OF all the sweet little ten-year old maidens that ever laughed and danced through their happy lives, I don’t suppose one had such a wonderful doll’s house, or such a fine family of dolls, as Lina.  Let me describe the family and their residence.

In one of the upper rooms of Lina’s house you would see, if you happened to walk in, another whole house built.  It is two stories high:  its front is red brick; and a flight of brown stone steps, made of sand-paper glued over wood, leads up to the entrance.  It has real sashes in the windows, which open French fashion; a silver door-plate, with the name of “Montague” upon it; and a little mat, about as large as a half dollar, on the upper step!  If we could make ourselves as small as dolls, we might walk in, and find out that the hall has a dark wood floor, some cunning little pictures hanging on the wall, a noble black walnut staircase, and is lighted with a real little hall lamp.

The parlor, on one side of this hall, has a velvet carpet on the floor, satin chairs and sofas, a centre table covered with tiny books, an etagere full of ornaments, and a wicker-work flower stand filled with flowers.  Real little mantel and pier glasses are over the fire place, and between the front windows, which are hung with elegant lace curtains; and there is, besides, a piano-forte, a gold chandelier stuck full of china wax-candles, and a little clock that can wind up though as to its going, that has to be imagined, for it obstinately represents the time as a quarter to twelve, morning, noon, and night!

On the opposite side of the hall is the dining-room.  It is furnished with a fine side-board, holding a silver tea-set and some tiny glass goblets and decanters; a round table, which is abominably disorderly, it must be confessed, being spread with a table cloth all awry, and covered with a grand dinner of wooden chickens and vegetables of various sorts; a mould of yellow-glass jelly, and a pair of fancy fruit dishes, made of cream candy.  The dining-room chairs, with real leather seats, are scattered about, and there is even the daily newspaper thrown down on the floor, where the master of the house may have left it!  Up stairs there are three bedrooms, furnished in the same fashionable style; and, in short, such an elegant doll’s house is not to be found anywhere but in a French toy shop.  This one was brought from Paris by Lina’s elder brother, and set up in this very room last Christmas as a surprise for his dear little sister.  But it is time I should describe the family who lived in this elegant mansion.  So, little reader, if you will only take fast hold of the end of the author’s pen, shut up your eyes tight, and then open them very quick on this page, heigh! presto! you and she will be turned into little personages just the size of dolls, able to walk up the brown stone steps, enter the house, and take a peep at the Montague family.

On a lounge by the parlor fire sits an elegant lady, who is rather skimpy about the wig, and therefore holds the honorable post of mamma to the family; as this circumstance, combined with her looking excessively inky about the nose, gives her a somewhat aged and anxious appearance.  She wears a blue silk dress with five flounces, a lace cap, and a watch and chain; and her name is Mrs. Charles Augustus Montague.  Her husband, Mr. Charles Augustus, is a china doll with a crop of rather scrubby flaxen hair, which can be combed and brushed as much as Lina chooses.  Although he is so rich, he has only one suit of clothes, and must even go to parties in a pair of checked gingham trowsers, a red vest, and a blue coat with brass buttons!  He is supposed to be down town at present, which circumstance is represented by his being unceremoniously thrust into a corner upside down.

Several smaller wax and china boys and girls represent the family of the ill-used Mr. Montague; but the belle of the whole doll-community is his eldest daughter, Miss Isabella Belmont Montague.  She is a waxen young lady of the most splendid description; her hair is arranged like the empress’, whom, indeed, she greatly resembles; her feet and hands are of wax, and she has more dresses than I can possibly count.  I am afraid you will scarcely believe me, but she actually has a real little ermine muff and tippet, a pair of india-rubbers, an umbrella, a camels’ hair shawl, and real corsets! and was won, with all her wardrobe, at one of the raffles in the great Union Bazaar.  You went there, didn’t you you cunning little kitten? and saw all the dolls?  I hope you got one too, so I do, certainly!

Besides the Montague family, there is a numerous colony of other dolls; but they, poor things, live in any corner where Lina chooses to put them; and all day Sunday are shut up in a dark closet, with nothing to do but count their fingers and toes, if they can contrive to see them; though they have nearly as fine a wardrobe for Lina’s great amusement, next to playing with the whole colony, is to make new dresses for them.

One Saturday afternoon, Lina was playing with her dolls in the baby house, with two of her little neighbors, Minnie and Maggie Elliott, to keep her company.  It was a dark, rainy sort of day; but what difference did that make to the children? They never wanted to make a parcel of stupid morning calls, or go out shopping and spend all their money on silly finery; no they were full of their play in the house, and didn’t care a doll’s shoe-string how hard it rained.

