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[Illustration: Page 59.]
THE
DOLL AND HER FRIENDS;
OR
Memoirs of the Lady Seraphina.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"LETTERS FROM MADRAS," "HISTORICAL CHARADES,"
ETC. ETC.
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY HABLOT K. BROWNE,
ENGRAVED BY BAKER AND SMITH.
BOSTON:
TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS.
MDCCCLII.
PRINTED BY THURSTON, TORRY, AND EMERSON.
PREFACE.
My principal intention, or rather aim, in writing this little Book, was
to amuse Children by a story founded on one of their favorite
diversions, and to inculcate a few such minor morals as my little plot
might be strong enough to carry; chiefly the domestic happiness produced
by kind tempers and consideration for others. And further, I wished to
say a word in favor of that good old-fashioned plaything, the Doll,
which one now sometimes hears decried by sensible people who have no
children of their own.
The Doll and Her Friends.
CHAPTER I.
I belong to a race, the sole end of whose existence is to give pleasure
to others. None will deny the goodness of such an end, and I flatter
myself most persons will allow that we amply fulfil it. Few of the
female sex especially but will acknowledge, with either the smile or the
sigh called forth by early recollections, that much of their youthful
happiness was due to our presence; and some will even go so far as to
attribute to our influence many a habit of housewifery, neatness, and
industry, which ornaments their riper years.
But to our _influence_, our silent, unconscious influence alone, can
such advantages be ascribed; for neither example nor precept are in our
power; our race cannot boast of intellectual endowments; and though
there are few qualities, moral or mental, that have not in their turn
been imputed to us by partial friends, truth obliges me to confess that
they exist rather in the minds of our admirers than in our own persons.
We are a race of mere dependents; some might even call us slaves. Unable
to change our place, or move hand or foot at our own pleasure, and
forced to submit to every caprice of our possessors, we cannot be said
to have even a will of our own. But every condition has its share of
good and evil, and I have often considered my helplessness and
dependence as mere trifles compared with the troubles to which poor
sensitive human beings are subject.
Pain, sickness, or fatigue I never knew. While a fidgetty child cannot
keep still for two minutes at a time, I sit contentedly for days
together in the same attitude; and I have before now seen one of those
irritable young mortals cry at a scratch, while I was hearing needles
drawn in and out of every part of my body, or sitting with a pin run
straight through my heart, calmly congratulating myself on being free
from the inconveniences of flesh and blood.
Of negative merits I possess a good share. I am never out of humor,
never impatient, never mischievous, noisy, nor intrusive; and though I
and my fellows cannot lay claim to brilliant powers either in word or
deed, we may boast of the same qualifications as our wittiest king, for
certainly none of us ever 'said a foolish thing,' if she 'never did a
wise one.'
Personal beauty I might almost, without vanity, call the 'badge of all
our tribe.' Our very name is seldom mentioned without the epithet
_pretty_; and in my own individual case I may say that I have always
been considered pleasing and elegant, though others have surpassed me in
size and grandeur.
But our most striking characteristic is our power of inspiring strong
attachment. The love bestowed on us by our possessors is proof against
time, familiarity, and misfortune:
'Age cannot wither' us, 'nor custom stale'
Our 'infinite variety.'
With no trace of our original beauty left,--dress in tatters, complexion
defaced, features undistinguishable, our very limbs mutilated, the mere
wreck of our former selves,--who has not seen one of us still the
delight and solace of some tender young heart; the confidant of its
fancies, and the soother of its sorrows; preferred to all newer
claimants, however high their pretensions; the still unrivalled
favorite, in spite of the laughter of the nursery and the quiet contempt
of the schoolroom?
Young and gentle reader, your sympathy or your sagacity has doubtless
suggested to you my name. I am, as you guess, a DOLL; and though not a
doll of any peculiar pretensions, I flatter myself that my life may not
be quite without interest to the young lovers of my race, and in this
hope I venture to submit my memoirs to your indulgent consideration.
