The Doll and Her Friends

The Doll and Her Friends, by
Unknown

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Title: The Doll and Her Friends or Memoirs of the Lady Seraphina
Author: Unknown
Illustrator: Hablot K. Browne
Release Date: June 18, 2007 [EBook #21861]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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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