[Illustration]




  MEMOIRS OF
  A LONDON DOLL




  [Illustration]

  THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
  NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS
  ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO

  MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
  LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
  MELBOURNE

  THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
  TORONTO




[Illustration: Mr. Punch Tossed the Baby Out of the Window.]




  MEMOIRS
  OF
  A LONDON DOLL

  Written by Herself

  EDITED BY MRS. FAIRSTAR

  WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
  CLARA WHITEHILL HUNT
  AND
  ILLUSTRATIONS BY EMMA L. BROCK

  New York
  THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
  1922

  _All rights reserved_




  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  COPYRIGHT, 1922,
  BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

  Set up and printed. Published August, 1922.

  Press of
  J. J. Little & Ives Company
  New York, U. S. A.




[Illustration]




TO BOYS AND GIRLS WHO LIKE GOOD STORIES


When I was a girl, taking many a long journey in the land of
storybooks, my favorite stories were of two kinds. One was about
boys and girls who lived in the country, spending long, happy days
wading in rollicking brooks, riding on fragrant loads of hay, picking
blueberries, playing in the great barn, making pets of turtles and
field mice and all sorts of creatures. The reason I dearly loved these
stories was because, in summer, I was a country girl myself, on the
beautiful Massachusetts farm of my great-great-grandfathers. I loved to
hear my mother tell stories of her girlhood, about her good times with
the boys and girls of the little red schoolhouse, about singing school
and cattle show and sugaring off and endless pleasures delightfully
unlike those of my own experience. The queer, old-fashioned clothes
that we children found, on rainy days in grandmother’s attic, the
spinning wheels and candle molds and quilting frames, the quaint
cradle, the hair trunk, the “till chest,” the yellowed diary and
account books in the brass-handled desk, all made us children feel very
close to those bygone days which our elders told about on evenings when
nearby uncles and aunts and cousins gathered in grandmother’s sitting
room. How small and quiet we children tried to make ourselves those
evenings in the sweet summer dark, hoping our parents would forget to
say “Bed-time for the young fry,” and drive us away from their jolly
and thrilling reminiscences of old times. Our best-loved story was
one about plucky great-grandmother and how she frightened a bear away
without a gun. And how we envied our parents when we heard that they
had played Indian and early settler in the ruins of the very blockhouse
which our forbears and their neighbors had built for refuge from King
Philip’s redskins back in the sixteen-seventies.

You see, it was quite natural that stories of old times, both of
country and city life, should have a special charm for me.

My other favorite storybooks were about English children. “A Sea
Change,” “A York and a Lancaster Rose,” “The Story of a Short Life,”
“Merrie England” were among those I read again and again. As for “The
Prince and the Pauper,” it would take a volume larger than this one if
I were to try to tell you how I felt about that beautiful story.

One of the queer things about grown-ups which boys and girls do not
often suspect is that, while we seem so different from you, with our
grey heads and bald heads and glasses, our shortness of breath when we
run for the train, our strange preference for an easy-chair and a book
by the fire rather than the chance to dance all night or to skate all
day, inside of us there is something that never grows up. And because
a part of us always stays “boy” or “girl,” what we particularly loved
when we were children we keep on particularly loving as long as we live.

So, when I am hunting for books for the children’s room shelves of
our public libraries, although I try to find those on every kind of
interesting subject--because reading in ruts is bad for any one, young
or old--I confess to keen delight when I come upon first-rate stories
of the sort that were my favorites when I was a girl.

A few years ago an old Brooklyn library was preparing to move from its
ancient quarters into a spick-and-span new building. Going over the
dusty shelves one day, I found a shabby little book in faded red covers
with funny, old-fashioned pictures among the yellowed pages. The title
of the book at once caught my fancy, “Memoirs of a London Doll.”

In two seconds I was miles and miles away from the dusty shelves of the
prosaic library on the clattering, commonplace Brooklyn street. I was
up in the Sprats’ garret room, under the eaves of the dingy tenement
on the dusky London street where the Sprat family, father, mother,
and three children, ate and slept and worked at their trade of making
jointed, wooden dolls. I followed with absorbed interest the fortunes
of what must have been the most remarkable doll ever turned out by the
Sprats, the one whose first little mother named her “Maria Poppet.”

Maria Poppet was a doll of character who kept her eyes open and who
never neglected an opportunity to learn from every event of her varied
life; who was not puffed up by association with rank and wealth nor
cast down by harrowing experiences; who valued loving hearts above
jewels and titles and the glitter and show of fashion.

Maria Poppet had fine gifts as a story-teller too. If she had been
required by one of her little mothers’ governesses to write a
composition, the task would have offered no difficulties to her. What
she saw in the London of nearly a hundred years ago she makes us
see--the Twelfth-night customs, the Lord Mayor’s Show, Punch and Judy,
the Christmas Pantomime, the Zoo, the life of little Lady Flora, waited
upon by governess and maids and powdered footmen, and the lives of the
little milliner girls, driven by cruel Aunt Sharpshins from six o’clock
in the morning until eight o’clock at night.

How delightfully puzzling are some of the quaint old words Maria Poppet
uses. She speaks of the “turbans” worn by the ladies of her day. Did
you think turbans belonged to “Arabian Nights” characters only? Maria
wore “a frock and trousers” and “stays”--or no, she wore “a small
under-bodice of white jean instead of stays”; her frock was made of
“lemon-colored merino”; her little mother pattered about the room in
“list” shoes. And Maria’s mothers did not go to the dry-goods store
nor the grocer’s, nor did they buy pies at the baker’s. They visited
the “draper’s” and the “green-grocer’s” and bought “raspberry tarts”
at the “pastry-cook’s.” And what do you suppose a “teetotum” is? And a
“tinkerum”? If you have a great-grandmother perhaps she can tell you;
and she may sing, as did my grandmother, the quaint old tunes, “They’re
all nodding” and “Cherry ripe” and others which Maria heard the London
street organ play.

Sometimes boys and girls look rather scornfully upon old-fashioned
things. They think that nothing which is not “up to date” can possibly
be as fine as modern shows. Well, I, for one, never saw a Fifth Avenue
window display--and I love to gaze into Fifth Avenue shops--more
dazzling than the pastry-cook’s window on Twelfth-night; nor a more
gorgeous parade than the Lord Mayor’s; nor a play more enchanting
than the New Grand Christmas Pantomime which the London Doll saw at
Drury-Lane Theatre in the “old-fashioned” days of the story. And I do
not believe that any American child, visiting one of our enormous,
bewildering toy departments at Christmas time, sees treasures more
truly satisfying than Lady Flora found in the London toyshops years and
years ago.

You will not wonder that when I finished reading Maria Poppet’s most
entertaining “Memoirs” I was eager to find copies of her story to place
in all our Brooklyn children’s libraries. I searched the shops in vain.
The little book had been “out of print” for many years, the book-trade
people reported.

So I treasured in my office the shabby copy I had found in the old
library, hoping that some day something would happen that would
give to all our children the fun of reading the charming story. That
something has happened at last.

Miss Seaman, as delighted as I with the London Doll’s “Memoirs,” has
persuaded The Macmillan Company to bring out a new edition of the old
story; and to make everything as nice as possible the new volume is
to be of the same size as the original book and its pages are to be
printed in the same type. Only the pictures will be different, and very
much prettier than the old pictures. I feel certain that Maria would
approve of the new dress in which her story appears.

I expect that when boys glance at the title they will immediately
decide that this story cannot possibly be interesting to them. They
will miss some good entertainment if they make that mistake. Maria
Poppet was no ordinary, coddled baby-girl doll, but a young person who
saw more interesting sights in a short time than falls to the lot of
one boy in a thousand.

I am quite sure that whoever reads this story to the last page will
close the book eager to read at once “Memoirs of a Country Doll” which
Maria hoped would sometime be made public. Alas! I fear no search in
the bookshops of London or New York would bring to light that story. I
suspect that the Country Doll, like many people we know, was better at
telling a story to her friends than in setting it down on paper.

                                                    CLARA WHITEHILL HUNT




CONTENTS


                                                      PAGE

  INTRODUCTION                                           v

  Chapter    I  MY MAKING                                1

     “      II  MY FIRST MAMMA                          11

     “     III  TWELFTH-NIGHT                           23

     “      IV  THE LITTLE MILLINERS                    35

     “       V  MY FIRST FROCK AND TROUSERS             41

     “      VI  THE LITTLE LADY                         51

     “     VII  THE WEST END OF THE TOWN                60

     “    VIII  A NARROW ESCAPE                         67

     “      IX  DOLL’S LETTERS                          79

     “       X  PLAYING WITH FIRE                       88

     “      XI  THE PORTRAIT PAINTER                    97

     “     XII  PUNCH AND JUDY                         104

     “    XIII  THE CITY                               111

     “     XIV  THE LORD MAYOR’S SHOW                  124

     “      XV  THE LOST BRACELET                      134

     “     XVI  THE NEW GRAND CHRISTMAS PANTOMIME      143

     “    XVII  CONCLUSION                             166




[Illustration]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


  Mr. Punch Tossed the Baby out of the Window             _Frontispiece_

                                                                    PAGE

  I Was so Frightened! I Thought He Would Break Something
    Off Me                                                             7

  The Old Gentleman, Pastry-Cook and Great Cake-Maker Himself         31

  And These I Always Had On When We Went Out                          53

  I Fell Straight into It                                             75

  They Worked as Long as They Could See       _Opposite page_         48

  Off We Went to the Tune of “I’d Be a Butterfly”                    119

  His Walk and Air Were Like All the Pride of Earth Put into
    One Chemist’s Bottle                                             155




[Illustration]

Memoirs of a London Doll




CHAPTER I

MY MAKING


In a large, dusky room, at the top of a dusky house in one of the dusky
streets of High Holborn, there lived a poor doll-maker, whose name was
Sprat. He was an extremely small man for his age, and not altogether
unlike a sprat in the face. He was always dressed in a sort of tight
pinafore and trousers, all in one, that fitted close to his body; and
this dress was nearly covered with dabs of paint, especially white
paint, of which he used most in his work. His family consisted of his
wife and three children--two boys and a girl.

This poor family had but one room, which was at the top of the house.
It had no ceiling, but only beams and tiles. It was the workshop by
day, and the bedroom at night. In the morning, as the children lay
in bed, looking up, they could see the light through the chinks in
the tiles; and when they went to bed in the evening, they could often
feel the wind come down, and breathe its cool breath under their
night-caps. Along the wall on one side of the room, farthest from the
windows, the beds were laid upon the floor; the largest was for the
poor, sprat-faced doll-maker and his wife; the next largest was for
the two boys, and the smallest, up in the corner, was for the little
girl. There were two windows opposite; and a wooden bench, like a long
kitchen dresser, extended from one side of the room to the other, close
to these windows. Here all the work was done.

This bench was covered with all manner of things--such as little wooden
legs and arms, and wooden heads without hair, and small bodies, and
half legs and half arms, which had not yet been fitted together in the
joints, and paint pots and painting brushes, and bits of paper and rags
of all colors; and there were tools for cutting and polishing, and very
small hammers, and several old pill-boxes full of little wooden pegs,
and corners of scouring paper, and small wooden boxes and trays full of
little glass eyes, and glue pots and bits of wax and bits of leather,
and a small red pipkin for melting wax, and another for melting India
rubber, and a broken teacup for varnish, and several tiny, round
bladders, and tiny, tin boxes, all full of things very precious to Mr.
Sprat in his business.

All the family worked at doll-making, and were very industrious. Mr.
Sprat was of course the great manager and doer of most things, and
always the finisher, but Mrs. Sprat was also clever in her department,
which was entirely that of the eyes. She either painted the eyes, or
else, for the superior class of dolls, fitted in the glass ones. She,
moreover, always painted the eyebrows, and was so used to it, that
she could make exactly the same sort of arch when it was late in the
evening and nearly dark, before candles were lighted. The eldest boy
painted hair, or fitted and glued hair on to the heads of the best
dolls. The second boy fitted half legs and arms together, by pegs at
the joints. The little girl did nothing but paint rosy cheeks and lips,
which she always did very nicely, though sometimes she made them rather
too red, and looking as if very hot, or blushing extremely.

Now Mr. Sprat was very ingenious and clever in his business as a
doll-maker. He was able to make dolls of various kinds, even of wax,
or of a sort of composition; and sometimes he did make a few of such
materials; but his usual business was to make jointed dolls--dolls that
could move their legs and arms in many positions--and these were of
course made of wood. Of this latter material I was manufactured.

The first thing I recollect of myself was a kind of a pegging, and
pushing, and scraping, and twisting, and tapping down at both sides of
me, above and below. These latter operations were the fitting on of my
legs and arms. Then I passed into the hands of the most gentle of all
the Sprat family, and felt something delightfully warm laid upon my
cheeks and mouth. It was the little girl, who was painting me a pair of
rosy cheeks and lips; and her face, as she bent over me, was the first
object of life that my eyes distinctly saw. The face was a smiling
one, and as I looked up at it I tried to smile too, but I felt some
hard material over the outside of my face, which my smile did not seem
able to get through, so I do not think the little girl perceived it.

[Illustration: I Was So Frightened! I Thought He Would Break Something
Off Me!]

But the last thing done to me was by Mr. Sprat himself, whose funny,
white face and round eyes I could now see. He turned me about and about
in his hands, examining and trying my legs and arms, which he moved
backwards and forwards, and up and down, to my great terror, and fixed
my limbs in various attitudes. I was so frightened! I thought he would
break something off me. However, nothing happened, and when he was
satisfied that I was a complete doll in all parts, he hung me up on a
line that ran along the room overhead, extending from one wall to the
other, and near to the two beams that also extended from wall to wall.
I hung upon the line to dry, in company with many other dolls, both
boys and girls, but mostly girls. The tops of the beams were also
covered with dolls, all of whom, like those on the lines, were waiting
there till their paint or varnish had properly dried and hardened. I
passed the time in observing what was going on in the room under my
line, and also the contents of the room, not forgetting my numerous
little companions, who were smiling and staring, or sleeping, round
about me.

Mr. Sprat was a doll-maker only; he never made doll’s clothes. He said
that was not work for an artist like him. So in about a week, when I
was properly dry, and the varnish of my complexion thoroughly hardened
and like enamel, Mr. Sprat took me down--examined me all over for the
last time--and then, nodding his head to himself several times, with
a face of seriousness and satisfaction, as much as to say, ‘You are a
doll fit in all respects for the most polished society,’--he handed me
to his wife, who wrapped me up in silver paper, all but the head, and
laying me in a basket among nine others, papered up in the same way,
she carried me off to a large doll-shop not far from the corner of New
Turnstile in High Holborn.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER II

MY FIRST MAMMA


I arrived safe at the doll-shop, and Mrs. Sprat took me out of the
basket with her finger and thumb, keeping all her other fingers spread
out, for fear of soiling my silver paper.

‘Place all these dolls on the shelf in the back parlor,’ said the
master of the shop. ‘I have no room yet for them in the window.’ As I
was carried to the shelf, I caught a glimpse of the shop-window! What
a bright and confused sensation it gave me! Everything seemed so light
and merry and numerous! And then, through all this crowd of many shapes
and colors, packed and piled and hanging up in the window, I saw the
crowds of large walking people passing outside in the world, which was
as yet perfectly unknown to me! Oh, how I longed to be placed in the
shop-window! I felt I should learn things so fast, if I could only see
them. But I was placed in a dark box, among a number of other dolls,
for a long time, and when I was taken out I was laid upon my back upon
a high shelf, with my rosy cheeks and blue eyes turned towards the
ceiling.