I am but a small doll; not one of those splendid specimens of wax,
modelled from the Princess Royal, with distinct fingers and toes, eyes
that shut, and tongues that wag. No; such I have only contemplated from
a respectful distance as I lay on my stall in the bazaar, while they
towered sublime in the midst of the toys, the wonder and admiration of
every passing child. I am not even one of those less magnificent, but
still dignified, leathern-skinned individuals, requiring clothes to take
off and put on, and a cradle to sleep in, with sheets, blankets, and
every thing complete. Neither can I found my claim to notice upon any
thing odd or unusual in my appearance: I am not a negro doll, with wide
mouth and woolly hair; nor a doll with a gutta-percha face, which can be
twisted into all kinds of grimaces.
I am a simple English doll, about six inches high, with jointed limbs
and an enamel face, a slim waist and upright figure, an amiable smile,
and intelligent eye, and hair dressed in the first style of fashion. I
never thought myself vain, but I own that in my youth I did pique myself
upon my hair. There was but one opinion about _that_. I have often heard
even grown-up people remark, 'How ingeniously that doll's wig is put on,
and how nicely it is arranged!' while at the same time my rising vanity
was crushed by the insinuation that I had an absurd smirk or a
ridiculous stare.
However, the opinions of human beings of mature age never much disturbed
me. The world was large enough for them and me; and I could contentedly
see them turn to their own objects of interest, while I awaited in calm
security the unqualified praise of those whose praise alone was valuable
to me--their children and grand-children.
I first opened my eyes to the light in the Pantheon Bazaar. How I came
there I know not; my conscious existence dates only from the moment in
which a silver-paper covering was removed from my face, and the world
burst upon my view. A feeling of importance was the first that arose in
my mind. As the hand that held me turned me from side to side, I looked
about. Dolls were before me, dolls behind, and dolls on each side. For a
considerable time I could see nothing else. The world seemed made for
dolls. But by degrees, as my powers of vision strengthened, my horizon
extended, and I perceived that portions of space were allotted to many
other objects. I descried, at various distances, aids to amusements in
endless succession,--balls, bats, battledores, boxes, bags, and baskets;
carts, cradles, and cups and saucers. I did not then know any thing of
the alphabet, and I cannot say that I have quite mastered it even now;
but if I were learned enough, I am sure I could go from A to Z, as
initial letters of the wonders with which I soon made acquaintance.
Not that I at once became aware of the uses, or even the names, of all I
saw. No one took the trouble to teach me; and it was only by dint of my
own intense observation that I gained any knowledge at all. I did not at
first even know that I was a doll. But I made the most of opportunities,
and my mind gradually expanded.
I first learned to distinguish human beings. Their powers of motion made
a decided difference between them and the other surrounding objects, and
naturally my attention was early turned towards the actions of the
shopwoman on whose stall I lived. She covered me and my companions with
a large cloth every night, and restored the daylight to us in the
morning. We were all perfectly helpless without her, and absolutely
under her control. At her will the largest top hummed, or was silent;
the whip cracked, or lay harmlessly by the side of the horse. She moved
us from place to place, and exhibited or hid us at her pleasure; but she
was always so extremely careful of our health and looks, and her life
seemed so entirely devoted to us and to our advantage, that I often
doubted whether she was our property or we hers. Her habits varied so
little from day to day, that after watching her for a reasonable time, I
felt myself perfectly acquainted with _her_, and in a condition to make
observations upon others of her race.
One day a lady and a little girl stopped at our stall.
'Oh, what a splendid doll,' exclaimed the child, pointing to the waxen
beauty which outshone the rest of our tribe. It was the first time I had
heard the word _Doll_, though I was well acquainted with the illustrious
individual to whom it was applied; and it now flashed upon my mind, with
pride and pleasure, that, however insignificant in comparison, I too was
a doll. But I had not time to think very deeply about my name and nature
just then, as I wished to listen to the conversation of the two human
beings.
'May I buy her?' said the little girl.
'Can you afford it?' asked the lady in return. 'Remember your intentions
for your brother.'
'Perhaps I have money enough for both,' answered the child. 'How much
does she cost?'
