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.