Yet I cannot say that the time I passed on this shelf was by any means
lost or wasted. I thought of all I had seen in Mr. Sprat’s room, and
all I had heard them talk about, which gave me many very strange and
serious thoughts about the people who lived in the world only for the
purpose, as I supposed, of buying dolls. The conversation of Mr. Sprat
with his family made me very naturally think this; and in truth I have
never since been quite able to fancy but that the principal business
of mankind was that of buying and selling dolls and toys. What I heard
the master of the shop in Holborn often say helped to fix this early
impression on my mind.

But the means by which I learned very much of other things and other
thoughts was by hearing the master’s little girl Emmy read aloud to
her elder sister. Emmy read all sorts of pretty books, every word
of which I eagerly listened to, and felt so much interested, and so
delighted, and so anxious and curious to hear more. She read pretty
stories of little boys and girls, and affectionate mammas and aunts,
and kind old nurses, and birds in the fields and woods, and flowers in
the gardens and hedges; and then such beautiful fairy tales; and also
pretty stories in verse; all of which gave me great pleasure, and were
indeed my earliest education. There was the lovely book called ‘Birds
and Flowers,’ by Mary Howitt; the nice stories about ‘Willie,’ by Mrs.
Marcett; the delightful little books of Mrs. Harriet Myrtle,--in which
I did so like to hear about old Mr. Dove, the village carpenter, and
little Mary, and the account of May Day, and the Day in the Woods,--and
besides other books, there was oh! such a story-book called ‘The
Good-natured Bear!’ But I never heard any stories about dolls, and what
they thought, or what happened to them! This rather disappointed me.
Living at a doll-shop, and hearing the daughter of the master of such
a wonderful shop reading so often, I naturally expected to have heard
more about dolls than any other creatures! However, on the whole, I was
very well contented, and should have been perfectly happy if they would
only have hung me up in the shop-window! What I wanted was to be placed
in the bright window, and to look into the astonishing street!

Soon after this, however, by a fortunate accident, I was moved to an
upright position with my back against a doll’s cradle, so that I could
look down into the room below, and see what was going on there.

How long I remained upon the shelf I do not know, but it seemed like
years to me, and I learned a great deal.

One afternoon Emmy had been reading to her sister as usual, but this
time the story had been about a great Emperor in France, who, once
upon a time, had a great many soldiers to play with, and whose name
was Napoleon Bonaparte. The master himself listened to this, and as
he walked thoughtfully up and down from the back room to the shop in
front, he made himself a cocked hat of brown paper, and put it upon his
head, with the corners pointing to each shoulder. Emmy continued to
read, and the master continued thoughtfully walking up and down with
his hands behind him, one hand holding the other.

But presently, and when his walk had led him into the front shop, where
I could not see him, the shop-bell rang and Emmy ceased reading. A boy
had come in, and the following dialogue took place.

‘If you please, sir,’ said the voice of the boy, ‘do you want a nice
Twelfth-cake?’

‘Not particularly,’ answered the master, ‘but I have no objection to
one.’

‘What will you give for it, sir?’ said the boy.

‘That is quite another question,’ answered the master; ‘go about your
business. I am extremely engaged.’

‘I do not want any money for it, sir,’ said the boy.

‘What do you mean by that, my little captain?’ said the master.

‘Why, sir,’ said the boy, ‘if you please, I want a nice doll for my
sister, and I will give you this large Twelfth-cake that I have in
paper here for a good doll.’

‘Let me see the cake,’ said the master. ‘So, how did you get this cake?’

‘My grandfather is a pastry-cook, sir,’ answered the boy, ‘and
my sister and I live with him. I went to-day to take home seven
Twelfth-cakes. But the family at one house had all gone away out of the
country, and locked up the house, and forgotten to send for the cake;
and grandfather told me that I and my sister might have it.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Thomas Plummy, sir; and I live in Bishopsgate street, near the Flower
Pot.’

‘Very well, Thomas Plummy; you may choose any doll you fancy out of
that case.’

Here some time elapsed; and while the boy was choosing, the master
continued his slow walk to and fro from one room to the other, with
the brown paper cocked hat, which he had forgotten to take off, still
upon his head. It was so very light that he did not feel it, and did
not know it was there. At last the boy declared he did not like any of
the dolls in the case, and so went from one case to another, always
refusing those the master offered him; and when he did choose one
himself, the master said it was too expensive. Presently the master
said he had another box full of good dolls in the back room, and in he
came, looking so grave in his cocked hat, and beginning to open a long
wooden box. But the boy had followed him to the door, and peeping in,
suddenly called out, ‘There, sir! that one! that is the doll for my
cake!’ and he pointed his little brown finger up at me.

‘Aha!’ said the master, ‘that one is also too expensive; I cannot let
you have that.’

However, he took me down, and while the boy was looking at me with
evident satisfaction, as if his mind was quite made up, the master got
a knife and pushed the point of it into the side of the cake, just to
see if it was as good inside as it seemed to be on the outside. During
all this time he never once recollected that he had got on the brown
paper cocked hat.

‘Now,’ said the master, taking me out of the boy’s hand, and holding me
at arm’s length, ‘you must give me the cake and two shillings besides
for this doll. This is a young lady of a very superior make, is this
doll. Made by one of the first makers. The celebrated Sprat, the only
maker, I may say, of this kind of jointed dolls. See! all the joints
move--all work in the proper way; up and down, backwards and forwards,
any way you please. See what lovely blue eyes; what rosy cheeks and
lips; and what a complexion on the neck, face, hands, and arms! The
hair is also of the most beautiful kind of delicate light-brown curl
that can possibly be found. You never before saw such a doll, nor any
of your relations. It is something, I can tell you, to have such a doll
in a family; and if you were to buy her, she would cost you a matter of
twelve shillings!’

‘Sir,’ said he, ‘this is a Twelfth-cake of very superior make. If the
young lady who sits reading there was only to taste it, she would
say so too. It was made by my grandfather himself, who is known to
be one of the first makers in all Bishopsgate street; I may say the
very first. There is no better in all the world. You see how heavy it
is; what a quantity of plums, currants, butter, sugar, and orange and
lemon-peel there is in it, besides brandy and caraway comfits. See!
what a beautiful frost-work of white sugar there is all over the top
and sides! See, too, what characters there are, and made in sugar of
all colors! Kings and queens in their robes, and lions and dogs, and
Jem Crow, and Swiss cottages in winter, and railway carriages, and
girls with tambourines, and a village steeple with a cow looking in at
the porch; and all these standing or walking, or dancing upon white
sugar, surrounded with curling twists and true lover’s knots in pink
and green citron, with damson cheese and black currant paste between.
You never saw such a cake before, sir, and I’m sure none of your family
ever smelt any cake at all like it. It’s quite a nosegay for Queen
Victoria herself; and if you were to buy it at grandfather’s shop, you
would have to pay fifteen shillings and more for it.’

‘Thomas Plummy!’ said the master, looking very earnestly at the boy;
‘Thomas Plummy! take the doll, and give me the cake. I only hope it
may prove half as good as you say. And it is my opinion that, if you,
Thomas Plummy, should not happen to be sent to New South Wales to bake
brown bread, you may some day or other come to be Lord Mayor of London.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said the boy. ‘How many Abernethy biscuits will you
take for your cocked hat?’

The master instantly put his hand up to his head, looking so confused
and vexed, and the boy ran laughing out of the shop. At the door he
was met by his sister, who had been waiting to receive me in her arms:
and they both ran home, the little girl hugging me close to her bosom,
and the boy laughing so much at the affair of the cocked hat that he
could hardly speak a word all the way.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER III

TWELFTH-NIGHT


That evening little Ellen Plummy begged to go to bed earlier than
usual. She took me with her, and I had the great happiness of passing
the whole night in the arms of my first mamma.

The next morning, however, was the day before Twelfth-day, and there
were so many preparations to be made, and so many things to do in
the house, that the pastry-cook required the help of everybody who
could do anything at all; so he desired Ellen to put me in a box till
Twelfth-night was over, because he wanted her to sort small cakes,
and mix sugar-plums of different colors, and pile up sticks of barley
sugar, and arrange artificial flowers, and stick bits of holly with red
berries into cakes for the upper shelves of his shop-window.

I was, therefore, placed in a dark box in the bedroom, and lay there
thinking.

After I had gone over in my mind all that I had at present seen and
heard since I was a doll, I began to wonder how long this confinement
in the dark box would continue. The morning seemed so very long. But
twice my little mamma, Ellen, came creeping softly upstairs, and ran
and opened the box--took me out, gave me a kiss, put me in again, shut
the lid of the box, and downstairs she softly tripped back, to continue
her work. The afternoon was also terribly long, and I saw nothing of
mamma till about six in the evening, when she came and took me out, and
embraced me, and said, ‘Oh, you dear doll! I shall come to put you to
bed!’ and away she ran again.

About nine o’clock mamma came and took me out of my box. She had
contrived to find time in the course of the day to make, in a very
hasty manner, a little night-gown and night-cap for me, which she
immediately put on me, and then took me to bed with her as before.

Next morning was Twelfth-day, and I was again placed in the dark box.
Ellen had so much to do, that all this day she was quite unable to come
even once to take a peep at me. Oh, how long the dark day was! and how
tired I felt of it! However, I was obliged to be as patient as I could
and tried to amuse myself with my own thoughts and recollections.

I called to mind the poor, dusky room where I was manufactured and
born, with its three beds upon the floor on one side, and the long
work-bench at the other, and all the strange shadows of the dolls
upon the walls by candle-light; dozens of funny shadows cast from the
dolls that hung upon the lines or stood upon the beams. And when the
candle was moved about, these shadows danced. I also recollected many
conversations that had taken place between the celebrated Mr. Sprat and
his wife, when the children were asleep and the candle was out, as to
how they should be able to afford an apple-pie for dinner next Sunday
week, which was the little man’s birthday. Then I recollected the many
cold dark nights, and days almost as dull, which I had passed in the
box at the doll-shop, before, by a lucky accident, I was moved to an
upright position on the top of the shelf. After that I went over in my
mind all the pretty stories and other books that had been read by Emmy
in the shop. This made me happier; yet I could not forget the many dark
days and nights in the box. Nor did I consider my present condition
better, and felt sadly impatient at being thus shut up in a small box,
and quite alone besides, without another doll to whisper a word to.

I had just begun to get very sad when suddenly I heard the sound of
little feet tripping over the floor; the lid of my box was opened, and
I saw a beautiful fairy standing over me! I was taken out by a pair
of soft warm hands, and who should it be but my mamma, dressed all in
white, with silver bracelets, and roses in her hair, and a bit of most
beautiful violet tinsel stuck upon the breast of her frock! ‘Come!’
cried she, clasping me in her arms, ‘come downstairs with me, you
poppet! you shall come with me, Maria, and see Twelfth-night.’

Out of the room she ran with me, and downstairs! The staircase was
all lighted with gas! I was going to see Twelfth-night! And I had
that instant been christened, and my name was Maria Poppet! Oh, how
delighted I felt! I tried to jump out of my mamma’s arms, I was so
pleased--but I could not; and this was fortunate, because perhaps I
could not have jumped back again. But I felt so happy!

She ran straight with me into the very shop itself--the fine front
shop with all the cakes! How shall I describe it? How shall I tell the
effect it had upon me? Oh, it is impossible. I fainted away.

When I came to my senses I found that my mamma had placed me upright
between two tall, round glass jars, one full of glittering barley-sugar
sticks twisted, and the other full of large sugar-plums of all colors;
and I was close behind the counter where she stood to serve. I saw
nothing else distinctly, my eyes were so dazzled, and so indeed were
all my senses. Amidst a blaze of gas, crowded with immense cakes, the
round, white sugar island of each being covered with its extraordinary
inhabitants, there was the front window in all its glory! Scenes in
eastern countries, with elephants and dromedaries and great palm
trees (the names of all which my mamma told me afterwards), and negro
people and tigers sitting under orange trees; and scenes in northern
countries, where all is snow and frost and tall rocks of ice, and bears
walking round broken ships; and scenes in delightful countries, where
the weather is so beautiful, and where people play guitars and sing all
day and half the night, too, in groves and gardens; and scenes in many
parts of England, where the fields are so very green, and the daisies
and buttercups in such thousands and thousands; and wonderful scenes in
no country ever yet discovered, but which were all once to be seen in
fairyland, if anybody could find them; these and many more things were
all upon the tops of the large cakes in the lower part of the window,
together with sprigs of holly, oh, so full of bright red berries!--and
here and there shining blanc-mange and jellies in the shape of baskets
of fruit and flowers, and three round glass bowls full of gold and
silver fish, who constantly moved round, staring, with their noses
pushing against the glass, in imitation of a crowd of children outside
the shop-window, who were all staring and pushing their noses against
the glass in just the same way. There was a shelf which ran across the
middle of the window, close to the front, and this was also thick with
cakes of a smaller sort, and all covered with Twelfth-night characters,
in colored sugar; but what they were it was impossible to see for the
glitter of the beautiful barley-sugar sticks that were piled up in
round glass jars, across and across, and standing between the cakes.
There were also cakes on a top shelf, near the top of the window, but
here scarcely anything could be seen for the blaze of the gas.

[Illustration: The Old Gentleman, Pastry-Cook, and Great Cake-Maker
Himself!]

In the shop itself there was continually a crowd coming in to buy cakes
or other things, for the counter was also covered with delightful
wonders, and the old gentleman pastry-cook and great cake-maker himself
walked about in the middle of the shop, dressed in his best, with a
large red rose in the button-hole of his coat, smiling and rubbing
his hands together, and chatting with all the children that came in,
and sometimes going to the door and giving a handful of sugar-plums
to children outside who had no money to buy anything. But behind the
counter there were his grown-up niece, and the pretty girl who served
in the shop, and his grand-daughter, who was my mamma; and all of these
were dressed in white muslin, with borders of lace and bright ribbons.
His niece, however, was the most like a princess, for she had a blue
satin turban on, with feathers hanging down over one side, and a silk
scarf with gold fringe edges, and a red cornelian necklace, with beads
as large as turnip radishes.

I bore all this extraordinary scene as long as I could, until at last,
out of too much happiness, I was unable to endure it any longer,
and then something happened to me. I felt my eyes twink and twitch
and wink, and feel a little sore; and without knowing it, or knowing
anything, except that I was in a state of the most indescribable
happiness, I fell fast asleep.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER IV

THE LITTLE MILLINERS


My life at the pastry-cook’s passed in a very pleasant manner; but
not because of the cakes or pastry. For, in the first place, every
night was not like Twelfth-night; and as for the pastry, though I
was delighted to see it for some time, and to notice how much it was
admired and longed for, yet, in the course of a few weeks, I had seen
so many little girls and boys make themselves unwell by eating too
many raspberry tarts and cheesecakes, that I almost ceased to take
any further interest in those things. My eyes were constantly employed
in observing the different people who came in and out, or passed by
the door and window; my ears were constantly attentive to all that was
said; and my mind was busily engaged in thinking over all I had seen,
and all I had heard, both spoken and read from books, ever since I was
a doll. By these means I advanced my education very much, because my
memory became stronger by practice, and my understanding was improved
by this habit of thinking over everything to myself. I believe no doll
ever lived who was more anxious to learn and know about all sorts of
things--good, pretty, or wonderful--than I was.

I soon had an opportunity of seeing a very different set of things
from the cakes, and tarts, and buns, and sugar-plums. We left our
abode at the pastry-cook’s. Ellen Plummy was sent to be a milliner
to her aunt, who employed a great number of girls in making ladies’
dresses. Ellen was only seven years old, and she cried at leaving her
kind grandfather’s; but he kissed her, and told her he knew it would be
best for her, so she dried her eyes and tried to look cheerful; and her
brother Thomas carried her little grey box. She carried me herself in
her arms.

