mother; “ and I think better need not be put into any shirt, though Master William does deserve the best of every thing.” 80 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. “ You never said a truer word, neither for Mas- ter William nor for little Susan,” replied Sarah ; “and I wish you joy, Susan, of being able to help your mother so nicely, for now I can leave you the job to do between you.” She then told them what was to be the payment for the work, which was a matter I did not my- self understand, though I could see that it gave them great satisfaction. The money came at a most convenient time, to help in fitting out Susan’s brother Robert for. a place which had been offered to him in the country. It was an excellent place; but there were several thing's, as his mother well knew, that poor Robert wanted at starting, but would not mention for fear his parents should distress themselves to obtain them for him. Both father and mother had been saving for the purpose, without saying any thing about it to Robert; but they almost despaired of obtaining more than half the things they wanted, till this little sum of money came into their hands so op- portunely. , The father was in the secret, but Robert could scarcely believe his eyes, when one evening his mother and Susan laid on the table before him, one by one, all the useful articles he wished to possess. At first he seemed almost more vexed than pleased, THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 81 for he thought of the saving and the slaving that his mother must have gone through to gain them ; but when she told him how much of them was due to his little sister’s neatness and industry, and how easy the work had been when shared between them, he was as much pleased as Susan herself. We were all very happy that evening, including even the humble friends on the shelf; for I sat on my trunk, and related to the Pen how useful I had been in teaching Susan to work; and the worthy Pen stood bolt upright in his inkstand, and confided to me with honest pride, that Robert had been chosen to his situation on account of his excellent writing. Time passed on, and I suppose we all grew older, as I noticed from time to time various changes that seemed to proceed from that cause. The baby, for instance, though still gomg by the name of “ Baby,” had become a strong able-bodied child, running alone, and very difficult to keep out of mischief. The most effectual way of keeping her quiet was to place me in her hands, when she would sit on the floor nurs- ing me by the hour together, while her mother and sister were at work. Susan was become a tall strong girl, more nota- ble than ever, and, like Rose before her, she gradu- ally bestowed less attention on me}; 80 that I was beginning to feel myself neglected, till on a certain G “82 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. birthday of her little sister’s, she declared her inten- tion of making me over altogether to the baby-sister for a birthday present. Then I once more rose into importance, and found powers which I thought declining’, still undiminished. The baby gave a scream of delieht when I was placed in her hand as her own. Till then she had only possessed one toy in the world, an old wooden horse, in comparison with which I seemed in the full bloom of youth and beauty. This horse, which she called Jack, had lost not merely the ornaments of mane and tail, but his head, one fore and one hind leg; so that nothing remained of the once noble quadruped but ° a barrel with the paint scratched off, rather in- securely perched upon a stand with wheels. But he was a faithful animal, and did his work to the last. The baby used to tie me on to his barrel, and Jack and I were drawn round and round the kitchen with as much satisfaction to our mistress, as in the days when I shone forth in my gilt coach with its four prancing piebalds. But the baby’s treatment of me, though ovrati- fying from its cordiality, had a roughness and want of ceremony that affected my enfeebled frame. I could not conceal from myself that the infirmities I had observed in other dolls were gradually gaining ground upon me. Nobody ever said a harsh word THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 83 to me, or dropped a hint of my being less pretty than ever, and the baby called me “ Beauty, beauty,” twenty times a day ; but still 1 knew very well that not only had my rosy colour and fine hair disappeared, but I had lost the whole of one leg and half of the other, and the lower joints of both my arms. In fact, as my worthy friend the Pen observed, both he and I were reduced to stumps. The progress of decay caused me no regret, for I felt that I had done my work, and might now gracefully retire from public life, and resign my place to newer dolls. But though contented with my lot, I had still one anxious wish ungratified. The thought occupied my mind incessantly ; and the more I dwelt upon it, the stronger grew the hope that I might have a chance of seeing my old first friends once more. This was now my only re- waining care. News came from them from time to time. Sarah brought word that Master William was bet- ter ; that