'Seven shillings,' said the shopwoman, taking the doll from her place,
and displaying her pretty face and hands to the utmost advantage.
'I have three half-crowns,' said the little girl.
'But if you spend seven shillings on the doll,' answered the lady, 'you
will only have sixpence left for the paint-box.'
'What does a paint-box cost?' asked the child.
'We have them of all prices,' replied the shopkeeper; 'from sixpence to
seven shillings.'
The little girl examined several with great care, and stood some time in
deliberation; at last she said, 'I don't think Willy would like a
sixpenny one.'
'It would be of no use to him,' answered the lady. 'He draws well enough
to want better colors. If you gave it to him, he would thank you and try
to seem pleased, but he would not really care for it. However, he does
not know that you thought of making him a birthday present, so you are
at liberty to spend your money as you like.'
'Would he care for a seven shilling one?' asked the little girl.
'Yes; that is exactly what he wants.'
'Then he shall have it,' exclaimed the good-natured little sister. 'Poor
dear Willy, how many more amusements I have than he!'
She bought the best paint-box, and received sixpence in change.
'Is there any thing else I can show you?' asked the shopkeeper.
'No, thank you,' she replied; and turning to the elder lady, she said,
'May we go home at once, Mama? It would take me a long time to choose
what I shall spend my sixpence in, and I should like to give Willy his
paint-box directly.'
'By all means,' answered the lady; 'we will lose no time; and I will
bring you again to spend the sixpence whenever you please.'
Without one backward glance towards the beautiful doll, the child
tripped away by the side of her companion, looking the brightest and
happiest of her kind.
I pondered long upon this circumstance; how long I cannot say, for dolls
are unable to measure time, they can only date from any particularly
striking epochs. For instance, we can say, 'Such an affair happened
before I lost my leg;' or, 'Such an event took place before my new wig
was put on;' but of the intricate divisions known to mortals by the
names of hours, days, months, &c., we have no idea.
However, I meditated on the kind little sister during what appeared to
me a long but not tedious period, for I was gratified at gaining some
insight into the qualities proper to distinguish the human race.
Readiness to show kindness, and a preference of others' interests to her
own, were virtues which I easily perceived in the little girl's
conduct; but one thing perplexed me sadly. I could not understand why a
doll would not have answered her kind intentions as well as a paint-box;
why could she not have bought the doll which she admired so much, and
have given _that_ to her brother.
My thoughts were still engaged with this subject, when a boy approached
the stall. Boys were new characters to me, and I was glad of the
opportunity to observe one. He did not bestow a look on the dolls and
other toys, but asked for a box of carpenter's tools. The shopkeeper
dived into some hidden recess under the counter, and produced a
clumsy-looking chest, the merits of which I could not discover; but the
boy pronounced it to be 'just the thing,' and willingly paid down its
price. I followed him with my eyes as he walked about with his great box
under his arm, looking from side to side, till he caught sight of
another boy rather younger than himself, advancing from an opposite
corner.
'Why, Geoffrey,' exclaimed my first friend, 'where have you been all
this time? I have been hunting every where for you.'
Geoffrey did not immediately answer, his mouth being, as I perceived,
quite full. When at last he could open his lips, he said, 'Will you have
a cheesecake?'
'No, thank you,' replied his friend. 'We must go home to dinner so soon,
that you will scarcely have time to choose your things. Where _have_ you
been?'
'At the pastrycook's stall,' answered Geoffrey; 'and I must go back
again before I can buy any thing. I left my five shillings there to be
changed.'
The boys returned together to the stall, and I saw its mistress hand a
small coin to Geoffrey.
'Where is the rest?' said he.
'That is your change, sir,' she replied.
'Why, you don't mean that those two or three tarts and jellies cost four
and sixpence!' he exclaimed, turning as red as the rosiest doll at my
side.
'I think you will find it correct, sir,' answered the shopkeeper. 'Two
jellies, sixpence each, make one shilling; two custards, sixpence each,
two shillings; a bottle of ginger-beer, threepence, two and threepence;
one raspberry cream, sixpence, two and ninepence; three gooseberry
tarts, threepence, three shillings; two strawberry tarts, three and
twopence; two raspberry ditto, three and fourpence; four cheesecakes,
three and eightpence; two Bath buns, four shillings; and one lemon ice,
four and sixpence.'