Her Aunt Sharpshins was a very tall, thin, pale-faced woman, who was
always dressed in a long gown made close up to the throat, of the color
of old nankeen, with a faded bed-furniture pattern round the hem at the
bottom. She had a nose like a parrot’s beak, and always spoke through
it. She kept fifteen little milliner girls in the house, who were her
apprentices, and obliged to work as long as she pleased. The youngest
was about ten years of age; her name was Nanny Bell, and she and my
mamma Ellen became great friends directly.

Now this tall Aunt Sharpshins, with the parrot’s nose, made her fifteen
little milliners all work together in the same room, all seated upon
small chairs without backs, so that they could not lean backwards to
rest themselves. And she made them work the whole day, from six o’clock
in the morning till eight o’clock at night, with only about half an
hour’s rest at one o’clock, when they were all called downstairs to
dinner in the back parlor of the house. Some of the poor girls often
cried, or fell asleep and tumbled off their chairs, they were so tired.
If this misfortune happened to them, Mrs. Sharpshins used to give them
only bread and water for dinner; and sometimes she was so cruel as even
to give them a loud slap on the shoulders.

One day my mamma Ellen and Nanny Bell were sitting alone together in
the back parlor after dinner, to talk a little, as Aunt Sharpshins had
gone out to take some dresses home. ‘Ah,’ said Ellen, ‘I do so wish
to go back to my grandfather’s, he was such a kind pastry-cook; and
my brother Tom was so very fond of me always. I am so sorry to be a
milliner; and although my aunt says I am to be her partner, perhaps,
when I grow up, yet I do not like it.’

‘But then,’ said Nanny Bell, ‘you would be much kinder to all of us
than your aunt is. You would not make us work so long every day, would
you? and have so little rest, would you, Ellen? and such poor, cold
dinners, with not enough either--now, would you?’

‘That I would not!’ exclaimed Ellen, giving me a toss in the air with
both hands, ‘that I would not! You should only work as long as I worked
myself; and when I was tired, then I should know that all of you must
be tired, and I should say, “Now let’s go downstairs, and have each a
large slice of cake.” Then, in the evening, as soon as it was dark, and
we began to feel our eyes sore with looking at the work, we would again
go downstairs, and all have tea together, and after that a dance;
and we would dance reels and jigs, and hornpipes, and quadrilles, but
mostly reels.--Hark! Aunt Sharpshins is ringing at the door!’ And away
the two little girls ran scampering upstairs; and in her haste and
terror Ellen gave my head such a knock against the banisters! But she
was so sorry, and kissed me so often to make it well.

Up to this time I had never been properly dressed; for, excepting a
strip of bright blue ribbon round my waist, and a small cap of purple
silk stuck on the back of my head, I was in the very same long white
night-gown which Ellen had made for me when I first went to the
pastry-cook’s house, and in which I made my first appearance in the
shop among all the gas-lights and cakes on Twelfth-night. So my dear
mamma and Nanny Bell determined to make me a proper dress.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER V

MY FIRST FROCK AND TROUSERS


There were plenty of little odds and ends of silks, and stuffs, and
velvets, and muslins, which Ellen had already collected, and which
her aunt had told her she might have; and with these they knew they
could make me a beautiful dress. They finished their dinner as fast
as possible, and ran upstairs again, in order to be alone for this
pleasant work.

They accordingly began by carefully measuring me round the waist and
round the shoulders; and then across the back down to the waist,
measuring from the right shoulder crossing down to the middle of the
left side, and from the left shoulder across to the middle of the right
side. Their little fingers were busy about me in all directions; they
did so tickle me!

Then they measured my arms; first from the top of the shoulder to the
elbow when bent, and next from the tip of the elbow to the wrist.
Lastly, they measured me from the back of my neck down to the middle
of the waist, just where there is, or ought to be, the most bend in a
doll’s back; and from this they measured for the skirt right down below
my knees, and for the trousers they measured down as low as my ankles.

But how were these two little girls to find time to do all this work
for me? The whole day they were engaged, from six o’clock in the
morning till bedtime. So, as it was now summer, and quite light at five
o’clock, Ellen and Nanny both determined to get up at that time, and
thus have an hour every morning to themselves, in order to make me a
frock and trousers. And they calculated that by doing this for a week,
they could easily finish the task they had set themselves.

But the poor little girls had to work so hard for more than thirteen
hours every day, that neither of them could awake in time. After
several mornings, however, Ellen did manage to wake up enough to speak,
and call Nanny; and Nanny woke up enough just to answer. After which
down sunk their cheeks upon the pillow, and they were fast asleep in a
moment.

The next morning Nanny Bell called Ellen at about half-past five
o’clock, and Ellen made a great effort, and sat up in bed with her eyes
shut. At last she half opened one eye, and then she saw poor Nanny as
fast asleep again as if she had never called her. So back fell Ellen
upon her pillow.

Now, for several nights, they both made great resolutions before
they went to sleep; but when the morning came they could not keep
them, though they tried very much to do so; and one morning Ellen,
directly Nanny called her, rolled herself out of bed upon the floor.
But there she lay, and when the other girls were going past the door
to their work at six o’clock, and came in to see if Ellen and Nanny
were dressed, there they found Ellen fast asleep upon the floor in her
night-gown.

Something, however, happened in consequence of this. Ellen had caught a
bad cold and sore throat with sleeping upon the floor, and the doctor
said she must remain in bed for two days to get rid of it. Ellen was,
therefore, sent to bed again soon after dinner, and as it was necessary
that somebody should be with her to give her medicine or barley water
to drink, Nanny Bell was chosen by her own request. Here was a chance!
Now was the time to work at my frock and trousers.

But there was something to be done first. There was physic to be taken.
It was brought by Aunt Sharpshins in a teacup, and it had a dark red
and yellow color, and oh, such a strong smell! Poor Ellen looked at her
aunt so pitifully, as much as to say, ‘Must I really take this nasty
physic?’--then she looked into the teacup, and made a face--then she
looked round the room making the same face, only sadder--then she gave
a little frown as much as to say, ‘Why should I be afraid? I know it is
good for me--I am determined to take it!’ then she shut her eyes--put
the teacup to her lips--and down went the physic!

As soon as Mrs. Sharpshins left them, Nanny produced some sugar-plums
out of a little paper for Ellen to take after her medicine; and as they
ate the sugar-plums, Nanny laughed at the horrid faces my mamma had
made before she took her physic and just after it was down, and then
they both laughed very much.

Ellen now sat up in bed, and Nanny helped her to prop herself up with
pillows at her back, and covered her shoulders with a large shawl.
Nanny then brought all the bits of muslin, and silk, and stuffs, and
velvet, together with a pair of scissors, and needles and thread, and
spread them out upon the quilt before Ellen. I was placed on the bed
beside her with my head raised high, so that I might see them working.
When all was ready, Nanny got upon the bed and sat down opposite to
Ellen, and to work they both went.

The measurements had already been made, and the slips of paper with
the marks were laid upon the quilt. Then they began cutting out. First
they cut out my under-clothes, and these were all of cambric muslin,
which they said was necessary, in order to be soft to the skin of such
a little creature as I was. I could not help laughing to myself when I
heard them say this, because I was made all of wood, and my skin was
only the fine, hard, polished varnish of the celebrated Mr. Sprat. I
was not quite so tender as they fancied. They next cut me out a small
under-bodice of white jean instead of stays. Then came the trousers,
which were cut long and full, and were of soft white muslin trimmed
with open work. They then cut out a petticoat of fine cambric muslin,
the body quite tight and the skirt very full all round. My frock was
made to fit nicely to the shape, but not too tight. It was of fine
lemon-colored merino, with a sash of violet-colored velvet, and very
full in the skirt, and they said it must have some stiff muslin inside
the hem to make it set out, and not hang too loosely in the folds.

When all was cut out and arranged, my mamma and Nanny both went to work
with their needles, and they worked all the day as long as they could
see. The under-clothes and the trousers were all quite finished, and
the body and one sleeve of the frock was begun.

The next morning, after my mamma had taken her medicine and made the
same horrid face as before, only not quite so bad this time, they went
to work again. But this second morning the weather was not so warm as
the day before; so Nanny went to the bed of one of the other girls and
took off the top sheet, and tied up a bit of it in the middle with a
long and strong tape in a strong knot, and then with a chair upon the
bed she managed to tie the other end to a nail in the wall just over
the head of the bed; she then spread out all the sheet that hung down
so as to cover them both in, like a little tent. And in this pleasant
manner they worked all the second day, by which time my frock was quite
finished.

[Illustration: They Worked as Long as They Could See.]

Besides this they had made me a pair of silk stockings, which were
sewed upon my legs to make them fit better; and as I was naturally from
my birth rather stiff in the ankles and instep, they made the stockings
without feet, but sewed black satin over both my feet in the shape
of the prettiest boots possible, with stitches of cross-work in
front. When all was done, and everything put upon me, nothing would do
but they must take me out for a walk round the room.

Out we all got from the tent; my mamma in her night-gown and shawl,
with a bit of flannel round her throat, and list shoes, and I walking
between the two little girls, each holding me by the hand. But we had
hardly walked twice round the room, talking like ladies who are out
in the park, when suddenly we heard Aunt Sharpshins coming upstairs!
In a moment we were all upon the bed--down came the tent--underneath
the bed it was thrown--into the bed we all three got as quickly as
possible--and when Mrs. Sharpshins came into the room we all seemed
fast asleep!

She stood at the foot of the bed, looking at us. After a minute or two
she went down again.

‘How you laughed and shook the bed,’ said my mamma to Nanny. ‘I
thought she would have found us out, and somehow I wished she had. I
don’t like to have pretended to be asleep.’

‘But,’ answered Nanny, ‘she would have been so unkind if she had seen
us walking in the park.’

‘I wish people would not be unkind,’ sighed my mamma; and then she
added, ‘How dear and kind you are, Nanny; and how you have worked for
me, and nursed me all these two days.’

At this they threw their arms round each other’s necks, and so we all
three went to sleep in reality, quite forgetting the tent which had
been thrown under the bed. But it was a good-natured, merry girl that
it belonged to, and she only gave my mamma and Nanny a good tickling
when she found it, after a long search, at bedtime.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER VI

THE LITTLE LADY


My mamma got quite well as soon as my frock and trousers were finished;
and whenever she was allowed to go out with her aunt she took me with
her. The girl whose sheet had been taken for the tent had made me a
scarf of violet-colored satin, and a white silk bonnet, and these I
always had on when we went out.

In a few weeks, however, I was destined to lose this kind mamma, and
become the dear doll of another. If I could have foreseen that this
would happen I should have fretted very much, because I was so fond of
Ellen Plummy.

But it did happen, and in this manner.

One fine summer’s day Mrs. Sharpshins took Ellen for a walk in St.
James’ Park, and after a little time we came to the piece of water, and
saw several pretty children feeding the swans that live in that water.
The children had some bread and small buns, which they broke in little
pieces and threw into the water, where they floated till the swans swam
up to the bread and bent their long white necks down to eat. Ellen
begged her aunt to let her stay and look at the swans. ‘Look, Maria!’
said she to me, ‘what beautiful, bright, black eyes they have, and what
lovely, snow-white necks, and how gracefully the breast of the swan
moves upon the water, while the necks are in the shape of a beautiful
arch!’

[Illustration: And These I Always Had On When We Went Out.]

While they were looking at the swans, a very tall footman, in a green
and gold livery, with a long, golden-headed cane and powdered hair
came up to Mrs. Sharpshins from a carriage that was waiting near at
hand, in which sat a grown-up lady with a little lady by her side. Both
of them had also been observing the swans; but in doing so the little
lady had at the same time fixed her eyes on me.

‘The Countess of Flowerdale wishes to speak with you,’ said the footman
to Mrs. Sharpshins. Now the countess was a great lady, who sometimes
employed Aunt Sharpshins to make her dresses for the country and to
walk in the garden. We went with the footman, and I could see that Mrs.
Sharpshins was in a great agitation.

‘Mrs. Sharpshins,’ said the countess, smiling, and with a gentle voice,
‘this young lady has been looking at your little girl’s doll more than
at the swans, and she has taken a great fancy to the doll. The little
girl is your niece, I believe. Will she part with her doll? I shall be
glad to purchase it or send her another.’

‘Oh, anything your ladyship wishes, of course,’ said Mrs. Sharpshins,
with a very low curtsey.

‘Would you like to part with your doll, my dear?’ said the lady to
Ellen.

I felt Ellen give me such a close hug as much as to say, ‘Oh, no, no!’
But her aunt stooped down and looked in her face under her bonnet with
such a look! The great lady did not see it, but I saw it.

‘I could not think of taking it from your little niece if she is
indisposed to part with it,’ said the great lady in a sweet voice.

Upon this the small lady by her side, who seemed to be about eight
years of age, turned red in the face--the corners of her mouth drooped
down--her eyes grew large and round, and out rolled one large, proud
tear. But she did not cry or say a word.

Whether it was this one silent tear of the little lady, or the sweet
voice of the great lady, or the look that her aunt had given her under
her bonnet, I do not know, but Ellen, first giving me a kiss, lifted
me up towards the carriage window, and gave me into the hands of the
little lady with such a sigh!

‘Thank you, my dear,’ said the great lady, ‘I will take care to send
you another handsome doll and doll’s cradle to-morrow morning, and
something besides; and Mrs. Sharpshins, you can make me three or four
more morning dresses the same as the last. I am in no hurry for them.’

The very tall footman got up to his place behind the carriage--the
carriage drove off; the great lady nodded to Ellen; the little lady
kissed her white glove to her; and Mrs. Sharpshins made a low curtsey,
taking care to step just before Ellen in order that they should not see
the tears that were just beginning to gush out of her eyes.

My new mamma, the little Lady Flora, was very pretty. She had a
complexion like the most delicate wax-work, large bright eyes, a dimple
in each cheek, and dimples all over her little knuckles. She had taken
off her gloves to arrange my hair better, and began at once to talk to
me in a very delightful manner.

We drove from St. James’ Park into Hyde Park, and on the way we passed
a very great doll indeed, but looking so cross and black, and without
any clothes on. ‘Look there, dear!’ said my little lady mamma, ‘that
is the strongest and largest doll ever seen in London. His name is
“Achilles,”--and the ladies of London had him made of iron and brass,
because the Duke of Wellington was so lucky in playing at ball on the
fields of Waterloo!’ The countess seemed much amused with this account.
We met a great number of elegant carriages on our way, and nearly all
the ladies inside exchanged salutations with the countess, and nodded
to my little lady mamma. All who were elegant, and richly dressed,
and beautiful, and in fine carriages with rich liveries, seemed to
know each other, and to be upon such delightful terms of affectionate
intimacy! ‘Oh!’ thought I, ‘here is a new world! Everybody seems to
respect, and admire, and love everybody else! How very delightful!’




[Illustration]

CHAPTER VII

THE WEST END OF THE TOWN


Our house was in Hanover Square, a few doors from the Queen’s Concert
Rooms. There happened to be a morning concert on the first day of my
arrival, and as one of the drawing-room windows, where I sat with my
little lady mamma, opened out upon the balcony, we could every now and
then hear the trumpets and drums, and one violin which squeaked so
sweetly high above all the rest.

At four o’clock my new mamma went out for a drive in her carriage with
her governess, and chiefly to buy several things for me. Of course, I
went too.

First we drove to pay a visit to a young lady in Grosvenor Square,
and after this we drove to a toy-shop in Oxford Street, and there the
little Lady Flora bought me a cradle of delicate white basket-work,
with a mattress and pillow covered with cotton of pale pink and lilac
stripes. She wanted a feather-bed; but they had not got one. The
governess then bought a large, handsome doll, chosen by Lady Flora, to
send to my dear first mamma, Ellen Plummy, in exchange for me, and also
a nice cradle, and one or two other things which I did not see.