“Oh, dear!” said Lina at last; “seems to me this play is getting very stupid!  I wish we knew something else to play at but everlasting ‘house!’”

“I’ll tell you what would be great fun!” said little Minnie, looking wise.  “You know, Lina, we spent a week once in the country with ’Alice Nightcaps;’ and her sister, ‘Aunt Fanny’s’ daughter, showed us such a nice, funny play!  Instead of our being mothers, and aunts, and fathers, and the dolls our children, the dolls were all the people themselves, and we moved them about and spoke for them.”

“Yes, it was such a nice plan!” said Maggie; “you can’t think, Lina.  Suppose we divide these dolls into families, and play that Miss Isabella Belmont Montague was going to be married, and all about it.”

“Oh, yes! yes! that will be splendid!” cried Lina.  “Whom will you manage, Maggie?”

“I’d rather have Miss Isabella,” said Maggie.

“And I want Mr. Morris,” said Minnie.  “He shall be the lover.”

“Very well, then I’ll make the father and mother talk,” said Lina, generously taking the less splendid dolls, without a word of mean complaint, such as “There, you hateful thing, you always want the best;” or, “I do wish I could do as I like with my own dolls!” forgetting that company must be allowed to take the best always.  The other dolls were equally divided between the children, and then Lina exclaimed, with a delighted little skip in the air, “Now, we are all ready to begin!  Come, girls, what time shall it be?”

“Oh, have them at breakfast!” chimed both the little visitors; and so, in defiance of the parlor clock, the time of day was supposed to be eight in the morning.  The children, with many little chuckling pauses, while they considered what to do next, twitched the unlucky table cloth straight, put the tea-set on the table, and gave the family a wooden beefsteak for breakfast, and a large plateful of wooden buttered toast, which came from a box full of such indigestible dainties.  Then they fished Mr. Charles Augustus Montague out of the corner, and set him upright in a chair at the head of the table, with his newspaper fastened in his hands, by having a couple of large pins stuck through it and them.  The points of the pins showed on the other side, and looked as if he had a few extra finger nails growing on the backs of his hands.  Quite a curiosity he’d have been for Barnum’s Museum, wouldn’t he? you precious little old toad.

Mrs. Montague was seated behind the tea-tray, and Miss Isabella was reclining on a sofa up stairs, as if she was too lazy to come down when the rest of the family did.  As the front door was only large enough for the dolls, the whole back of the house came away.  Lina and her visitors delightedly sat down cross-legged on the floor behind it, and the play began, the children talking for the dolls.

MRS. MONTAGUE. (Lina speaks for her in a fine voice.) I wish you would lay down your paper a moment, Charles; I want to speak to you.

MR. M. Well, my dear, I am listening.

MRS. M. No, you are not; put down the paper! [As this couldn’t very well be done by the gentleman himself, Maggie twitched it away for him, and threw it under the table.]

MRS. M. Now, Charles, I must say I think it is high time Isabella was married.  She is most six months old, I declare! and it strikes me we had better see if we can find her a husband.

MR. M. What you say is very sensible, my dear; so I will call to-day on my friend Mr. Morris, and invite him to dinner.  Perhaps they will fall in love with each other.

MRS. M. Oh! but is he handsome, Mr. Montague?

MR. M. Handsome!  I should rather think so!  Why, he is nearly two feet high, with curly black hair; a nose that can be seen at the side which is more than yours can be, Mrs. Montague and eyes which open and shut of themselves when he lies down or sits up.  Then he is a Seventh Regimenter, too, and always wears his uniform; which makes him look very genteel.

MRS. M. Oh, I am sure he must be lovely!  Do bring him to dinner this very day.

Here Maggie made the dining-room door open, and in walked Miss Isabella.  She wore a pink merino morning dress, open in front, to show her embroidered petticoat, a pair of bronze slippers with pink bows, and a net with steel beads in it.  Maggie set her down hard in one of the chairs, and pushed her up to the table; while Minnie, who moved the nigger boy doll, who waited on table, picked him up by his woolly top-knot, from the floor, where he had tumbled, and made him hand the young lady a cup of tea.  Then Maggie began: 

MISS ISABELLA.  Dear me, mamma! this tea’s as cold as a stone!  I wish you would have breakfast a little later; as I’m so tired when I come home from a party, that I can’t think of getting up at seven o’clock.

MRS. M. But you must get up, my love.  Besides, we want plenty of time to-day, so’s we can be ready; for we are going to have company to dinner.

ISABELLA.  Who is coming, mamma?

MRS. M. Mr. Morris, my dear.