'What a bother!' said Geoffrey, as he pocketed the small remains of his
fortune. 'I wish I could give her some of the tarts back again, for they
weren't half so nice as they looked, except just the first one or two.'
'Because you were only hungry for the first one or two,' said the other
boy. 'But it can't be helped now; come and spend the sixpence better.'
'There won't be any thing worth buying for sixpence,' said Geoffrey
gloomily, as he shuffled in a lazy manner towards my stall.
'I want a spade,' said he.
Several were produced, but they cost two shillings or half-a-crown.
There were little wooden spades for sixpence; but from those he turned
with contempt, saying they were only fit for babies. Nothing at our
table suited him, and he walked towards our opposite neighbour, who sold
books, maps, &c. On his asking for a dissected map, all the countries of
the world were speedily offered to his choice; but alas! the price was
again the obstacle. The cheapest map was half-a-crown; and Geoffrey's
sixpence would buy nothing but a childish puzzle of Old Mother Hubbard.
Geoffrey said it was a great shame that every thing should be either
dear or stupid.
'Can't you lend me some money, Ned?' continued he.
'I can't, indeed,' replied the other; 'mine all went in this box of
tools. Suppose you don't spend the sixpence at all now, but keep it till
you get some more.'
'No, I won't do that; I hate saving my money.'
So saying, he wandered from stall to stall, asking the price of every
thing, as if his purse was as full as his stomach.
'How much is that sailor kite?' 'Two shillings, sir.'--'How much is that
bat?' 'Seven and sixpence.'--'How much is that wooden box with secret
drawer?' 'Three shillings.'
'How provoking!' he exclaimed. 'I want heaps of things, and this stupid
sixpence is no good at all.'
'It is better than nothing,' said Edward. 'It is not every day that
one's aunt sends one five shillings, to spend in the bazaar; and in
common times sixpence is not to be despised. After all, there are plenty
of things it will buy. Do you want a top?'
'No; I've got four.'
'Garden seeds?'
'What is the use of them, when I can't get a spade?'
'Steel pens? You said this morning you could not write with quills.'
'I don't like buying those kind of things with my own money.'
'A box? Yesterday you wanted a box.'
'I don't care for boxes that won't lock, and I can't get one with a lock
and key for sixpence.'
'A knife?'
'Sixpenny knives have only one blade; I want two.'
'Sealing-wax? wafers? a penholder? a paint-box? India-rubber? pencils?'
'Stupid things!'
'A ball? You might have a very good ball.'
'Not a cricket ball; and I don't care for any other.'
'What a particular fellow you are! I am sure I could always find
something to spend sixpence in. String? One is always wanting string.
You may have a good ball of whipcord.'
'These sort of places don't sell it.'
'Then, I say again, keep your money till you want it.'
'No, that I'll never do, when I came on purpose to spend it. After all,
the only thing I can think of,' continued Geoffrey, after a pause, 'is
to go back to the pastrycook's. There was one kind of tart I did not
taste, and perhaps it would be nicer than the others. I'll give you one
if you like.'
'No, thank you; I am much obliged to you all the same; but I won't help
you to spend your money in that way. Don't buy any more tarts. Come and
walk about; there are plenty more shops to look at.'
They sauntered on, but Geoffrey, by various turns, worked his way back
to the pastrycook's; and as no persuasions could then bring him away,
Edward walked off, not choosing, as he said, to encourage him.
Presently I saw a tall gentleman enter the bazaar, and I wondered what
he would buy. I did not then understand the difference between grown-up
people and children, and as he approached my stall, I could not repress
a hope that he would buy _me_. But his quick eye glanced over the tables
without resting on any of the toys.
'Can I show you any thing, sir?' said my mistress.
'No, I am much obliged to you,' he answered, with a pleasant smile. 'I
am only in search of some young people who, I dare say, have been better
customers than I. Ah, here they are,' he continued, as the two boys of
whom I had taken so much notice ran up to him from different ends of the
room.