We next went down Regent Street, and sent the very tall footman with
the gold-headed cane and powdered hair into every shop that seemed
likely, to ask if they had a doll’s feather-bed. But none of them had.
One young person, however, dressed in black, with a pale face, and her
hair very nicely plaited, came out to the carriage window and said,
‘They would be most happy to make a feather-bed for the doll, if her
ladyship would allow them that honor!’ My little lady mamma, however,
said, ‘Certainly not--I thank you.’

We passed the Regent’s quadrant, after sending into two or three shops,
and then turned up Piccadilly, and got out at the Burlington Arcade.
But no such thing as a doll’s feather-bed could be found. The little
lady, however, bought me a small gold watch and chain, which cost a
shilling. We then returned to the carriage, drove down Waterloo Place,
and sent into several shops to inquire, while we slowly drove towards
the Duke of York’s column. My lady mamma explained to me that the black
doll on the top was once a great duke, who was at the head of all the
army when he was alive, in the same way that he was now at the top of
that fine column. The very tall footman presently returned, saying he
was very sorry to inform Lady Flora that he had not been so fortunate
as to discover a doll’s feather-bed at any of the shops; so we turned
round and drove up Bond Street, and tried at several shops with no
better success; then we passed again down Oxford Street, and went to
the Soho Bazaar.

There, at the top of a long room--on the left-hand side--in a
corner--there, at last, we did find a doll’s feather-bed, and of a very
superior quality. No doll in the world, and particularly a wooden doll,
could have wished for anything softer. At the same place were also many
articles of furniture, such as dolls of the higher class are accustomed
to have, and some of these were bought for me. That which I was most
pleased with was a doll’s wardrobe made of cedar wood, with drawers for
clothes in the middle, and pegs to hang dresses upon at each side, and
all enclosed with folding doors, and smelling so sweet. All of these
things being carefully packed up in silver paper, and then placed one
upon the other, were given to the very tall footman with powdered hair,
who, receiving them with a serious face, and carrying them balanced on
the palm of one hand, and holding up his long gold-headed cane in the
other, slowly walked behind us, with his chin raised high out of his
white neckcloth, to the admiration of everybody in the bazaar, as we
returned to our carriage.

We now drove once more into Regent Street, to a pastry-cook’s, and
there I was left lying upon the seat of the carriage all alone, while
Lady Flora and her governess went to have something nice. But I did not
care much about this, as my mind was occupied with several thoughts.
In the first place, the pastry-cook’s window, though very elegant,
presented nothing like the brilliant appearance of Mr. Plummy’s
shop-window on Twelfth-night! No--that first impression exceeded
anything else of the kind, and was never to be effaced. But there was
one other thought that troubled me a little. It was this. I had been
accustomed hitherto to think myself not only very pretty, but one of
the very nicest and best dolls that could possibly be. I had always
understood that the celebrated Mr. Sprat, who had made me, was one of
the very first doll-makers in England! The master of the doll-shop in
Holborn, who had walked to and fro, like Napoleon Bonaparte in a brown
paper cocked hat, had said so in my hearing, and I had believed it.
I naturally considered myself a charming doll. But I had seen many
other dolls of quite a different make in the Soho Bazaar!--dolls which
I could not help fancying were superior to any of those made by poor
Mr. Sprat, and therefore very superior to myself. This thought hurt my
vanity and humbled me. Of course I had been very vain and conceited.
What else could you expect of a doll? But now I certainly felt much
less vain, for I plainly saw that there were other dolls in the world
who were far prettier and better made than myself. However, as I had
been already beloved by two mammas, I soon became contented, and felt
no jealousy or envy of the prettiness or fineness of others; and I also
believed that if I was amiable, and could become clever, I should never
be without somebody to love me.

My mamma and her governess now returned to the carriage and we drove
home.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER VIII

A NARROW ESCAPE


I had a narrow escape from a most terrible accident a few days after,
of a kind which I shall never forget as long as I live. As it happened
at the close of a day on which I saw several new things, I may as well
give a short account of that day, and finish with my narrow escape.

The carriage was ordered at twelve o’clock, and we drove to Regent’s
Park. I had on a new bonnet with a white lace veil, and looked
very nice. After driving once round the circle, we got out at the
Zoological Gardens, and went in to see the animals.

My little lady mamma first took me to see the parrots, and parroquets,
and macaws. Some of the macaws were all white; some white, with an
orange-colored topknot; some were green, with scarlet and blue in the
wings and tail, and with scarlet and white in their faces. Then they
had two or three very long, straight feathers in their tails and they
spoke to each other, and often scolded in a very hoarse voice. Some of
the parrots were all green, some all grey; but there was one of the
parroquets--a little bright-eyed, quick fellow,--who was nearly all
red, and had a funny, impudent crown of feathers of white and purple
upon the top of his head, but a very short tail. Now, as we were
looking at him, Lady Flora suddenly took a fancy to touch his short
tail--not with her own hand though, but with mine, which she poked
through the wires of his cage for that purpose. ‘Kark!’ cried the
little red, quick fellow, turning round very briskly and giving such
a peck at my hand. He just missed me, because the governess, who was
close by, instantly drew back my mamma’s arm and mine too, of course,
at the same time; the peck, however, fell upon the edge of the cage and
made a mark in the wood. This was a narrow escape, everybody would say;
still it is not the terrible one I shall presently have to relate.

After this, the same little quick fellow pretended his poll wanted
scratching, and held down his head to have it done for him, with his
eyes shut--one eye, though, not quite closed--and his head turned
rather sideways. ‘No, no!’ said the governess, ‘no, thank you, sir; you
only want to get another chance of a peck at our fingers!’ So we went
away, and then the little quick fellow looked up in a moment with such
a bright eye, and cried, ‘Kark! skrark!’

After this my mamma took me, all trembling as I was, to see the
monkeys. As she remembered the danger I had been in from the red
parroquet with the impudent topknot, Lady Flora did not put either of
my hands into any of the cages, but held me up in front of one of them,
that I might see the monkeys. Oh, how I wished for a voice to cry, ‘Not
so close, mamma! Do not hold me so close!’

The monkey who was nearest to the bars was the quietest of them. While
the others were running and skipping, and climbing all over the cage,
this one sat quite still, with his head bent down and his eyes looking
upon the floor; and now and then he looked into the black palm of
his little brown hand, with a very grave and earnest face, as if he
was considering something about which he was very anxious: when all
of a sudden he darted one arm through the bars of his cage, right at
my head, and just reached my white veil with his little brown hand!
He tore it quite off from the bonnet--ran up the wires in front,
squeaking and chattering--and the next moment we saw him at the back of
the cage, high up, sitting upon a small shelf tearing my veil all to
pieces, and showing us his white teeth, with round staring eyes, and
his mouth opening and shutting as fast as possible.

This also was a narrow escape, everybody will say; still it is not the
terrible one I shall almost directly have to relate.

We went to see the tigers and leopards, and while the governess was
looking at a zebra, we went too close to be safe, and also too close
to the bars of the elephant’s enclosure, so that he could have reached
us very well with his trunk; but none of these chances are like the
terrible escape I am now about to relate. I may well call it a terrible
one, because I might have broken my neck or my back, or both, besides
breaking the head of somebody else at the same moment.

We drove to the Edgeware Road, and down Park Lane to Mayfair, in order
to pay a visit to a lady of high rank, the Duchess of Guineahen; and
then straight home. After Lady Flowerdale, my mamma’s mamma, had dined,
I heard with the greatest delight that her ladyship intended to take
Lady Flora with her this evening to the Italian opera. Lady Flowerdale
had often before said that she thought my mamma was at present too
young to go to any place where the hours are always so late; however,
she determined to take her.

There was a great fuss in dressing both Lady Flora and myself, but at
last it was finished, and we were all impatience to go. I had on a new
pink silk frock, with a white lace scarf, and a lovely bouquet of the
sweetest flowers was placed in my sash. When we got into the carriage
Lady Flowerdale sat on one side, and my mamma and I on the other. We
seemed all silks, and muslins, and sparkles, and feathers, and appeared
quite to fill the carriage, so that there was not room for another
doll.

Out we got, and passed through the crowd and the soldiers at the door,
and up stone steps we went, and through passages full of silks, and
muslins, and lace, and jewels, and feathers, and chattering--and up
more steps, and along more passages, till at last we were in a little
box, and looked round into a great place full of little boxes, and deep
down upon a crowd below; and all the place was full of light, and the
same kind of silks, and muslins, and lace, and sparkles, and feathers,
and chattering, as we had found in the passages and on the stairs, all
of which we saw better on account of the dark coats of the gentlemen,
who were like the shadows of this picture of a house of fine ladies.

Lady Flora was placed near the edge of the box, as this was her first
visit to the opera. She held me in her arms with my head hanging a
little over the edge. Oh, how frightened I was, as I looked down! The
height was dreadful! There were indeed many rows above us, but there
were two below us, and it looked a terrible distance down into the
crowd at the bottom. ‘Oh,’ cried I to myself, ‘if my mamma would but
hold me tighter--I am so frightened!’

Well, the opera commenced, and it was very long. My little lady mamma
got quite tired and sleepy before it was half over, and continually
asked when the dancing would begin. But the opera still went on, and I
saw with alarm that her eyes grew very heavy, and every now and then
were shut.

[Illustration: I Fell Straight Into It!]

I saw in another box very near us another little lady of about my
mamma’s age, who had an opera glass in her hand, and was also leaning
over the edge of the box; and I thought, ‘Now if that small lady drops
the opera glass upon the head of some gentleman below in the pit, it
will only knock a bit of his head off; but if my small lady drops
me, I shall be knocked all to pieces!’

I had scarcely finished this reflection when, to my indescribable
alarm, I felt the hand that held me get looser and looser. Lady Flora
was fast asleep!

What feelings, what thoughts, were mine at that moment I cannot say,
for everything within me seemed mingled in confusion with everything
that was round me, and I did not know one thing from another. The hand
that held me got still looser!

Oh, dear me!--how shall I proceed? It was a moment, as the poet Henry
Chorley observes--

  ‘When all that’s feeble squeaks within the soul!’

The next moment I felt all was over with me! The hand of my sleeping
mamma opened--and down, down I fell into the dark pit below!

As my head was of solid wood and heavy, I fell head foremost; but, most
fortunate to relate, the gentleman who was just underneath was holding
up his hat, which was a new one, in order to prevent it being crushed
by the crowd, and I fell straight into it,--with such a thump, however,
that I half knocked out the crown, and my head poked through a great
crack on one side.

I was brought up to the box again by somebody--I had not sufficiently
recovered to know anything more, except that my little lady mamma was
still asleep, and now lay upon a small sofa at the back of the box,
covered over with a large French shawl. This, I think I may say, is
having had a narrow escape!




[Illustration]

CHAPTER IX

DOLL’S LETTERS


I had the next day a great joy. It was the arrival of a letter from my
dear Ellen Plummy, which her brother Thomas had brought and given to
one of the housemaids, saying it was a ‘Doll’s letter.’ The housemaid
had given it to a page, and the page had given it to the tall footman,
and he--after some consideration--had taken it to the governess, who,
having opened it, and read it, and shown it to Lady Flowerdale, had
asked my little lady mamma if she would allow me to receive a letter,
as one had been sent for me by the little girl from whom she had
received me. Lady Flora was at first going to say ‘No,’ but suddenly
she recollected the sad face of poor Ellen when she placed me in her
hands, and then she said ‘Oh, yes!--I should so like to read it.’ This
was the letter. It was addressed on the outside to ‘Maria Poppet.’

  ‘My dearest Maria:

  ‘I have never forgotten you, though I have got another doll; and
  often when I love this other doll, I am thinking of it as if you were
  this. I have also had a cradle sent me by the kind great lady and
  little lady both, and some things for the bedding, and a necklace
  of beads for myself, besides a small painted work-box. We get up at
  six o’clock to work as usual, and go to bed at nine, after bread and
  butter. I am so glad to think you are happy and comfortable, and that
  you have no hard needlework to do, and the little lady is fond of
  you. Don’t you remember the Twelfth-cake my brother Tommy gave for
  you, and how he laughed all the way we ran home at something that had
  happened in the doll-shop about Bonaparte and Abernethy biscuits? I
  often think of you. I never forget you, nor all who have been good
  to me, and whom I love, and I hope we may some day meet again; and I
  also hope that your happy life among all the riches of the world will
  not make you quite forget your poor first mamma.

                                               ‘Your affectionate,
                                                         ‘ELLEN PLUMMY.’

The little Lady Flora and the governess were rather amused with this
letter of my poor dear Ellen’s, but Lady Flowerdale was very much
pleased with it, and said that, however simple or foolish it might
seem, it showed a good and affectionate nature in the little girl who
had sent it; and she was of opinion that the doll should write an
answer.

This idea of my writing an answer greatly delighted Lady Flora, and
she and her governess sat a whole morning thinking what to say, and
writing upon a slate, and then rubbing it out because it would not do.
At the same time the governess was obliged to put a pen very often
into my hand, and teach me to write, and she often seemed so vexed and
tired; but Lady Flora would never let her rest, so that I really had in
this manner an excellent lesson in writing.

At last a letter, in answer, was composed on a slate by the governess,
with Lady Flora’s assistance, and then a pen was put into my hand by
the governess, so that I wrote the letter. It was then sent to Lady
Flowerdale, to know if she approved of it; but she did not. She said
it wanted ease and simplicity, and was not what a nursery letter ought
to be, nor like what a doll would say. She then tried herself, but she
could not write one to her mind.

That same evening, as she sat at dinner with the earl, her husband,
they happened to be alone. Lady Flora was gone to bed, but had left me
sitting upright in one corner of the room, having forgotten to take me
upstairs with her. Her ladyship, observing that Lord Flowerdale, who
was a cabinet minister, was troubled with state business, sought to
relieve his mind by telling him all about this letter to me, and their
difficulty in answering it. The minister at first paid no attention to
this triviality, but when her ladyship related how the governess and
Lady Flora had tried all the morning to write a proper answer for the
doll, and how hard she herself had tried, but could not, the minister
was amused, and in the end quite laughed, forgot the business of the
state, and actually became pleasant. He desired to see the letter. It
was brought in by a footman,--placed upon a splendid silver salver, and
handed to the minister by the butler with a grave and important face.

The minister read the letter very attentively; then smiled, and laid it
by the side of his plate, on which was a slice of currant tart. ‘So,’
said he, ‘Flora and her governess have tried in vain to write a proper
reply to this letter, from the doll; and your ladyship has also tried
in vain. Well, I have a mind to write the reply myself; I need not go
down to the house (meaning, as I afterwards learnt, the House of Lords)
for ten minutes, and if I do not eat this currant tart, but write
instead, I can very well spare that time. Bring me my writing-desk.’

The desk was brought, and placed on a side-table. His lordship sat
down, and opening Ellen Plummy’s letter, began to write a reply for me.

He sat with his forehead full of lines, frowning and screwing up his
mouth, and working very hard at it, and only writing a few words at a
time, after studying Ellen’s letter, which lay open before him.

Three times a servant came to announce to his lordship that his
carriage was at the door; but he had not finished. At last, however, it
was done, and he was about to read it when, hearing the clock strike,
he found he had been three-quarters of an hour over it, and, jumping
up, hurried out of the room, and I heard the carriage drive off at a
great rate.

Lady Flowerdale, with a face of smiling curiosity, told one of the
footmen to bring her what his lordship had been writing. She cast her
eyes over it, laid it down, and then calmly desired all the servants to
leave the room. As soon as they were gone she took it up again hastily,
and read it aloud, as if to enjoy it more fully. It was as follows:--

      ‘TO MISS E. PLUMMY

                                               ‘Hanover Square, July 15.