they had left Madeira, and gone travelling about elsewhere. Then that the father had been in England upon business, and gone back again ; that Mr. Edward had been over to foreign parts one summer holidays to see his family, and on his re- turn had come to give her an account of them. Sarah was always very bustling when she had 84 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. any news to bring of the family, but one day she called on us in even more flurry than usual. She was quite out of breath with eagerness. “ Sit down and rest a minute before you begin to speak,” said her quiet sister-in-law. “ There must be some great news abroad. It seems almost too much for you.” Susan nodded, and began to unpack a great parcel she had brought with her. “Tt don’t seem bad news, to judge by your face,” said the other; for now that Sarah had re- covered breath, her smiles succeeded one another so fast, that she seemed to think words superfluous. “T puess, I guess,” cried Susan. “ They are coming’ home.” “ They are, indeed,” answered Sarah at last; “they are coming home as fast as steam-engines can bring them: and here is work more than enough for you and mother till they come. Miss Margaret is going to be married, and you are to make the wedding~-clothes.” So saying, she finished unpacking her parcel, and produced various fine materials which required Susan’s neatest work. “ These are for you to begin with,” said she, “ but there is more coming.” She then read a let- ter from the ladies with directions about the needle- THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 85 work, to which Susan and her mother listened with great attention. Then Sarah jumped up, saying she must not let the grass grow under her feet, for she had plenty to do. The whole house was to be got ready ; and she would not have a thing out of its place, nor a speck of dust to be found, for any money. . Susan and her mother lost no time either; their needles never seemed to stop: and I sat on the baby’s lap watching them, and enjoying the happy anticipation that my last wish would soon be ac- complished. But though Susan was as sndustrious as a girl could be, and just now wished to work harder than ever, she was not doomed to “all work and no play ;” for her father took care that his children should enjoy themselves at proper times. In sum- mer evenings, after he came home from his work, they used often to go out all together for a walk in the nearest park, when he and his wife would rest under the trees, and read over Robert’s last letter, while the children amused themselves. Very much we all enjoyed it, for even 1 was seldom left behind. Susan would please the baby by dressing me in my pest clothes for the walk; and the oood-natured father would laugh merrily at us, and: remark how much good the fresh air did me. We were all very 86 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. happy; and when my thoughts travelled to other scenes and times, I sometimes wondered whether my former friends enjoyed themselves as much in their southern gardens, as this honest family im their English fields. Our needlework was finished and sent to Sarah’s care to await Margaret’s arrival, for which we were very anxious. On returning home one evening after our walk, we passed, as we often did, through the street in which I had formerly lived. Susan was leading her little sister, who, on her part, clutched me in a way very unlike the gentleness which Susan bestowed upon her. On arriving at the well-known house, we saw Sarah standing at the area-gate. We stopped to speak to her. “ When are they expected?” asked Susan’s mother. “They may be here any minute,” answered Sarah : “ Mr. Edward has just brought the news.” The street-door now opened, and two gentlemen came out and stood on the steps. One was a tall fine-looking boy, grown almost into a young man; but I could not mistake the open good-humoured countenance of my old friend Edward. The other was older, and I recognised him as the traveller who used to describe Madeira to Willy. THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 87 They did not notice us, for we stood back so as not to intrude, and their minds were evidently fully occupied with the expected meeting. We all gazed intently down the street, every voice hushed in eager interest. Even my own little mistress, usually the noisiest of her tribe, was silent as myself. It was a quiet street and a quiet time, and the roll of the distant carriages would scarcely have seemed to break the silence, had it not been for our intense watching, and hoping that the sound of every wheel would draw nearer. We waited long, and were more than once disappointed by carriages passing us and disappearing at the end of the street. Edward and his friend walked up and down, east and west, north and south, in hopes of descrying the travellers in the remotest distance. But after each unavailing walk, they took up their post again on the steps. At last a travelling carriage laden with luggage turned the nearest corner, rolled towards us, and stopped at the house. The two gentlemen rushed down the steps, flung open the carriage-door, and for some moments all was