'Well, boys,' said he, 'what have you bought? Must we hire a wagon to
carry your property home?'
'Not quite,' answered Edward. 'I have bought a wagon-load of amusement,
but I can carry it home well enough myself; I have spent all my money in
this box of tools.'
'A very sensible and useful purchase,' said the gentleman; 'they will
give you plenty of pleasant employment. The only objection is, that they
are likely to be lost or broken at school.'
'I do not mean to take them to school, papa. I shall use them in the
holidays, and leave them with Willy when I go back to school; that was
one reason why I bought them. Willy could do a good deal of
carpentering on his sofa.'
[Illustration: Page 25.]
'True, my boy, and a kind thought. They will be a great amusement to
poor Willy, and he will take good care of them for you.'
'Now, Geoffrey, how have you invested your capital? I hope you have
found a strong spade. It is fine weather for gardening.'
'No, I haven't,' stammered Geoffrey.
'Well, what have you bought?'
'I don't know,' said Geoffrey.
'Do you mean that you have not spent your money yet? Make haste, then,
for I can only allow you five minutes more. I expected to find you ready
to go home. Be brisk; there is every thing on that stall that the heart
of boy can wish,' said the gentleman, pointing to my abode.
But Geoffrey did not move. 'I don't want any thing,' said he at last.
'What a fortunate boy!' said the gentleman; but he presently added,
'Have you lost your money?'
'No.'
'Show it to me.'
Geoffrey slowly produced his sixpence, almost hidden in the palm of his
hand.
'Where is the rest?' asked the gentleman. 'Have you spent it?'
'Yes.'
'And nothing to show for it? Nothing?'--and the gentleman looked at the
boy more narrowly. 'Nothing,' said he again, 'except a few crumbs of
pie-crust on your waistcoat? Oh, Geoffrey!'
There was a short silence, and the boy colored a good deal; at last he
said, 'It was my own money.'
'You will wish it was your own again before long, I dare say,' said the
gentleman. 'However, we must hope you will be wiser in time. Come home
now to dinner.'
'I don't want any dinner,' said Geoffrey.
'Probably not, but Edward and I do. We have not dined on tarts; and I
dare say Ned is as hungry as I am.'
So saying, he led the way towards the door, leaving me, as usual,
pondering over what had passed. One word used by the gentleman made a
great impression on me--USEFUL.
What could that mean? Various considerations were suggested by the
question. Some things, it seemed, were useful, others not; and what
puzzled me most was, that the very same things appeared to be useful to
some people, and not to others. For instance, the sixpenny paint-box,
which had been rejected as useless to Willy, was bought soon afterwards
by a small boy, who said it would be the most useful toy he had.
Could this be the case with every thing? Was it possible that every
thing properly applied might have its use, and that its value depended
upon those who used it? If so, why was Geoffrey blamed for spending his
money in tarts? _He_ liked them. Perhaps he had plenty of food at home,
and that uselessness consisted in a thing's not being really wanted. I
revolved the subject in my mind, and tried to discover the use of every
thing I saw, but I was not always successful. The subject was
perplexing; and gradually all my thoughts became fixed on the point of
most importance to myself--namely, my own use.
How changed were my ideas since the time when I imagined the world to
belong to dolls! Their whole race now seemed to be of very small
importance; and as for my individual self, I could not be sure that I
had any use at all, and still less _what_, or _to whom_.
Day after day I lay on my counter unnoticed, except by the shopwoman who
covered us up at night, and re-arranged us in the morning; and even this
she did with such an indifferent air, that I could not flatter myself I
was of the smallest use to _her_. Every necessary care was bestowed upon
me in common with my companions; but I sighed for the tender attentions
that I sometimes saw lavished by children upon their dolls, and wished
that my mistress would nurse and caress me in the same manner.