ISABELLA.  Oh, I am so glad!

MRS. M. Yes, you’re going to be married to-morrow, my dear; we will invite all our relations and friends, and you must have a white satin wedding dress; you certainly must.

ISABELLA.  How nice!  S’pose we go out and buy it now.

MRS. M. We can’t go to-day; it’s our eceptin (reception) day, you know.

MR. M. Well, I ’spect I must go down town.  Good-by, my dears.  I shall certainly ask Mr. Morris to dinner.  He’s a very nice young man for a small dinner party.

So the children made Mr. Montague kiss his wife and daughter; which they did by bumping his china nose against their cheeks, until it nearly made a dent in the wax; and then pranced him down the front steps, and put him in his corner again.

Then Minnie’s doll came in.  She took up Mr. Morris, a composition doll, in a Seventh Regiment uniform, who had been bought at a fair, and began moving him across the floor until he was opposite the door.  Then she commenced talking.

MR. MORRIS.  Why, I declare! here is Mr. Montague’s house.  I think I will go in and make a call.

And he ran up the steps, and pretended to ring the bell; but as it was only a handle, Lina rang the dinner bell instead.

MR. MORRIS.  It’s very funny they don’t answer the bell! 
(Ting-a-ling-ling.) Come! make haste, I want to get in.

Here Minnie took up Toby, the black boy, carried him to the front door, and kindly opened it for him.

TOBY.  Laws, massa! is dat you?  I was jus’ tastin’ de jolly, to be sure it was good for dinner! so I couldn’t come no sooner.

MR. MORRIS.  Is Miss Isabella Belmont Montague at home?

TOBY.  Yes, massa, de ladies is to hum; walk in de parlor.

So Mr. Morris came in (with Minnie’s hand behind him), and sat down on the sofa.  It was rather small for him, and he covered it up so much that there wasn’t a bit of room for Miss Isabella, when she came down.  Maggie had dressed her meanwhile in her green silk skirt, which had real little three-cornered pockets, with an embroidered pocket handkerchief sticking out of one, and her white tucked waist.

Up jumped Mr. Morris, and made her such an elegant bow, that his cap, which he was obliged to keep on all the time, in consequence of the strap being glued fast under his chin, fell all to one side; and looked as if the top of his head had accidentally come off and been stuck on crooked.

MR. MORRIS.  Good morning, Miss Isabella; how do you do?

Isabella.  Very well, thank you.  How do you do, Mr. Morris?

MR. MORRIS.  Oh, Miss Isabella, I should be quite well if I hadn’t sitch a pain in my heart!

ISABELLA.  A pain in your heart!  What makes you have that, Mr. Morris?

MR. MORRIS.  YOU!

ISABELLA.  I!

MR. MORRIS.  Oh, Miss Isabella, you can’t think how I adore you!  I love you so much that it makes my eyes shut up when I don’t want them to; and my heart beats so that it shakes my cap all to one side!

ISABELLA.  Dear me, Mr. Morris, you are quite afflitted! but never mind papa is going to have you to dinner to-day; you’d better go right down town, so he can ask you.

MR. MORRIS.  But I can’t eat any dinner, Miss Isabella, without you will marry me!

Here Minnie tried to make Mr. Morris pop down on his knees; but as he wasn’t a jointed doll, he lost his balance, and tumbled flat on his face instead.

MISS ISABELLA.  Here, what are you doing? get up, do, and stop your noise! [For Minnie couldn’t help a long-sounding o h! when her doll flopped down.  So Maggie made the young lady catch hold of Mr. Morris’s shoulder straps and help twitch him on the sofa again, to go on with his proposal.]

MR. MORRIS.  Will you marry me, Miss Isabella?  I’m such a nice young man you don’t know and we’ll live in a real pretty house.

MISS ISABELLA.  No, I can’t marry you till after you have come to dinner; mamma said so.

MR. MORRIS.  Well, then, I must wait; but only say that you will have me.

ISABELLA.  Oh, yes!

At this point the children laid down the dolls and broke into such a merry trill of laughter, that it would have done anybody’s heart good to hear them.  It seemed so funny to have the dolls making love in this fashion, they couldn’t help it.  As soon as they were sober again, the play went on thus: 

MR. MORRIS.  Well, Miss Isabella, I b’lieve I must go now; I’ve got an old sister at home, who will scold me if I don’t come back.  Can’t you ’vite her too?  She has a pretty bad time, poor thing! ’cause she is so oldy that she is kept on a shelf till she’s all dusty.  Her wig is dreadful fuzzy, and some of it comes out and stands up at the top.  But I’ll dust her well and stick a pin in her wig to keep it on, and make her look real nice, if you’ll only ask her.