  ‘My dear Madam,--I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your
  very kind letter, the date of which has been omitted, no doubt by an
  oversight. You have stated that I still hold a place in your memory,
  although you have now got another doll, and that your affection for
  this latter one is only by reason of your thoughts dwelling upon me.
  You have also stated that you possess various little articles; and
  I, moreover, notice sundry allusions to needlework and Twelfth-cake,
  to your brother Master Thomas, and to Bonaparte and Mr. Abernethy;
  the purport of which is not necessary for me to discuss. But I
  must frankly tell you that, having now become the doll of another,
  I cannot with propriety reciprocate that solicitude which you are
  pleased to entertain for me, nor can I, for the same reason, address
  you in similar terms of affection. At the same time, my dear madam,
  permit me to add that I cherish a lively sense of all the kindness
  you once showed me, and I cannot doubt the sincerity of your present
  professions of respect and esteem.

  ‘I have the honor to be, my dear Madam, very faithfully yours,

                                                                  ‘M.P.’

When the countess had concluded this letter she hastily put a cambric
handkerchief up to her face, and particularly over her mouth, and
laughed to herself for at least a minute. I also laughed to myself.
What a polite, unfeeling, stupid reply to a kind, tender-hearted little
girl like Ellen Plummy! Whatever knowledge the minister might have had
of grown-up men and women, and the world and the affairs of state, it
was certain he was not equal to enter into the mind of a doll who had
a heart like mine. It would have been so much better if his lordship,
instead of writing that letter, had eaten his currant tart,--and then
gone to bed.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER X

PLAYING WITH FIRE


I have now something more than a narrow escape to relate; for though I
did really escape, yet it was not without a dreadful accident, and some
injury. It was also the occasion of my changing my place of residence
and style of living. All, however, shall be told in proper order.

Lady Flora, having learned my name from the address of the letter I
had received, took a sudden fancy to have it engraved upon a little
gold bracelet. When the bracelet was sent home she fastened it upon my
wrist, but it dropped off once or twice, being rather too large, so we
drove to the jeweller’s house, which was near Charing Cross, and there
it was fastened to my wrist by rivets, so that it could not be taken
off at all. This was what Lady Flora desired.

On returning through the Haymarket my mamma recollected, as we passed
the Opera House, that she had still never seen the dancing there, on
account of her sleeping; and at the same time I, for my part, only
recollected my narrow escape. But the loss of the opera dancing made
Lady Flora only think the more about it, and about dancing; and when
we arrived at home she ran to her mamma, and begged to be taken to
Willis’s Room--in fact, she wanted to dance herself at ‘Almack’s,’ and
to take me with her, as no doubt there would be many other dolls in
the room, with whom, after mutual satisfactory introductions, I could
associate.

Lady Flowerdale said she was afraid that Lady Flora, being not yet
nine years of age, was too young to be taken to ‘Almack’s’; she could,
however, take her to the Duchess of Guineahen’s ball, which was to be
given next month. This greatly pleased Flora, and meantime she resolved
to take an extra lesson in dancing of Madame Michaud, in order to be
the better prepared for the ball.

I was present at all the lessons of dancing, and saw Madame Michaud
seated with her gold snuff-box, tapping upon the lid to keep time, and
taking an immense pinch of snuff when Lady Flora danced well, and a
still more immense pinch when she danced badly, besides scolding the
young man who played the violin, as if it had been his fault.

Another thing, however, and a still more important one, was to be done,
before this ball occurred, and this was to get ready the ball-dresses.
A message was immediately sent to a celebrated milliner in Piccadilly,
to come immediately and take orders for ball-dresses, for Lady Flora
and her doll.

During all the time these dresses were being made, my mamma was so
impatient and restless that it was quite an unhappiness to see her. I
often thought what a pity it was she had not learned to make dresses
herself, her mind would then have been employed, and she would have
been so much more comfortable. Oh, how different was the happy day I
spent among the poor little milliners when Ellen Plummy and Nanny Bell
sat under the tent made of a sheet, to make me a frock and trousers!
How happy were they over the work, and how impatient and cross was Lady
Flora, who had no work to do! Her mind was so disturbed that she was
quite unable to attend to any of her lessons; she insisted, however,
upon her governess giving me lessons instead, by placing the pen in my
hand, and directing it till I had copied several pages of a book. By
this means I learned to write,--the governess was employed,--and my
mamma said it was the same as if she took her usual lessons.

At last the dresses came home. They were beautiful, and both exactly
alike. They were made of the thinnest white gauze, to be worn over
very full petticoats of the same white gauze; so that they set out
very much, and looked very soft and fleecy. They were trimmed with an
imitation of lily of the valley, made in white satin and silver. The
trousers were of white satin, trimmed with gauze.

Now there was such a trying on and changing, and proposals for
alterations, and sending all back to the milliner’s, and having all
back again two hours afterwards, to try on once more in case they
really did not need alteration.

The day of the ball was rather cold and windy; so that, although it
was the month of August, a fire was ordered in the nursery, and in
Lady Flora’s bedroom, lest she might take cold. Towards evening the
dresses were all laid out ready to put on; but when my mamma saw them,
she could not wait, and insisted upon being dressed, although it was
five hours before the time. In two hours and a half she was ready;
and then I was dressed, which occupied an hour more. Still there was
a long time to wait; so Lady Flora took me in her arms, and began to
dance from room to room,--that is, from the nursery to her bedroom,
from one fireplace to the other. In doing this she observed that each
time she turned, her full, gauze frock gave the fire a puff, so that
a blaze came; and as she was amused by it, she went each time nearer,
and whisked round quicker in order to make the blaze greater. ‘Oh, Lady
Flora!’ cried her maid, ‘pray take care of your dress; you go too near;
wait till I run and fetch the fire-guards.’

Away ran the maid to fetch the fire-guards; and while she was gone
Lady Flora determined to dance for the last time still nearer than
ever to each fire before she whisked round. The very next time she did
it she went just the least bit too near; the hem of her frock whisked
against the bars--and her frock was in a blaze in a moment!

She gave a loud scream and a jump, and was going to run, when most
fortunately her foot caught one corner of a thick rug, and down she
fell. This smothered the blaze, but still her clothes were on fire; and
she lay shrieking and rolling and writhing on the floor.

Up ran the nursery maid, and when she saw what had happened, she began
screaming too--and up ran the page, and when he saw what had happened
he fell down upon his face with fear and confusion--and up ran the very
tall footman, and the instant he looked into the room, and smelled
the fire, he ran away again as fast as possible--and then up ran the
countess herself, and she ran straight to her child, and rolled the
thick rug all round her, and carried her in her arms to her own room.

Physicians and surgeons were sent for, and all the burned things were
taken off, and thrown on one side. Among these I lay; my beautiful
dress was all black tinder; but I was not really much burned, nor was
Lady Flora. A few weeks might cure her, though the scars would always
remain, and spoil her prettiness; but what could cure me? I was so
scorched and frizzled that the paint which was on my skin had blistered
and peeled off. I was quite black. No notice was taken of me; and in
the confusion I was carried out of the room, with the rest of the
burned rags, and thrown by one of the servants, in her haste, out of a
back window.

How I escaped utter destruction, in this dreadful fall, I cannot think;
unless it was owing to my being wrapped all round in singed clothes, so
that I fell softly. I had nearly fainted with fear, when the flames
first caught my dress; but when the housemaid threw open the window to
fling me out, my senses utterly forsook me.

I fell over a low wall, into a passage leading towards some stables.
In the course of a few minutes I recovered my sense, but only to
experience fresh alarm! A fine large Newfoundland dog, who was just
passing, thought somebody had thrown him a broiled bone; so he caught
me up in his mouth, and away he ran with me, wagging his tail.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER XI

THE PORTRAIT PAINTER


The Newfoundland dog soon found that the smell of my burned clothes and
scorched skin was not the same as a broiled bone; and that, in fact, I
was not good to eat. But he still continued to hold me in his great,
warm, red mouth, because he was used to fetch and carry; and, as he
felt no wish to taste me, he thought he would take me, just as I was,
to his young mistress, who was not far off. He had merely wandered
about Hanover Square to amuse himself, as he knew the neighborhood very
well.

The dog ran through the doorway of some private stables into a passage
that led into the square; and turning down, first one street, then
another, he soon stopped at a door, upon which was written, ‘J. C.
Johnson, Portrait Painter.’

The door was shut, but the area gate happened to be open; so down ran
the dog into the area, and into the front kitchen, and across that to
the stairs, and up the stairs (three flights) till he came to the front
room of the second floor, which was ajar, and in he bounced. There sat
a little girl and her aunt; and Mr. J. C. Johnson was painting the
aunt’s portrait, in a great white turban.

The dog ran at once to the little girl, and laying me at her feet,
sprang back a step or two, and began wagging and swishing his tail
about, and hanging out a long crimson tongue, and breathing very fast,
and waiting to be praised and patted, and called a good dog, for what
he had brought.

‘Oh, Nep!’ cried the aunt to the dog, ‘what horrid thing have you
brought? Some dirty old bone!’

‘It is an Indian idol, I believe,’ said Mr. Johnson, taking me up from
the carpet; ‘an Indian image of ebony, much defaced by time.’

‘I think,’ said the little girl, to whom Mr. Johnson handed me, ‘I
think it looks very like a wooden doll, with a burned frock and
scorched face.’

‘Well, so it is, I do believe,’ said the aunt.

‘Let me examine the figure once more,’ said the portrait painter,
laying down his palette of colors, but keeping his brush in the other
hand. ‘Yes, yes, I fancy, madam, your niece is correct. It is not a
work of Indian art, nor of Egyptian, nor of Grecian art; it is the
work of a London doll-maker.’

I expected he was, of course, about to say, ‘by the celebrated Mr.
Sprat,’ but he did not.

‘Oh, you poor London doll!’ said the little girl, ‘what a pity you were
not made in India, or somewhere a wonderful way off, then Mr. Johnson
would have taken pity on you, and painted you all over.’

Mr. Johnson laughed at this; and then gave such a droll look at the
little girl, and such a good-natured look at me. ‘Well,’ said he to
her, ‘well, my little dear, leave this black doll with me; and when you
come again with your aunt, you shall see what I have done.’

The aunt thanked Mr. Johnson for his pleasant promise, while she was
taking off her turban to depart; and away they went, the Newfoundland
dog, Nep, leaping downstairs before them, to show the way. They were
from Buckinghamshire, and had lodgings only a few streets distant. The
aunt was Mrs. Brown, her niece was Mary Hope. Mary Hope’s father was a
clerk in the Bank; but she chiefly lived with her aunt in the country,
as her father had seven other daughters, and a small salary.

As soon as they were gone, Mr. Johnson told his son to tear off all my
burned clothes, scrape me all over with the back of a knife, and then
wash me well with soap and water. When this was done, the good-natured
artist painted me all over from head to foot. When I was dry, he again
painted me all over with a warmer color, like flesh; and when that also
was dry, he painted my cheeks, and lips, and eyebrows; and finally he
gave me a complete skin of the most delicate varnish. My beautiful hair
was entirely burned off; and Mr. Johnson said this was a sad pity, as
he did not know how to supply it. But his son told him there was a
doll’s wig-shop very near the Temple, where a new head of hair could be
got. So the kind Mr. Johnson took the measure of my head; and when he
went out for his evening walk, he went to the shop and bought me a most
lovely, dark, auburn wig, with long ringlets, and his son glued it on.
When all was done, they hung me up in a safe place to dry.

The hanging up to dry immediately reminded me of my infancy in the shop
of Mr. Sprat, when I first dangled from the beam and looked round upon
all my fellow-creature dolls, who were dangling and staring and smiling
on all sides. The recollection was, on the whole, pleasing. I seemed
to have lived a long time since that day. How much I had to recollect!
There was the doll-shop in Holborn--and little Emmy, who used to
read little books in the back room--the Marcett books, the Harriet
Myrtle books, the Mary Howitt books, and the delightful story of ‘The
Good-natured Bear,’--in short, all the different stories and histories,
and voyages, and travels, and fairy tales she had read--and there was
the master of the shop in his brown paper cocked hat--and Thomas Plummy
and the cake--and Ellen Plummy, and Twelfth-night in the pastry-cook’s
shop--and the different scenes that I had witnessed among the little
milliners; and the making of my first frock and trousers under the
tent, upon Ellen Plummy’s bed; and my life in Hanover Square, during
which I saw so many great places in great London, and had been taught
by Lady Flora’s governess to write, and had fallen headlong from a box
at the opera into a gentleman’s hat; and where, after having beautiful
ball-dresses made, my little lady mamma and I had both caught fire;
and, lastly, there was my tumble over the wall into the passage, where
the Newfoundland dog had fancied I was a broiled bone, and caught me up
in his mouth. Here was a biography to recollect; while, for the second
time in my life, I was hanging up for my paint and varnish to dry.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER XII

PUNCH AND JUDY


When Mary Hope and her aunt came again to the portrait painter’s
house, he presented me to her with a smiling look. ‘There, Miss Mary,’
said he, ‘you see I have been at work upon this child of yours, and I
think with good effect. And now that the countenance can be seen, we
should observe that this doll has really very good features. I mean
that they are more marked than is common with dolls. She has a good
nose; very bright eyes; and what is very uncommon to see in a doll--she
has something like a chin. She has, also, a very pretty mouth, and a
sensible forehead. But another remarkable discovery I have made is that
of her name! This bracelet which I have cleaned and brightened, I find
to be gold, and upon it is engraved ‘Maria Poppet!’

Mary Hope received me with great pleasure, and gave Mr. Johnson many,
many thanks for his kindness in taking so much pains about me. ‘But
what dress,’ said she, ‘is this you have given her? Is it not too
warm?’ ‘I fear it is,’ said Mr. Johnson, laughing. ‘It is only a bit of
green-baize for a wrapper, and an old silver cord for a girdle, which I
happened to have at hand, and thought this was better than nothing. You
can make her a nice new summer dress when you get home.’ Mary declared
she would do so that very day.

The sitting for Aunt Brown’s portrait being concluded, she went
downstairs with Mary, who carried me, tossing me up in the air for joy,
and catching me as I was falling. This frightened me very much, and I
was so glad when we got downstairs. Upon the mat we found the great dog
Nep asleep. He jumped up in a moment, and went bouncing out before us
into the street. A hackney coach was waiting at the door, and directly
the steps were let down, Nep jumped in first. We arrived at their
lodgings, which were very comfortable and very quiet, after all the
alarms, and dangers, and narrow escapes, and troubles I had recently
gone through. The weather was very rainy, nearly the whole week, so
that I was never taken out during that time; but the days passed very
pleasantly, as I often heard Mary read pretty books aloud to her aunt.
She also busied herself in making me new clothes, for indeed I wanted
everything, as at this time my only dress was the green-baize robe,
with the bit of old silver cord round the waist, which Mr. Johnson had
given me.

One fine day, after the bad weather was over, a hackney coach was at
the door waiting to take us out somewhere. Down we went, Neptune,
as usual, running downstairs before us with his red tongue out, and
leaping in first. ‘Now, Mary,’ said her aunt, as we drove along, ‘shall
we go to the exhibition of pictures at the Royal Academy in Trafalgar
Square? (Neptune, do not poke your great nose so upon my knees--) or
shall we go to the Diorama in Regent’s Park? (Neptune, your paws are
not clean--you will soil my silk gown--) or shall we go to the Panorama
in Leicester Square? (Neptune, your nose is so cold--) or shall we go
to the British Museum?’

‘Oh, dear aunt,’ said Mary, ‘I do not know which is best. I should like
to go to them all! (Nep, you must not lick the doll’s face--the fresh
paint may come off!)’

‘But you cannot see all in the same day,’ said her aunt.