She never seemed to think of such a thing. She once said I was dusty,
and whisked a brush over my face; but that was the only separate mark of
interest I ever received from her. I had no reasonable ground of
complaint, but I began to grow weary of the insipidity of my life, and
to ask myself whether this could be my only destiny. Was I never to be
of use to any body? From time to time other toys were carried away. Many
a giddy top and lively ball left my side in childish company, and
disappeared through those mysterious gates by which the busy human race
entered our calm seclusion.
At last even dolls had their day. The beautiful waxen princess no longer
graced our dominions. She was bought by an elderly lady for a birthday
present to a little grand-daughter; and on the very same day the 'old
familiar faces' of six dolls who had long shared my counter vanished
from my sight, one after another being bought and carried away.
I was sorry to lose them, though while we lived together we had had our
little miffs and jealousies. I had sometimes thought that the one with
the red shoes was always sticking out her toes; that she of the flaxen
ringlets was ready to let every breath of wind blow them over her
neighbours' faces; that another with long legs took up more room than
her share, much to my inconvenience. But now that they were all gone,
and I never could hope to see them again, I would gladly have squeezed
myself into as small compass as the baby doll in the walnut-shell, in
order to make room for them once more.
One thing, however, was satisfactory: dolls certainly had their use.
Seven had been bought, and therefore why not an eighth? I had been
sinking almost into a state of despondency, but now my hopes revived and
my spirits rose. My turn might come.
And my turn did come. Every circumstance of that eventful day is deeply
impressed on my memory. I was as usual employed in making remarks upon
the passing crowd, and wondering what might be the use of every body I
saw, when I perceived the lady and the little girl who had been almost
my first acquaintances among the human race. As they approached my
stall, I heard the mama say, 'Have you decided what to buy with the
sixpence?'
'Oh yes, quite,' answered the child; 'I am going to buy a _sixpenny
doll_.'
The words thrilled through me; her eyes seemed fixed on mine, and the
sixpence was between her fingers. I imagined myself bought. But she
continued: 'I think, if you don't mind the trouble, I should like to go
round the bazaar first, to see which are the prettiest.'
'By all means,' replied the lady; and they walked on, carrying all my
hopes with them.
I had often fancied myself the prettiest doll of my size in the place;
but such conceit would not support me now. I felt that there were
dozens, nay scores, who more than equalled me; and all discontented
notions of my neglected merit now sunk before the dread that I had
really no merit to neglect.
I began also to have some idea of what was meant by time. My past life
had glided away so imperceptibly, that I did not know whether it had
been long or short; but I learnt to count every moment while those two
mortals were walking round the bazaar.
I strained my eyes to catch sight of them again; but when at last they
re-appeared, I scarcely dared to look, for fear of seeing a doll in the
child's hands. But no; her hands were empty, except for the sixpence
still between her finger and thumb.
They came nearer--they stopped at another stall; I could not hear what
they said, but they turned away, and once more stood opposite to me. The
child remained for some moments as silent as myself, and then exclaimed,
'After all, Mama, I don't think there are any prettier dolls than these
in the whole room.'
'What do you say to this one, Miss?' said our proprietor, taking up a
great full-dressed Dutch doll, and laying her on the top of those of my
size and class, completely hiding the poor little victims under her
stiff muslin and broad ribbons.
But on the child's answering, 'No, thank you, I only want a sixpenny
doll not dressed,' the Dutch giantess was removed, and we once more
asserted our humble claims.
'That seems to me a very pretty one,' said the mama, pointing to my next
neighbour. The child for a moment hesitated, but presently exclaimed in
a joyful tone, 'Oh no, _this_ is the beauty of all; this little darling
with the real hair and blue ribbon in it; I will take this one, if you
please.' And before I could be sure that she meant me, I was removed
from my place, wrapped up in paper, and consigned to her hands. My
long-cherished wishes were fulfilled, and I was bought. At first I could
scarcely believe it. Notwithstanding all my planning and looking
forward to this event, now that it really happened, I could not
understand it. My senses seemed gone. What had so long occupied my mind
was the work of a moment; but that moment was irrevocable, and my fate
was decided. In my little mistress' hands I passed the boundaries of the
world of toys, and entered upon a new state of existence.