_August._--What has happened to me? Where have I been all this time? Let me collect myself, and see how much I remember. My last clear recollection is of being in my carriage on my way to receive the departing Ball's last sigh.... Something has started the clockwork. My ponies are bolting, and I haven't the _slightest_ control over them! We are rushing along the smooth plain of the chest of drawers, and rapidly nearing the edge. I try to scream for help, but all I can utter is, "Papa!" and "Mamma!" All at once I see _him_ standing, calm and collected, on the very brink of the precipice. Is he strong enough to stop the ponies in their mad clockwork career, and save me, _even yet_?

_How_ I will love him if he does! An instant of sickening suspense ...

we are _over_!--falling down, down, down.... A crash, a whirr of clockwork, a rush of bran to my head--and I know no more. What follows is a dream--a horrible, confused nightmare--of lying among a heap of limp bodies--some armless, some legless, others (ah! the horror of it) _headless_! I grope blindly for my own limbs--they are intact; then I feel the place where I naturally expect to find my head--it is _gone_!... The shock is too much--I faint once more. And that is all.

Thank goodness, it was only a dream--for here I am, in the same old nursery again! Not _all_ a dream, either--or my pony-carriage would scarcely present such a damaged appearance. The _accident_ was real.

Then what--_what_ has become of Joseph? I _must_ find him--I must make him understand that I repent--that, for the future, I intend to be a changed doll!

_September._--Still searching for Joseph. No trace of him. I seem to be a changed doll in more ways than one. My former set knows me not. The Ninepins do not stagger when I smile at them now; the Dice-box gapes open-mouthed at my greeting. I call upon the Composition Dolls--they are very polite; but it is quite clear that they don't remember me in the least! Alas! how soon one is forgotten in the world of Toys! Have no heart to recall myself to them. I go, for the first time since my accident, to a convenient bra.s.s k.n.o.b, in which I would once gaze at my reflected features by the hour. How indescribable are my sensations at the discovery that I have a _totally new head_--a china one! I, who used to look down on china dolls! It is a very decent head, in its way; quite neat and inoffensive, with smooth, shiny hair, which won't come down like the golden locks I _once_ had. I am glad--yes, _glad_ now--that Joseph has gone, and the home he used to occupy is deserted, and shut up. If he were here, _he_ would not know me either. Now I can live single all my remaining days, in memory of him, and devote myself to doing good!

_October._--Have entered on my new career. Am organising a Mission for Lost Toys, and a Clothing Club for Rag Dolls. To-day, while "slumming"

in the lumber-closet, found my old acquaintance, the Dutch Doll in a _shocking_ state of dest.i.tution--nothing on her but a piece of _tattered tissue-paper_! To think that my evil example and her own _senseless extravagance_ have brought her to _this_! Gave her one of my old tea-gowns and a Sunday domino, but did not reveal myself. Feeling very sad and lonely: think I shall have to keep a mouse--I must have _something_ to love me!

_October 15._--Someone has taken poor dear Joseph's old house. I see a new doll, with a small but worldly black moustache and a very bad countenance, watching me as I pa.s.s the windows. Shall call and leave a scripture brick. It may do him good.

_October 16._--Have called.... _Never_ heard worse language from the lips of _any_ doll! Came across my old admirer, the Ball, who is better, though still what I have heard the nursery governess describe as an "_oblate spheroid_." Of course, he did not recognise me.

_December._--Have seen a good deal of the Doll with the worldly moustache lately. From certain symptoms, do not despair of reforming him--ultimately. He seems softening. Yesterday he told me he did not think he should live long. Yet he has a splendid const.i.tution--the best porcelain. He is dreadfully cynical--seems so reckless about everything.

If I could only reclaim him--for Joseph's sake!

This afternoon I saw the yellow stand which the Wooden Captain used to occupy. What memories it recalled, ah me! Can he have disgraced himself and been "broke"? And am _I_ responsible?

_Christmas Eve._--Am sitting in my corner, my mouse curled comfortably at my feet, when the Walking Postman comes up with a letter--for _me_!