‘No, aunt,’ replied Mary, ‘I know that--only I could not help saying
what I should like. Let us go first, then, to the British Museum. But
will they let me take Maria Poppet in with me?’

‘I should think they would hardly object,’ said her aunt, ‘for I never
yet saw a doll left among the walking sticks and umbrellas at the door,
however plain the doll might be. They could never object to a pretty
doll like Maria--though, to be sure, she might be better dressed.
Really, you must make haste with her clothes. I cannot let you take her
out any more in that strange dress Mr. Johnson tied round her.’

Mary promised to finish my clothes in a day or two. At this moment the
coach stopped, in consequence of a crowd that was assembled in the
street round a performance of Punch and Judy.

Mary’s aunt put down the glass at one side in order to see what
occasioned the stoppage; and as it was quite impossible for the coach
to go on immediately, both Mary and her aunt sat looking out of the
window at the acting of Mr. Punch. He was behaving in his usual naughty
and impudent way, and was now pretending to nurse his child. This
child was a wooden doll, dressed in an old green sort of a night-gown,
not unlike the color of my own green wrapper. Presently the child was
heard to cry very loudly; so Mr. Punch declared he would have nothing
to do with such a cross child, and would throw it out of the window.
The child cried again; and Punch actually did what he had threatened,
and tossed the wooden doll out upon the heads of the crowd who were
gathered around, and it fell somewhere among them. This produced such
scrambling and confusion, and laughing and noise, that it made Neptune
jump up in our coach and thrust his head out of the coach window to
see what was the matter. When the people saw this they laughed louder
than before, and made more noise, so that Nep, thinking they meant to
be rude to us, began to bark and throw himself about from one side to
the other; in doing which he accidentally ran his head against Mary’s
shoulder, with such a jerk that he knocked me out of her arms, and I
fell down among the crowd!

‘Oh, Nep, Nep,’ cried Mary, ‘what have you done?’

In a moment out of the window jumped Neptune, and began to scramble
through the crowd in search of me, barking away as loudly as he could.
The disturbance and confusion increased; but who shall describe my
dismay when I saw Nep, in his haste, seize upon the child of Mr. Punch
and carry it back in his mouth to the coach instead of me; while at the
same moment a tall man, picking me up, handed me into Punch’s show,
saying, ‘Here, take your child, Mr. Punch!’




[Illustration]

CHAPTER XIII

THE CITY


How long it was before the performance concluded I do not know, as I
was in so distressed and confused a state of mind. All I can remember
is that I was thrown headlong into a small box, among a number of dirty
old wooden dolls dressed in rags and bits of cloth of all colors. Here
I lay a few minutes, till a shrill, squeaking voice, that came through
somebody’s nose, cried out ‘Hurray!’ and then down tumbled Mr. Punch
himself into the box, right across me, and the lid of the box was
instantly shut down and there we all lay squeezed together in the dark.

I soon began to feel wretchedly uncomfortable--it was so close and hot,
and I also had a very bad headache, owing to something that pressed
hard upon my head. When the box was next opened I found it was Mr.
Punch’s high-crowned wooden hat that had hurt me, in consequence of one
of its hard corners pressing against the back of my head.

The master of the show now began to take some of us out for a morning’s
performance, and to arrange the dolls upon a board in the order in
which he should want them to make their appearance. ‘Now,’ said he, ‘I
want the infant’ (meaning Punch’s child), ‘I want the infant--where is
Punch’s young one?’ Then taking me up--‘Ah, what is this?’ said he,
‘How did this creature come here? Why somehow, she has got here in the
place of the infant. She must have popped in by mistake, during the
noise in the street with that great barking dog. Well, she’s too big
for me, and she’s much too good to throw away, so I had better sell
her.’

He had scarcely uttered these words when the sound of ‘Clo’! clo’!
clo’!’ met our ears, and the master of the show immediately issued
from underneath his curtain, with me in his hand, and beckoned the
Jew clothesman to come to him. He proposed to sell me; and, after
half an hour’s bargaining, during which so many words were exchanged
that my patience was quite worn out, and I did not care what became
of me, the Jew carried me away in his bag. I felt myself quite as
disagreeably situated as when squeezed among the family of Mr. Punch,
for my companions in the bag appeared to be two old waistcoats, with
hard metal buttons pressing against my left cheek, an old hat, three
pairs of old shoes, seven pairs of slippers, a humming-top, a teetotum,
a snuffer-tray, a coat that seemed greasy, a tin pot, some old gold
lace, a bundle of rags, seven bones, two rabbit skins, a stuffed
parrot, the head of a rocking horse, a tin box and canister, a cow’s
horn, a pound of yellow soap, a woollen night-cap, five pairs of
worsted stockings, a parcel of tobacco, and half a roast goose. I was
sadly afraid that the brass buttons and the edges of the tin box and
canister, the snuffer-tray, or the head of the rocking horse, or the
beak of the stuffed parrot, would destroy the beautiful complexion Mr.
Johnson had given me, when fortunately the very same idea occurred to
the cautious mind of the wise old Jew, who suddenly put his hand into
the bag, and thrusting my head and shoulders into a worsted stocking,
he rolled the rest of me tightly in the coat, and then crammed me into
the old hat, with my legs upwards. One of my hands, however, happened
accidentally to be left free; and in cramming me into the hat, which
fitted very tight, this hand went through a split in the edge of the
crown. I should not have thought much of this circumstance, but that I
presently discovered the hat to have a strong scent of otto of rose,
and then I suddenly recollected that this must be the very hat into
which I had fallen at the opera. My first acquaintance with the hat
having been in the most fashionable place in London, this was a strange
place of meeting for both of us.

In the evening, when the Jew arrived at his lodgings, and had eaten his
supper of fried soles and German sausage, with a bunch of white turnip
radishes, he emptied the whole contents of his bag out on the floor,
and bent over us from his chair, for some minutes, with a face of great
satisfaction. He had collected all this bag-full in one day. ‘Yes,’
said he, taking me up from all the rest, ‘yes, this is the best part
of my day’s work.’ I was beginning to feel pleased at this compliment,
when the Jew added, ‘This is a beautiful wooden doll, but her gold
bracelet is the thing for me!’ So I saw it was not I, but my gold
bracelet that pleased his fancy.

He took me to a little table; and there, with a pair of pincers, he
took off my bracelet; and, in its place, he fastened a stupid piece of
tin, upon which, with the point of a broken fork, he scratched, ‘Maria
Poppet.’ I could have cried bitterly at the change, but I was able to
restrain myself.

I felt that I should not remain long with the old Jew, because he
would soon sell me. The very next day he actually did sell me, and my
purchaser was an Italian organ-boy.

This boy had been used to carrying a monkey about on the top of his
organ, who sat there in a red jacket and soldier’s cap, and made faces,
while the boy’s little sister went round to collect halfpence in a
tambourine. This poor little monkey had caught a very bad cold, by
being out in the rain one night, and had died; and the Italian boy
had come to the Jew, to know if he would buy it to stuff for a glass
case. The old Jew considered a long while, and then said he could give
no money for the poor little pug, but he would give him something that
would be better for him, because it would help him to make money. So
saying, he offered me to the boy, in exchange for the monkey. The
Italian boy hesitated at first; he said he wanted a little money. But
his sister exclaiming, ‘Oh, do, brother, let us have the doll!’ he
consented; and fitting on me the red jacket, he stuck me upon the top
of the organ, and off we went into the street, to the tune of ‘I’d be a
butterfly!’ which he immediately began to play.

We went through many streets, playing various tunes by the way, and
getting many pennies and halfpennies, until we arrived at Guildhall,
when Brigitta (that was the little girl’s name) said she wanted to
run in and show me two very large dolls indeed, called Gog and Magog.
‘So do,’ said her brother (whose name was Marco), ‘and while you go
I’ll play the tune I think Gog and Magog would like best;’ and he
immediately began once more to play ‘I’d be a butterfly!’

[Illustration: Off We Went to the Tune of “I’d be a Butterfly.”]

We ran in and saw the great ugly things. Oh, they were such great
dolls! and it was such a large room! Out ran Brigitta again, and we
went to the Mansion-house and played ‘Sweet home,’--in the middle of
which a fat gentleman, who had just come out of a pastry-cook’s, put a
slice of plum-cake into Brigitta’s tambourine. We then went and played
‘Cherry ripe’ in front of the Monument, but we did not play long, as
Brigitta got frightened; it looked so high she was afraid it would
tumble down and spoil Dolly. We next went and played in front of the
London tavern, in Bishopsgate Street; but there happened to be a great
‘public dinner’ going on, so one of the waiters told us to go away, as
there was an alderman just then making a ‘speech,’ and we disturbed
him; so we walked slowly away, playing, ‘They’re all nodding.’

We now went to St. Paul’s churchyard and played the ‘Old Hundredth
Psalm,’ and ‘God save the Queen,’ and ‘Cherry ripe.’ I never saw
anything before or since that looked so great to me as St. Paul’s, for
although there was a most beautiful doll-shop within sight, I could not
help looking all the time at the great building.

After this, as we had made one shilling and sevenpence in the course of
the day, we went home to Marco’s lodgings. He had a little room behind
the back kitchen of a cobbler’s house in the neighborhood of London
bridge. Brigitta placed me on a straw mattress up in one corner, and
then took out two plates and a mug without a handle from a cupboard in
the wall, and Marco then laid upon the plate several things to eat,
which he had bought on their way home, among which I saw something
that looked very much like an ounce of sugar candy, besides the piece
of plum-cake that had been put into Brigitta’s tambourine. They were
very merry over their supper. Then Marco, who was very tired from
having carried the organ about all day, fell fast asleep, and Brigitta
presently took out from a little bundle several pieces of bright
scarlet and green stuff, and, in the neatest manner possible, began to
make me a very pretty dress, just like the one she had on herself. I
was very glad of this, for I did not at all like being dressed like the
monkey. She was a very pretty little girl of about nine years of age,
with a dark brown complexion and red lips, and large black eyes, and
long, black, glossy, curling hair.

I passed several weeks with this merry little mamma, who was always
laughing, or chattering, or playing the tambourine and collecting
halfpence in it, or dancing me about, except when I sat upon the organ
in the place of the monkey. I saw a great deal of London by this
means, but more particularly of the City, as far as from Temple Bar
to the Thames Tunnel, because Marco knew a great many houses where
there were children who liked to hear the organ, and he and his sister
generally visited each house about once a week.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER XIV

THE LORD MAYOR’S SHOW


The day approached for the Lord Mayor’s Show. Marco determined that
Brigitta should see it; and my pretty Italian mamma determined that
I should see it too, so out we went early to get a good place, Marco
leaving the organ at home, up in one corner, as he said the Lord Mayor
would be sure to have plenty of music without his help, and they should
find the organ very troublesome to themselves, and other people too, in
a great crowd. We arrived in Cheapside about eight o’clock. On the way
we had turned up a little alley, where a man kept an early breakfast
stall, and had two pints of hot coffee and two thick slices of bread
and butter; and when these were eaten, Marco bought two more, which he
wrapped up in a large cabbage-leaf, and put into his pocket. He said
they were sure to get hungry with waiting in the street.

Well, as I said, we got into Cheapside before eight o’clock. It was a
foggy morning, and wet and muddy under foot. But still there were a
great many people going backwards and forwards, and all looking very
busy and anxious. We first chose a spot near Bow church; but very soon
a number of tall people came and stood in front of us, so that we
could not see through them, nor over their heads. Marco said to one
of the tallest of the men, ‘I wish you would be so kind as to move a
little, sir; we cannot see over your head.’ ‘Oh,’ said the unkind man,
‘suppose you find another place.’ ‘And so let us,’ said Brigitta, ‘for
we can see nothing here through these tall bodies. Come, Marco.’ We
accordingly walked on.

We had only gone a few paces when Marco said he recollected there had
been a fire in Cheapside only a few days ago on the opposite side of
the way, and as there could not have been time to build a new house,
or even pull down the old one, we might perhaps get up into the ruins
somewhere. He was quite right. There stood the black shell of the
house, with some wooden planks in front of all the lower windows. The
crowd was now fast collecting. We ran across, and pushing aside one of
the planks, in we got,--scrambled over a great quantity of rubbish, and
black bricks and beams, and smoke and dirt, and broken things,--and
with great difficulty Marco climbed up the remains of a broken
staircase to see if it could be safely attempted. ‘Now, Brigitta,’
said he, when he was up on a broad beam running close underneath the
first-floor windows, ‘now, Brigitta, it’s all safe, come up.’

‘But how shall I get the poppet up?’ said Brigitta.

‘Oh,’ said Marco, ‘make haste, for I see more people getting in by the
windows, and you will lose your place. Throw her up to me! Make haste!’

I trembled from head to foot. But before I had time to think more
about my fears, the little girl pitched me up in the air, and in the
cleverest way possible Marco caught me in his two hands. Then up got
Brigitta, and the first thing she did was to station me between two
broken bricks at the side of the window, so that I could look down from
this height upon the whole of the Lord Mayor’s Show as it passed in the
street beneath. We had an excellent place at the middle window of the
ruined case of the burned house.

We had not been here a minute before a crowd of people got in through
the planks below, several of which were broken down, and in they came
rushing, and tried to clamber up to the windows. However, we three kept
our good places.

And now came peppering down a shower of rain, and then another shower
of rain stronger than the first, and then there came another shower of
rain that lasted an hour; and then there was a thick yellow fog for
another hour, and then the rain ceased, and the fog began to clear
away; and when the fog was gone, suddenly the sun came out, and shone
very brightly.

‘Now,’ said Marco, ‘let us eat our other slices of bread and butter.’
This they did with great pleasure; the sun shining like gold upon the
butter all the time.

They had scarcely done eating when ‘boom!’ came the sound of a great
drum,--and all sorts of musical instruments struck up, and the boom of
the great drum was quickly followed by the ‘rub-a-dub row-de-dow’ of
smaller drums, and the ‘too-ra-loo’ of fifes, and then we saw the show
coming along the streets. The streets were lined with soldiers who made
a long alley; on the outside of the soldiers next the houses the crowds
were struggling to look over the soldiers’ heads; and along the inside
of the alley formed by the soldiers, the show came pompously along in
the middle of the street.

I have said that I was seated between two broken bricks, at one side
of the wall, and next to me was Brigitta. There were at least five
people standing behind us at the same window, looking over our heads,
and behind Brigitta was a person in a water-proof cape, part of
which, hanging over Brigitta’s left shoulder, came just in front of
my face. Brigitta perceived this, and several times pushed the cape
back to enable me to see; but as the show came on and got finer and
finer, and more thick with men all dressed in colors, and silks, and
ribbons, and gold lace,--and the horses in their fine harnesses and
trappings came nodding and dancing along, and the coaches got more
golden and shining with fat figures in cocked hats sitting inside,
and very fat gentlemen with red faces in splendid waistcoats, and the
crowds of cocked hats, and multitudes of knees with shining buckles
increased,--of all this splendor I had only time to take one look, and
then the heavy cape again fell before my eyes, and Brigitta was too
much engaged herself to think any more of removing it. However, I did
occasionally manage to see, because the person in the water-proof cape
moved about, and often bent himself from side to side to see better,
and once when he did so, I got sight of the two men in armor,--two
men covered all over,--one in iron and one in brass, just as lobsters
are covered with their shells, only shining in the sun, and riding
on large black horses. Besides these I also saw the principal dolls
of this wonderful show--I mean the Lord Mayor in his coach, with the
wooden Sword-bearer and the gingerbread Mace-bearer--at least, they
looked like wood and gingerbread; and, indeed, so did the Lord Mayor
himself. The Sword-bearer and the Mace-bearer both sat back to back at
the open windows in a thorough draught, and they both appeared to have
got colds in their noses. We had an excellent view of the Lord Mayor
in his robe of scarlet, with gold and colored stripes over it, and
wearing a beautiful necklace hanging down upon his breast. He gave a
sigh as he passed us, and laid his hand upon his fine stomach, and then
he gave a smile. The coach was drawn by eight horses with proud necks,
all covered with rich aprons, and ribbons, and straps, and tassels,
and tinkerums and things, and with quantities of colored ribbon-bows,
and streamers and gold lace, and brass nails and buckles. Then the
coach--oh, what a coach! It was like a coach made of glass set in a
very fine, fancy looking-glass frame, and stuck on a sort of gilded
car all covered with paintings and golden carvings and sweetmeats,
extremely like several coaches I had seen on Twelfth-cakes, only a
great deal bigger. I wondered very much if it was made of sugar.