ISABELLA.  Well, I guess she can come; but she must have a new dress for the wedding.

MR. MORRIS.  Yes, she shall, certainly.  Good-by, Miss Isabella.  I’m going down town pretty soon, so your father can ask me to come.

MISS ISABELLA.  Oh yes, do!  I want you to come velly much.

“Now, Maggie, we must stop the play a little while,” said Lina, “and fix the dinner for them.”

“Yes, do,” cried Maggie; “let’s see, what shall be for dinner?”

“Oh, chicken, that’s the nicest!” said Minnie.

“No, they had chicken yesterday,” said Lina; “let them have roast beef.”

“Very well,” went on Maggie, who was looking over the dishes in the box of “eatables,” as Lina called them.  “Roast beef, mashed potatoes, and macaroni.”

“Oh, not macaroni,” cried Minnie; “the cheese will bite their tongues.”

“Oh, yes!  Mr. Morris likes macaroni,” said her sister.

“Well, macaroni, then; and plum-pudding for dessert and apples.”

“Ah, make them have jelly,” said Lina; “that’s the prettiest thing in the box.”

So the dinner was hunted out, and the three children set the table in fine style; while Toby, the black boy, whose business it certainly was to have done it, sat coolly in Mr. Montague’s armchair, with his master’s newspaper in his lap, and goggled at the table without moving an inch.  Then Lina dressed Mrs. Montague, and Maggie and Minnie together dressed Miss Isabella; and nobody dressed poor Mr. Morris, or Mr. Charles Augustus Montague; because they unluckily had but one suit a piece, sewed fast on to them at that.

This time Miss Isabella wore a pink silk frock, with a deep puffing round the bottom, finished at each edge with black velvet.  Then she had a long pink sash, edged with two rows of narrow black velvet; a pointed belt encircled her waist, and the body of her dress was a mass of puffs, with narrow black velvet between.  On her head was a pink wreath, with long ribbon ends hanging down her back; and tied fast to her wrist was a pink feather fan with gold sticks.  In fact, Miss Isabella looked rather as if she were going to a party than coming down to dinner; but the children thought the pink silk so charming, that she must wear it, whether or no.

Mrs. Montague wore a purple silk, a black lace shawl, and a head-dress of pink rosebuds and black lace.

When the ladies were fairly seated in the parlor, Lina rang the bell, and Minnie and Maggie made Mr. Morris come in, leading his sister by the hand.  She was a dismal object to behold, sure enough! and if she could have blushed for herself, I think she certainly would.  She wore a green barege dress, trimmed with flaming red ribbons; some of the gathers were out at the waist, and her petticoat showed at the bottom.

Mr. Morris, or Minnie I don’t know which had stuck the ends of her wig down for her once, but they had come up again, and looked as if her hair had taken to growing with the roots uppermost.  The end of her nose was blacker than Mrs. Montague’s, and her eyes, which moved with a wire like other wax dolls, had got out of order somehow, and remained stationary, with nothing but the whites showing; and, altogether, poor Miss Morris looked like a two-legged rag-bag come home from the wars, with both eyes out, half a nose, and no hair worth mentioning.

Lina made Mr. Montague come home as soon as she was rid of the dinner bell; and after they had all shaken hands until their wax and kid and china wrists must have ached, the company rather unceremoniously marched right into the dining-room.  I suppose Mr. Montague was tremendously hungry, and gave his wife’s hand a good pinch when he shook it, to make her hurry things up; but, however that may be, they were walked in to dinner in straight order.  Mr. Morris sat by Miss Isabella, with his forlorn old sister on the other hand, and as the opposite side of the table looked rather bare, Minnie proposed that some of the children should come down to fill up.

“Oh, yes and let them be dreadfully naughty and do all sorts of mischief,” said Maggie.  So Miss Angelina Seraphina Montague, and Master Algernon Pop-eyes Montague (so called because he had glass eyes, which stuck out in a lobster-ish fashion), were sent for in a hurry and brought down by their nurse, a beautiful doll dressed as a French bonne, and Maggie.  Algernon wore the costume of a sailor boy, and Angelina was no other than a nun in a black robe!  But never mind, they did very well to fill up, and sat smirking at the company very genteelly.

So, then, Lina made Mr. Montague begin.

MR. MONT.  Will you take some roast beef, Miss Morris?

ALGERNON.  No, papa, help me first!

MR. M. Algy Pop-eyes Montague! be still!  Here, Toby, hand Miss Morris her plate.

ALGY.  Don’t you do it, Toby!