It is from the Wicked Doll! He is very ill--_dying_, he thinks--and wishes to see me. How well I remember that _other_ message which Joseph--but Joseph is taken, and the Ball still bounds! Well, I will go.

It will be something to tell my Diary.

_Christmas Day._--Something _indeed_! How shall I begin my wondrous _incredible_ tale? I reached the Doll's House, which looked gloomier and more deserted than ever, with the sullen glow of the dying fire reflected redly in its windows. The green door stood open--I went in.

"Ha, ha! _trapped_!" cried a sneering voice behind me. It was the Wicked Doll! His letter was a _ruse_--he was as well as I was--and I--I was shut up there in that lonely house, entirely at his mercy!... It was a frightful position for any doll to be placed in; and yet, looking back on it now, I don't think I minded it so _very_ much.

"Listen!" he said, in response to my agonized entreaties. "Long, long ago, when I was young and innocent, a beautiful but heartless being bewitched me, kid and bran! I told my love--she mocked at me. Since then I have sworn, though she has escaped me, to avenge myself by sacrificing the life of the first doll I could entice into my power. _You_ are that doll. You must die!"... "I am quite prepared," I told him--"do your worst!" which seemed to confuse him very much. "I will," he said, "presently--presently; there is no hurry. You see," he explained, in a tone almost of apology, "in endeavouring to save her life (it was my last good action) I got my head smashed, and received the subst.i.tute I now wear, which, as you will observe, is that of an unmitigated villain.

And it's no use having a head like that if you don't live _up_ to it--_is_ it, now? So--as I think I observed before--prepare for the worst!" "Don't talk about it any more--_do_ it!" I said, and I breathed Joseph's name softly. But the Wicked Doll did nothing at all. I began to feel safer--it was so obvious that he hadn't the faintest notion _what_ to do. "She treated me abominably," he said feebly; "_any_ doll would have been annoyed at the heartless way in which Gloriana----"

I could contain my feelings no longer.

"Joseph!" I gasped (I had lost all fear of him), "you ridiculous old goose, don't you _know_ me? _I_ am Gloriana, and I have found you at last!" And with that I flung myself into his arms, and told him everything. I think he was more relieved than anything. "So _you_ are Gloriana!" he said. "It's dreadfully bewildering; but, to tell you the honest truth, I can't keep up this villainy business any longer. I haven't been brought up to it, and I don't understand how it's done. So I tell you what we'll do. If you'll leave off living up to _your_ new head, I won't try to live up to _mine_!" And so we settled it.

_Postscript. December 31._--We are to be married to-morrow. The Dutch Doll is to be my bridesmaid, and the Wooden Captain (who was only away on sick leave, after all) is coming up to be best man. I have seen the poor old Ball, and told him there will always be a corner for him in our new home. I am very, _very_ happy. To think that Joseph should still care for his poor Gloriana, altered and homely as her once lovely features have now become! But Joseph (who is leaning over my shoulder and reading every word I write) stops me here to a.s.sure me that I am lovelier than ever in _his_ eyes. And really--I don't know--perhaps I _am_. And in _other_ persons' eyes, too, if it comes to that. I certainly don't intend to give up society just because I happen to be _married_!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

ELEVATING THE Ma.s.sES.

(A PURELY IMAGINARY SKETCH.)

_ARGUMENT--MRS. FLITTERMOUSE, having got up a party to a.s.sist her in giving an Entertainment at the East End, has called a meeting for the purpose of settling the items in the programme._

_MRS. FLITTERMOUSE'S Drawing-room in Park Lane. Everybody discovered drinking tea, and chatting on matters totally unconnected with Philanthropy._

MRS. FLITTERMOUSE (_imploringly_). Now, _please_, everybody, _do_ attend! It's quite impossible to settle anything while you're all talking about something else. (_Apologies, protests, constrained silence._) Selina, dear, what do you think it would be best to begin with?