hurry and agitation, and I could distinguish nothing. I much feared that I should now be obliged to go home without actually seeing my friends, for they had passed so quickly from the carriage to the 88 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. house, and there had been so much confusion and excitement during those few seconds, that my tran- sient glance scarcely allowed me to know one from another; but in course of time Sarah came out again, and asked Susan’s father to help in unloading the carriage, desiring us to sit meanwhile in the house- keeper’s room. So we waited till the business was finished, when, to my great joy, we were summoned to the sitting-room, and I had the happiness of see- ing all the family once more assembled. I was delighted to find how much less they were altered than I. I had been half afraid that I might gee one without a leg, another without an arm, ac- cording to the dilapidations which had taken place in my own frame; but strange to say, their sensi- tive bodies, which felt every change of weather, shrunk from a rough touch, and bled at the scratch of a pin, had outlasted mine, though insensible to pain or sickness. There stood the father, scarcely altered ; his hair perhaps a little more grey, but his eyes as quick and bright as ever. And there was the mother, still grave and gentle, but looking less sad and careworn than in the days of Willy’s con- stant illness. And there was, first m interest to me, my dear mistress, Rose, as tall as Margaret, and as handsome as Edward. I could not imagine her condescending to play with me now. Margaret THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 89 looked just as in former times, good and eraceful ; but she stood a little apart with the traveller friend by her side, and I heard Rose whisper to Susan that the wedding was to take place in a fortnight. They were only waiting for Geoffrey to arrive. His ship was daily expected, and they all wished him to be present. And Willy, for whose sake the long journey had been made, how was he! Were all their hopes realised? Edward shook his head when Susan’s mother asked that question ; but Willy was there to answer it himself. He was standing by the window, leaning on a stick, it is true, but yet able to stand. As he walked across the room, I saw that he limped slightly, but could move about where he pleased. He till looked thin and pale, but the former expression of suffering and distress had dis- appeared, and his countenance was as cheerful as his manner. I could see that he was very much better, though not in robust health like Edward’s. He thanked Susan’s mother for her kind inquiries, and said that, though he had not become all that his sanguine brother hoped, he had gained health more than enough to satisfy himself; that he was most thankful for his present comfort and independ- ence; and that ‘¢ he was not quite so strong as other people, he hoped he should at any rate make 90 THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. a good use of the strength that was allowed him. Turning to Edward, who still looked disappomted, he continued: “‘ Who could have ventured to hope, Edward, three years ago, that you and I should now be going to college together?” And then even Edward smiled and seemed content. | As we turned to leave the room, Susan and her little sister lingered for a moment behind the others, - and the child held me up towards Rose. Rose started, and exclaimed, “Is it possible? It really is my poor old Seraphina. Who would have thought of her being: still in existence? What a good, use- ful doll she has been! I really must give her a kiss once more for old friendship’s sake.” So saying’, she kissed both me and the baby, and we left the house. And now there remains but little more for me to relate. My history and my existence are fast drawing to an end; my last wish has been gratified by my meeting with Rose, and my first hope real- ised by her praise of my usefulness. She has since given the baby a new doll, and I am finally laid on the shelf, to enjoy, in company with my re- spected friend the Pen, a tranquil old age. When he, like myself, was released from active work, and replaced by one of Mordan’s patent steel, he kindly offered to employ his remaining leisure in writing THE DOLL AND HER FRIENDS. 91 from my dictation, and it is in compliance with his advice that I have thus ventured to record my €X- perience. That experience has served to teach me that, as _ all inanimate things have some destined use, so all rational creatures have some appointed duties, and are happy and well employed while fulfilling them. With this reflection, I bid a orateful farewell to those young patrons of my race who have kindly taken an interest in my memoirs, contentedly await- ing the time when the small remnant of my frame shall be reduced to dust, and my quiet existence sink into a still more profound repose. THE END. LONDON * PRINTED BY ROBSON, LEVEY; AND FRANELYS, Great New Street, Fetter Lane. New and Wopular Works, PUBLISHED BY GRANT AND GRIFFITH, SUCCESSORS TO JOHN HARRIS, CORNER OF ST. PAUL’S CHURCH-YARD, LONDON. 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