We waited till the procession returned; it was a long time, but we
were determined to wait. When they all came back we saw, besides the
fine gentlemen, a number of beautiful fat ladies in feathers, with
diamonds and rosy cheeks, the fattest of whom, and the most beautiful
of course, was the Lady Mayoress in an apricot satin dress with all
sorts of embroidery, and lace, and ribbons, and spangles, and precious
things, and looking all so stiff and expensive behind the glass, but
yet seeming to be alive, although afraid to move in the least for fear
of injuring some part of all this dress. I thought it was so kind of
everybody in the show to take the time and trouble to let themselves be
dressed for us to see them.

All of a sudden we heard a great crack, and then a loud cry from a
number of people below, ‘The wall is falling! come down, all of you!’
No one wanted a second warning, and all who were up at the windows
went scrambling down as quick as they could, and in the best way they
could; but how it was all done I have no notion, as Marco had suddenly
seized me, and thrust me, head foremost, into his pocket, where I
remained for two or three hours, and when next taken out I found myself
in the little back room, where they were going to have some supper of
macaroni.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER XV

THE LOST BRACELET


The next events of my life were two pleasures and one pain. The
pain was a change of circumstances, and the first pleasure was the
possession of a new wardrobe. How could I have a new wardrobe, when my
mamma was only the little sister of a poor Italian organ-boy, and had
but one dress for herself? It all came about through what I considered,
at the time, a great misfortune; it was the change of my present
mamma for another; and I was very fond of my little Italian mamma, and
therefore was sorry to be obliged to leave her.

The day after Lord Mayor’s day was cold and wet; but, notwithstanding,
we all went out with the organ, for Marco said we must earn some money
to make up for yesterday, which was a day of pleasure; so we went round
to several houses where he was accustomed to play. At last we got in
Finsbury Square, and there began to play before a house where a little
girl called Lydia Thomson lived. Her papa was a partner in the house
of Barclay and Perkins, the great brewers, and she used to come out
on the balcony when Marco played, and always threw him a penny, and
sometimes danced up and down the balcony to his music. Well, while
we were playing on this cold wet day, it began to snow, and little
Lydia, who was dancing on the balcony, was obliged to run into the
warm drawing-room for fear she should catch cold; and when she looked
out, she thought Brigitta seemed so wet and cold in the snow, that
she almost began to cry, and asked her mamma to let us all come in.
Her mamma gave us leave, so down she ran and brought us all in, and
placed us by a warm parlor fire. Then away she ran to her mamma again,
and presently came back dancing and skipping about before a servant,
who carried a tray with two plates full of roast mutton and potatoes
from the servants’ dinner, and she told Marco and Brigitta to begin to
eat, and they laughed and looked so pleased, and ate away, and began
to look so much warmer and more comfortable. Then away she ran again,
and brought down a box full of sweetmeats and sugar-plums, and put it
down before Brigitta, and said, ‘That is for you,’ and Brigitta kissed
her hand to her so prettily, and said, ‘Thank you, dear little lady.’
Then Marco asked if he might play to her, and she said, ‘Oh yes;’ so
he played all his tunes, and she danced up and down the passage, and in
and out of the room.

When all the tunes were done, Marco said, ‘Now we must go;’ so they
bid good-bye, and the servant opened the door, and the wind blew in
very cold. So the little girl said, ‘Shut the door again, and wait a
minute,’ and ran away again to her mamma; and after about five minutes,
down she came, bringing a warm woollen shawl for Brigitta, and an old
cape of her papa’s for Marco, and she said, ‘My mamma gives you these.’
Oh, they were so much obliged to her. They thought her such a dear,
kind little girl; and Brigitta’s large black eyes filled with tears
while she thanked her, but little Lydia only danced and jumped about.

Then Brigitta put on the shawl, and took me up, and I thought she was
going to carry me away with her, but she said, ‘Dear, kind little lady,
take this doll from me; it is such a great pleasure to me to have
something to give you.’ Lydia said, ‘But you like to have the doll.’
‘No, no!’ answered Brigitta, ‘take it, dear little lady!’ So she and
Marco hurried away, and left me with Lydia Thomson.

I was at first very sorry to be parted from my merry Italian mamma; but
I soon became very fond of this kind little Lydia. She used to play
with me a great deal, and she took off that ugly tin bracelet from my
arm, but not till she had read my name--‘Maria Poppet.’ She dressed me
very nicely, too, so that I had, as I have said, a new wardrobe; and a
very few days after I was settled in this new home, I had the second
pleasure I have mentioned. It happened in this manner.

One very cloudy morning, a voice crying ‘Clo’! clo’!’ came down
Finsbury Square, and stopped in front of our house. Again the voice
said, ‘Clo’!’ and then, after stopping a little, said very quickly,
‘Clo’! clo’!’ I recollected whose voice that was in a moment, and
it made me tremble. It was the old Jew who had bought me of Punch’s
showman.

Lydia had left me sitting at the nursery window, with my nose and
cheek resting against the glass; I could therefore look out, and I
now saw him walk up to the area, and poke his head through the iron
rails, looking down, so that I saw only his round shoulders and his
rusty black bag. Now I heard the area door open, as if one of the maids
was coming out, and instantly the Jew said, ‘My dear, I want to speak
something!’ ‘Speak then,’ said the merry voice of my mamma’s nursery
maid.

‘Come up the area steps, my dear,’ said the Jew; ‘it’s a cold wind, and
I’m rather hoarse to-day; and besides, my dear, I’ve something of great
consequence to speak.’

The nursery maid ran up, saying, ‘Well, be quick then.’

‘Yes, my dear,’ said the Jew, and then, lowering his voice, he said,
‘You’ve got a wooden doll in this house, my dear.’ I trembled more
than ever at this; I thought he had come for me.

‘Well,’ said the nursery maid, ‘and what of that?--is that all you’ve
got to say, with your whispering and winking, and screwing your face?’

‘Not all, my dear,’ said the Jew. ‘Your doll is a doll of some rank
and consequence, and her family name is Poppet, and her other name is
Maria.’

‘Well, lauk now!’ said the maid, ‘how did you guess that?’

‘Guess it, my dear,’ said the Jew, ‘I knew it long ago. She used to
have a bracelet upon her arm, with the name engraved upon it.’

‘Yes, so she had, so she had,’ said the maid; ‘a tin one it was.’

The Jew laughed, and said, ‘A gold one, my dear. It was tin when you
had her, I dare say; but formerly, in the days of her greatness, my
dear, she had one made of pure gold, and I can tell you what’--here he
again lowered his voice--‘I know where the gold one is. I can find it.
Yes, my dear, I can, and I may as well just let you have a peep at it.’
Here the Jew drew something in a paper out of his pocket, and held it
up.

‘Oh my!’ said the nursery maid, ‘well, if ever! There’s Maria Poppet
engraved upon it--and you’ve brought it back to young missis. Oh, how
pleased she will be!’

‘Yes, my dear,’ said the Jew, putting it back into his pocket. ‘You
can tell them what you’ve seen, and say that I have no objection to
selling it, to oblige them--and it’s pure gold, you know, my dear, and
I’ll come again to-morrow morning. Clo’! clo’! clo’!’ and away he went,
leaving the poor nursery maid calling out after him in vain.

Well, this was the talk of the whole house. Everybody was so much
interested about it. Next morning the Jew came, and asked to see Mrs.
Thomson. He was shown into the passage, and then he produced the gold
bracelet, which fitted my wrist exactly, and everybody admired it very
much, particularly Lydia, who kissed it several times.

‘You will sell it, of course?’ said Mrs. Thomson.

After long hesitation and consideration, the Jew names his price. Mrs.
Thomson then made him an offer of some money for it, but the Jew said
he could melt it, and make more by it than that.

At the sound of ‘melting’ it, Lydia began to cry bitterly, so we were
all sent away into the nursery, and told to wait till Mrs. Thomson came
to us. How it was settled I do not know, but after waiting about half
an hour, we heard the sound of ‘Clo’! clo’!’ and Mrs. Thomson came
upstairs, bringing the bracelet in her hand, and that very day it was
fastened on my wrist, as at first.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER XVI

THE NEW GRAND CHRISTMAS PANTOMIME


Lydia Thomson had long been promised to be taken to the next Christmas
Pantomime, and the happy day for this had now arrived. All the morning
long Lydia was so restless she was unable to remain quiet for two
minutes together. If she sat down to work, she was often obliged to get
up and dance, and then to run and look out at the window,--then to run
downstairs singing,--then to hop up again upon one leg,--then to run
and look at the play-bill, and read it all through aloud,--then to try
and read it topsy-turvy, and ask me to help her,--then to dance me up
in the air,--then to run and roll over and over with me on the sofa,
crying out, ‘Oh, Maria! oh, Maria! we’re going to see the New Grand
Christmas Pantomime!’

At last the evening came. We were dressed in good time. My mamma,
Lydia, wore a white frock and blue sash, and looked very nice; but
she made me look beautiful, for she said I should be dressed in a way
to suit a beautiful Pantomime; so she made me a frock of thin white
muslin, and trimmed it with some little pink roses that her mamma gave
her, and put a wreath of little pink roses round my hair. The carriage
came to the door, and we drove off to Drury-Lane Theatre. There were
Lydia’s papa and mamma, and her two cousins, and out they all jumped,
ran past the crowd at the door, and up the stairs, till we reached a
private box, which was exactly over one side of the stage, upon which
we looked down with great expectation. I thought we should have seen
better if we had been in a box in the middle of the theatre, but still
this was very nice. We did nothing but clap our hands and look at the
dark curtain. The play was over. We had not been allowed to come till
the play was over, because Lydia’s papa said he knew we should be tired
if we did.

The house was very full of people, and I began to look round me, and
up and down in all directions. But who shall describe my pleasure and
surprise when, looking up into the two-shilling gallery, whom should I
see sitting in the very front row but the celebrated Mr. Sprat! On one
side of him was his wife, who appeared to be eating periwinkles; on the
other side sat his two sons and daughter; so that they every one of
them had a front seat. Looking down into the pit, who should I next
see but the master of the doll-shop, who had fancied himself Napoleon
in a brown paper cocked hat, with his daughter and little Emmy at his
side; but what gave me far greater pleasure was to see very near them,
though a little in front, Ellen Plummy and her brother Thomas. Oh, my
dear little Ellen Plummy, how I wished you were up here with us! She
sat on the right-hand side of Thomas, and on his left was Nanny Bell. I
now looked again round the house, and in a private box nearly opposite
to ours, but larger and lower down, I saw a pretty, delicate little
girl, most elegantly dressed, whom I at once recognized as my little
lady mamma, Flora. I was so glad to be unable to see the least sign
of any scars from the fire. She was in the middle of this large box,
leaning over. At one side, almost hidden behind a red curtain and her
large silk cloak, sat Lady Flowerdale. Somehow I immediately thought
of Mary Hope, to whom I had been taken by the dog, Nep. I did not see
her, it is true; but while I was thinking of her, and looking down into
the pit, I saw Mr. Johnson, the portrait painter, peeling an orange.
Looking at Mr. Johnson, with gratitude for all he had done for me after
my burning, it naturally made me think of how much more gratitude I
owed to the celebrated Mr. Sprat, who had made me, and I immediately
looked up again towards the gallery where he sat. But happening at
first to look too high, I caught sight, in the one-shilling gallery,
of my little Italian mamma, Brigitta, and her brother Marco. They were
laughing, talking, and cracking nuts.

Now we began to long for the Pantomime to begin. Presently we heard
all manner of sounds going on behind the curtain--all manner of voices
talking and calling, and buzzing and humming. The moving of boards, and
hammering, and the placing of planks and beams, and pushing and pulling
about of heavy things; and now and then through one side of the
curtain we caught a glimpse of something so bright that went by, like
tall flags on painted poles, and tops of spears, and parts of mantles
of people’s dresses; and once, underneath the bottom of the dark green
curtain, we saw run along a little pair of bright silver feet. The
sound of drums and trumpets was also heard to begin in a disorderly
manner, and then stop suddenly, and end in a murmur of many voices, and
hurrying to and fro of many feet.

And now the band of musicians that played in the long orchestra beneath
us came thronging in, and seized upon all sorts of very great and very
small instruments, and began blowing and twanging, and trying up and
down, and backwards and forwards, and squeaking high and flourishing
about, and rumbling and tumbling, and working very hard to get into
order. Then they were quite silent. Then tap! tap! went the fiddlestick
of the leader of the orchestra, who sat upon his high stool--there
was more silence than ever--and suddenly off they all went, all the
instruments at once, and played away in a most wonderful manner--slow
music, and quick music, and grand marches, and all sorts of dances,
that made everybody’s heart jump within and try to do whatever the
music was doing.

The band ceased playing, and very slowly indeed the dark curtain began
to be drawn up. As it went creeping up towards the high roof, we
gradually saw a great field in winter, all white with snow, and the
snow coming down. As the dark curtain went up and the snow came down,
it seemed that the box we were in was sinking downwards also. However,
it did not.

The scene we looked upon was a very large field of snow, and large
trees at the side all covered with snow, and great woods at the back.
The snow presently ceased to fall, and we saw ranges of hills behind
the woods quite white like the rest. All the time the music continued
to play something that was so slow, and cold, and soft, and melodious,
and grand.

The music was changed to an ugly, broken, hobbling, harsh sound, and
at the farthest end of the field we saw a strong-made, little old man,
in a dark blue cloak, appear, and come down towards the white shrubs
in front, just under us. His hat was the shape of an extinguisher, but
with a broad brim. As he approached, we saw that he had a large blue
nose, and very large uneven teeth, and blue goggle-eyes! Ugh! how we
all shivered, except Lydia’s papa and mamma, who laughed and told us
not to be frightened. The music stopped, and this ugly, strong Dwarf
then repeated these words:--

    ‘The frosty air shall take them,
    And the wintery wind shall shake them,
    And frozen boughs shall rake them,
    While rocks and ruins break them,--
    And years shall always snip them,
    While hours for ever trip them,
    And constant trouble dip them,
    Until Time come and clips them;

  All this shall be done to destroy all their dances,
  And drive from the world its delightful romances.’

As the ugly, thick-limbed little Dwarf said this, he stamped one
foot,--a loud wind was heard, and in a moment he went straight down
through the earth, and was quite gone! At the same moment we heard a
sweet voice singing in the air, which said:--

  ‘He thinks he makes what mortals see;
  It seems so--but it shall not be.’

Before we had time to recover ourselves, we saw that the whole scene of
frost and snow was changing into a bright summer. The green leaves came
out upon the trees--the sun-beams shot across the sky, and played upon
the distant woods and hills--a warm, glowing color came all over the
scene--and while the music played the prettiest dance, we saw the spire
of a village church slowly rise up among the trees at the back, and
a troop of villagers, with wreaths and garlands of flowers, all came
dancing in, and round and round.