The DOWAGER LADY DAMPIER. My dear Fritilla, I have no suggestion to offer. You know my opinion about the whole thing. The people don't want to be elevated, and--if they did--entertaining them is not the proper means to set about it. But I don't wish to discourage you.

MRS. FLITT. Oh, but I think we could do so _much_ to give them a taste for more rational and refined amus.e.m.e.nts, poor things, to wean them from the coa.r.s.e pleasures which are all they have at present. Only we must really decide what each of us is going to do.

MRS. PERSE-WEAVER. A violin solo is always popular. And my daughter Cecilia will be delighted to play for you. She has been taught by the best----

CECELIA. Oh, Mother, I couldn't, really! I've never played in public. I _know_ I should break down!

LADY DAMP. In that case, my dear, it would be certainly unwise on your part to attempt it.

MRS. P.-W. Nonsense, Cecilia, nonsense. You _won't_ break down, and it wouldn't matter in the least if you did. _They_ wouldn't notice anything. And it will be such excellent practice for you to get accustomed to a platform, too. Of _course_ she will play for you, dear Mrs. Flittermouse!

MRS. FLITT. It will be _so_ good of you, Miss Weaver. And it won't be like playing to a _real_ audience, you know--poor people are so easily pleased, poor dears. Then I will put that down to begin with. (_She makes a note._) Now we must have something quite different for the next--a reading or something.

LADY HONOR HYNDLEGGS. A--nothin' _humorous_, I hope. I do think we ought to avoid anythin' like descendin' to their level, don't you know.

MR. LOVEGROOVE. Might try something out of _Pickwick_. "_Bob Sawyer's Party_," you know. Can't go far wrong with anything out of d.i.c.kens.

MISS DIOVA ROSE. Can't endure him myself. All his characters are so fearfully common; still--(_tolerantly_) I daresay it might amuse--a--that cla.s.s of persons.

MRS FLITT. I must say I agree with Lady Honor. We should try and aim as high as possible--and well, I think _not_ d.i.c.kens, dear Mr. Lovegroove.

_Tennyson_ might do perhaps; he's written some charmin' pieces.

MR. LOVEGR. Well, fact is, I don't go in for poetry much myself. But I'll read anythin' of his you think I'm equal to.

MRS. FLITT. Why--a--really, it's so long since I--and I'm afraid I haven't one of his poems in the house. I suppose they are down at Barn-end. But I could send to Cutt and Hawthorn's. I daresay _they_ would have a copy somewhere.

MISS SIBSON-GABLER. Surely Tennyson is rather--a--retrograde? Why not read them something to set them _thinking_? It would be an interesting experiment to try the effect of that marvellous Last Scene in the _Doll's House_. I'd love to read it. It would be like a breath of fresh air to them!

MRS. P.-W. Oh, I've seen that at the Langham Hall. You remember, Cecilia, my taking you there? And Corney Grain played _Noah_. To be sure--we were _quite_ amused by it all.

MISS S.-G. (_coldly_). This is _not_ amusing--it's a play of Ibsen's.

MRS. FLITT. Is that the man who wrote the piece at the Criterion--what is it, _The Toy Shop_? Wyndham acted in it.

LADY DAMP. No, no; IBSEN is the person there's been all this fuss about in the papers--he goes in for unconventionality and all that. I may be wrong, but I think it is _such_ a mistake to have anything unconventional in an entertainment for the people.

MRS. FLITT. But if he's being _talked_ about, dear Lady Dampier, people might like to know something about him. But perhaps we'd better leave Ibsen open, then. Now, what shall we have next?

MISS SKIPWORTH. I tell you what would fetch them--a skirt-dance. I'll dance for you--like a shot. It would be no end of fun doin' it on a regular platform, and I've been studyin' Flossie Frillington, at the Inanity, till I've caught her style exactly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "To-night is ours!"]

MR. KEMPTON. Oh, I say, you can give her a stone and a beatin' any day, give you my word you can. She doesn't put anythin' like the go into it you do.