And now came in a very pretty little village girl with her lover;
and the dancers all surrounded them with their garlands, and they
were all going to be very happy, when a cross-looking old man in an
earth-colored flannel gown, who was the father of the pretty little
village girl, hobbled in and separated them,--and would not allow
it,--and made signs that the young man was not rich enough to have his
daughter. He made signs that the young man had no fields, and orchards,
and dogs, and horses, and houses, and money, and these were the things
that he thought most to be loved, and therefore that they made the
best lover. So the young man having none of these, was driven away
by the old father and two of his men with pitchforks. When, just as
they were driving him out, a noise was heard as if a great many penny
trumpets were blown. All the villagers made signs of seeing something
wonderful coming. Then came the sound of one single penny trumpet, and
immediately afterwards there entered, with a very consequential strut,
a figure with a large round head and red cheeks, scarcely anybody, and
very thick grass-green legs, and carrying in both hands an immense
brass trumpet, which, however, had only the sound of a very small penny
one.

‘I come,’ said he, ‘to herald the advance of the King of Bubble
Island,--and I am his chief trumpeter.’ Upon which he lifted up his
immense brass trumpet, which said, ‘Twee, te-twee, twee!’

Now came in twenty more trumpeters like the first, all with large
trumpets, blowing ‘Twee! twee! twee!’ After them came marching in an
army, all the soldiers having helmets made of great white turnips, with
the green leaves nodding about for feathers, and carrying shields of
black glass, in the middle of each of which was seen a bowl of white
soap-suds and a pipe. These were followed by the King’s Prime Minister
and the other Wise Men of his court, all of them blowing bubbles, which
rose into the air and looked most beautiful; and as fast as they burst,
the Wise Men blew more, so that there were always a good many floating
in the air. Each was attended by two valiant knights in glass armor of
bottle-green, the one on the right bearing a bowl of soap-suds, and the
one on the left carrying a supply of soap and fresh pipes. After these
came dancing a great many golden Coins of the Realm, all with the same
face, and all of them with thin spider’s legs, and their hands in their
pockets.

[Illustration: His Walk and Air Were Like All the Pride of the Earth
Put into One Chemist’s Bottle!]

And now came the King himself! He had a large round head of glass,
colored with green and pink, and his face was colored with green and
pink, and he wore a golden crown, with spikes like a dog’s collar,
which spouted up a great quantity of froth in the shape of feathers.
His body was quite round, like his head, only very much larger. His
hair was dark purple. He had a short mantle edged with fur like froth,
and his legs were the color of a blue-bottle fly spotted with gold.
His walk and air were like all the pride of the earth put into one
chemist’s bottle! An immense blast of farthing trumpets announced his
actual presence!

‘Poor people!’ exclaimed he, ‘villagers and people, and things!--ye
have dared to harbor among you no less a gentleman than the Prince,
my son, the heir of all these bubbles, who has caused us all these
troubles,--but what my grief doubles, let me say, is the fact that he
has run away, and our Royal Court doth mock----bless my soul! what
young man is that in the brown frock?’

The moment he said this, the poor lover, who was just being driven out
by the three pitchforks, began to run about and try to hide himself.
The Prime Minister and the Wise Men instantly drew from their sides
each a telescope, which they drew out to its full length, and began
to point in all directions to examine the young man, crying out, ‘We
think it is--we think it is--we think it is the Prince!’ The Prime
Minister now jumped pick-a-back upon the back of the King’s Physician,
and pointed the telescope towards the feet of the young peasant,
crying out, ‘Now I shall have him!’ When the Physician, on whose back
he was, heard this, he began to prance very much. The Prime Minister,
whose observations through the telescope were much disturbed by this
prancing, then jumped down and lay flat upon his stomach, pointing his
glass towards the young man’s face, and then called out, ‘I’ve got
him. It is the Prince!’ The moment the King heard his Prime Minister
declare it to be actually his dear, long-lost son, he rushed as if mad
with paternal feelings towards the young man, and being unable to stop
himself in time, he and the Prince together knocked down a cottage! It
fell flat down, and they rolled amidst the ruins! The village girls
extricated the Prince by the shoulders, and the Wise Men pulled out
the King by the legs, drawing him along a good way on the ground, to
be sure that he was extricated. Then the King immediately remembered
how very angry he had been with his son for running away, and was
going to knock him down with his golden sceptre when the father of the
pretty little village girl, that the Prince was in love with, ran up
and received the blow instead, which knocked him down upon his knees;
but instead of getting up, he declared it was the greatest honor of his
life to have been knocked down by the father of his daughter’s lover,
whom he now discovered to be such a great person, and to have so many
fields, and bags of gold, and horses, and people, and soap-bubbles.

‘Base clodpole!’ said his Majesty, ‘is the Prince, my son, in love with
your little peasant girl with open arms, crying out--‘Yes, King of
Bubbles, it is true.’

‘Then,’ said the King, ‘Blow me!’

At the sound of these words, the most terrible that could be heard
in the whole kingdom of Bubble Island, all the army uttered a howl,
and the Prime Minister and other Wise Men rushed to their bowls of
soap-suds, and filling the air with bubbles to try if their pipes were
in the highest degree of perfection, they then advanced towards the
King and applied their pipes to different parts of his body to blow him
as he ordered. But suddenly was heard a great sound of wind and rain,
and the sky got dark, and it began to snow; and while they were all
staring at the fast-falling snow, the ugly, strong-limbed Dwarf, with
the blue nose and goggle-eyes, came walking down among them and said:--

  ‘I will befriend thee, King of Bubbles,
  And all thy foes I’ll fill with troubles:
  Come frost and snow! and cover all we see,
  And change the face of life’s reality!’

At these words there began to descend a number of dark, heavy clouds,
at the same time that a mist rose up from the earth, till the clouds
and the mist met, and out of the middle came a great troop of the
Spirits of the Frost and Snow, all glistening in white snow and
icicles, with branches covered with snow and icicles in their hands,
and they all sang this chorus:--

  ‘We will the face of Nature change,
  And makes its pleasant places strange,
  Covering all life with icy wing,
  As thou may’st order, Bubble King.’

‘Very good,’ said the King. ‘I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Blue-nosed
Dwarf, and to all you ladies and gentlemen with frosty countenances.
Now then, at once, I will thank you to cover the village, where all
these people live, with snow; to turn that peasant girl, whom my son is
so mad and stupid as to be in love with, into a large icicle, and make
the Prince a man of snow looking at her.’

The Spirits of the Frost instantly seized upon the Prince and the
little peasant girl, when suddenly a rosy light appeared in the middle
of the dark clouds, which got brighter and brighter, and sent out rays
of an orange color, and then rays also of bright purple. Then the
orange began to get golden, and the purple to turn to bright violet;
and then in the middle of all there opened out a brilliant light, and
we saw a wheel of golden fire slowly turning round, and in the centre
of it stood a little Child, who seemed to be dressed in bright silver
gossamer, with beautiful auburn hair, and a silver wand in her hand,
and a bright violet star upon her forehead; and the little voice called
out,--

  ‘Spirits of the Frost! I charge ye sing again
  More truly,--mixing pleasure with the pain.’

Then the Spirits of the Frost sang these words,--

  ‘We will the face of Nature change,
  And make the truest things look strange;
  But Nature’s heart will ever be
  Deep beyond Fate’s tyranny,
  And from King Bubble’s surface free.’

Then said the Dwarf,--

  ‘But change is mine, and strife and war,--’

Then replied the Child,--

  ‘Take them--but work within my law.’

The clouds now closed in front of the bright Child-spirit to the sound
of soft music, till each cloud became of a dull leaden color as before.
Presently came a loud sound of instruments from behind the clouds, and
a large silver arrow was seen to fly straight towards the young Prince.
It struck him, and he instantly turned into Harlequin, in a dress of
bright gold and silver and red and blue, and a black mask! Again the
sound of a clang of instruments was heard behind the clouds, and out
dropped a bag of money upon the head of the village girl’s father,
which knocked him down, and when he got up he was poor old Pantaloon,
with a goat’s beard, and a pig-tail, and a short red mantle, and a
stick. Again a clang of instruments was heard, and a great heavy
stone was seen to fly out of the cloud straight at the glass head of
his Majesty, the King of Bubble Island, which it struck,--and, with a
sound like the breaking of six dozen of soda-water bottles, his head
flew into a million of pieces, and up in its place rose the head of the
Clown, with his mouth wide open!--at the same time all the royal robes
of the King flew up into the air, where they were blown about in all
directions, till they were at last blown quite away, and there was the
Clown, in his ridiculous red and white patch-work dress! Once more was
heard the clang of instruments behind the clouds, and out of the clouds
flew a beautiful bouquet of flowers, which fell upon the head of the
little peasant girl, who instantly turned into the prettiest Columbine
that ever was seen in all the world. She was like the brightest,
silver-footed fairy, and yet at the same time she was such a little
dear sweetheart.

But what do you think happened at this moment? Nobody would ever guess.
It was this. My mamma Lydia was in such excessive delight that she sank
back with her arms thrown up, and totally forgetting me, I slipped over
the edge of the box and fell upon the stage, close to the little silver
feet of Columbine. My mamma did not know I had fallen. Columbine had no
idea where I came from; so the next time she passed the spot where I
lay, she caught me up and ran with me to her room behind the scenes.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER XVII

CONCLUSION


The moment Columbine entered her room she held me up to a good-natured
old lady, who was dressing herself like a scaly green dragon for the
last scene, and cried out, ‘Here’s a pretty doll I have just found on
the stage!’

‘Where did you get it?’ said the good-natured old lady, going to a
looking-glass to fit on the dragon’s head.

‘Oh, grandmother,’ said Columbine, ‘I’ve no time to tell you now, as I
have to dance a hornpipe in the next scene. Take care of her.’ Saying
which, away ran the pretty Columbine.

As soon as the old lady had tied the strings of the dragon’s head under
her chin, so that her face could look through the large red throat and
open mouth of the dragon, she held her head on one side before the
glass and said, ‘There! I think that does very nicely.’ She then folded
me up in a handkerchief, and placed me with their bonnets and shawls.

Here I lay hearing all sorts of noises of trumpets and drums, and
singing and dancing, and tumbling about, and calling out, and laughing,
and fireworks, and the great rolling of many wheels, and loud sounds
of distant applause from the audience. When all was over, I was taken
home by the Columbine and her grandmother. It was a wet night, and they
walked through the rain in shawls and clogs, and holding up a great
umbrella with three slits in the top. They lived in the back parlor
of a small green-grocer’s, near Covent Garden. The bed and the rest of
the furniture were very humble, the hangings of the bed being of grey
draft-board pattern, and the coverlid of the bed of patch-work; but all
looking as clean as it was poor.

I now saw that the pleasant old grandmother, who had acted the green
dragon, was dressed all in brown, even with a brown bonnet and brown
stockings; the umbrella was brown too. Columbine was dressed in a high
frock of grey checked gingham, but very neatly made, and she wore a
small straw cottage bonnet. Under one arm, however, she had a bundle
from which shining things peeped out, and she took a pair of silver
slippers out of her pocket, folded them up in a bit of newspaper, and
placed them in a little band-box, into which I peeped and saw it was
full of precious things. Then down they sat to a supper of boiled eggs,
followed by bread and cheese and porter, and endive and beet-root, and
then they laughed and talked about the Pantomime, and looked at me and
examined my gold bracelet; and then went to bed.

I was placed away very carefully the next morning, as the pretty little
Columbine had too much to do to attend to me. I was therefore, during
all the time of the Pantomime, left quite alone. I, however, employed
my time by thinking very much over my past life, and going over
everything in my own mind from the day of my birth in the room of the
celebrated Mr. Sprat, down to the present time.

When the Christmas Pantomime was over in London, the little Columbine
and her grandmother went into the country, to act at a small theatre
there, and they took me with them. After the performances had gone on
for three weeks, Columbine had a benefit night. The first piece was the
tragedy of ‘Douglas,’ and, as no green dragon was wanted in it, the
grandmother acted Lady Randolph. The little Columbine acted Norval,
with his bow and quiver; she had taken the part, I suppose, on account
of its resemblance to Cupid.

Near the town in which the theatre was, there stood a large country
mansion, called Ashbourn Hall, and the lady of this mansion was very
kind, and took so many tickets for Columbine’s benefit that her party
filled all the three front boxes.

The next morning the pretty little Columbine took me out of the drawer
in which I was lying in the dark, and feeling very dull. I saw that
she looked smiling and happy, and was nicely dressed in a neatly made
blue frock with white sprigs on it, and a new bonnet. ‘Come with me,
Maria Poppet,’ said she, ‘and we shall see if we cannot give them a
little pleasure in return for all their kindness;’--so she wrapped me
up in silver paper, all but my head. I was still dressed in my pretty
muslin frock with pink roses. Away she walked, with me in her hand, to
Ashbourn Hall.

First we came up to the high iron gates, and inside I could see a
very smooth, green lawn, with fine spreading trees about it, and
broad gravel walks, and great, round ever-greens and numbers of gay
flowers, and a round fish-pond with a fountain in the middle, and
beautiful water lilies growing in it. Columbine rang the bell, and a
good-natured looking, fat old man-servant opened the gate, and smiled
when he saw her, as if he remembered her. She said she wished to see
Mrs. Ashbourn, and he asked her to walk in. We went up the gravel walk,
and there was a flight of very white stone steps up to the door, with
large flower-pots on them; and when we got in there was a square lobby
with a billiard table, and large pictures on the walls; and then the
servant threw open a door and showed us into the drawing-room. Oh,
it was such a beautiful room! There was a large, bright, sparkling
fire, and a large bay window opposite, with a most lovely view out of
it, and flower-stands full of geraniums and other flowers in it, and
bright crimson curtains, and a bright carpet, and numbers of sofas and
arm-chairs, and ottomans, and tables with crimson cloths on them, with
large china jars of flowers, and Christmas annuals, and dolls’ books,
and scent bottles, and all manner of pretty things; and book-cases, and
a piano, and harp, and guitar, and there was such a sweet scent in the
room; and there was a German piping bullfinch, who was singing a sweet
waltz, and a large white dog lying asleep on the rug, who, when we came
in, raised his head. But what I liked best of all, was the sight of a
pretty, gentle-looking little girl, about seven years old, who sat on a
sofa, reading to a handsome, kind-looking lady.

The lady, who was Mrs. Ashbourn, rose up and received the little
Columbine very kindly, and the little girl came forward and smiled, and
held out her hand to her, and they made her sit down by them. Then
little Columbine said in the prettiest manner, ‘I am come, ma’am, to
thank you for your kindness to me, and to ask you to allow this young
lady to accept a doll from me.’

Mrs. Ashbourn thanked her, and said her little girl would be delighted
to have such a pretty doll; and so I was placed in the soft little
hands of my present dear mamma, Lucy Ashbourn; and then, after a few
minutes’ more talking, in which a great many flattering things were
said of me, pretty little Columbine took leave, and left me in the
house where I now am.

Here I feel that I am settled for life. Only yesterday, my mamma, as
she was sitting on her papa’s knee, told him that when she grew too old
to play with me, she would give me to her little sister. She takes the
greatest care of me. Everything is made for me just like hers. I have
morning dresses, afternoon dresses, and night-clothes, and a little
chest of drawers to keep my things in. I have a little bed, with white
curtains and nice blankets and sheets, in which my mamma lays me every
night, after undressing me and putting on my night-gown and night-cap;
and in the morning she makes believe to wash me all over, and brushes
my hair, and dresses me. When I go out I have a bonnet and cloak put
on, and I am always dressed for dinner, and have my hair done. I have
also had the happiness to become acquainted with another doll, who
lives in a country-house near ours. At different times, when we have
been sitting in the garden while our mammas played about, she has told
me the history of her life, and I hope at a future time that these
‘Memoirs of a Country Doll’ will be made public, as mine have been.

I now take an affectionate leave of my readers, who may perhaps hear of
me again, when the Country Doll relates her history.




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

  Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.