MRS. M. Hush up, you naughty boy!

MR. M. Mr. Morris, here’s some meat for you.

MRS. M. Take some macaroni, Mr. Morris; it’s real good.

MR. MORRIS.  Thank you, ma’am; I think I will.

So the company were helped; though, as the meat and vegetables were glued fast to the dishes they were on, I’m afraid they must have had rather a slim dinner.

Then Maggie went on.

MISS ISABELLA.  Mr. Morris, I think I am rather tired of that uniform of yours; it makes you look too high in the neck.  When we are married, you ought to have a dress coat.

ANGELINA.  H-a! h-a-a-a! he hasn’t got any other coat! I wouldn’t marry an old goose with only one suit!

MRS. M. For shame, Miss! your father hadn’t but one when we were married; but, bless me! what is Algernon doing?

Sure enough, Master Algy was doing something extraordinary, for Maggie had made him overset the dish of potatoes in the middle of the table, and then jump up and sit on the back of his chair, with both legs in the air!

MRS. M. My pasence! what a naughty boy!  Toby, take this bad boy right up stairs; I am socked! (shocked.)

ALGY.  Oh, boo-hoo! boo-hoo! please let me stay!

MRS. M. Well, then, behave yourself.

MISS MORRIS.  Mrs. Montague, I think you had better send your children away; they are too bad for anything.

ANGELINA.  Oh! oh!  I wouldn’t be your child for a dollar! ("That’s just what I say to my big sister!” put in Maggie in her proper person.)

MRS. M. Oh, they are dear little things; they only do it in fun, Miss Morris.

MR. MORRIS.  Well, I don’t see it.  If they were my children, I should lock them up in a dark closet.

MISS MORRIS.  So should I.

ANGELINA.  H-a! h-a-a-a! that’s just where you are kept yourself!

MISS MORRIS.  Oh, I shall faint!

MRS. M. Angelina! you sha’n’t have any pudding for being so bad.  There, I guess it’s time for dessert,” and without condescending to ask if the company were through dinner, Mrs. Montague, with a wave of her lily-white kid hand, ordered Toby to clear away the dishes; and, the pudding and jelly being put on the table, Lina went on: 

MR. M. Miss Morris, have some plum-pudding?

TOBY.  No, take some ob de jolly, missis; he so jolly good! I taste um!

Mr. M. Toby, I am astonissed!  I shall have to discharge you to-morrow.

“And have an Irishman come!” cried Minnie; “and talk funny, like our Patrick!”

“Yes, that will be real fun!” said Lina.  “There, they have had dinner enough; let them go in the parlor now.”

Accordingly, the company had their chairs pushed back for them and were taken into the parlor, all but the naughty children, who had to be sent straight to bed, they were so bad.  Mr. and Mrs. Montague took possession of the arm chairs, as they were the oldest; Miss Morris was accommodated with an uncommonly hard ottoman without any back, in the corner; Mr. Morris plumped down on the sofa, as that was the only seat large enough for him, and the play went on (Minnie speaking).

MR. MORRIS.  Miss Isabella, I wish you would sing us a song.

ISABELLA.  Oh, really, I have sitch a bad cold.  I don’t think I can.

MR. MORRIS.  Oh, please do, Miss Isabella!  Sing that pretty song about the little milkmaid.

ISABELLA.  Well, I’ll see if I can.

So Maggie made the young lady take a funny little scrap of music out of the stand (called a Canterbury), and put it on the piano.  The title of the piece on the outside was, “Souvenirs de l’Opera,” which means in English “Recollections of the Opera,” but it did just as well for a song.  Miss Isabella was seated at the piano, and Maggie moved her hands up and down the keys, to look as if she were playing; while in her own sweet bird-like voice she sang for her this song: 

“’Where are you going, my pretty maid? 
Where are you going, my pretty maid?’
‘I’m going a milking, sir,’ she said,
‘I’m going a milking, sir,’ she said.

“’May I go with you, my pretty maid? 
May I go with you, my pretty maid?’
‘Yes, if you please, kind sir,’ she said,
‘Yes, if you please, kind sir,’ she said.

“’What is your father, my pretty maid? 
What is your father, my pretty maid?’
‘My father’s a farmer, sir,’ she said,
‘My father’s a farmer, sir,’ she said.

“’Oh, then may I marry you, my pretty maid? 
Then may I marry you, my pretty maid?’
‘Yes, if you please, kind sir,’ she said,
‘Yes, if you please, kind sir,’ she said.

“’What is your fortune, my pretty maid? 
What is your fortune, my pretty maid?’
‘My face is my fortune, sir,’ she said,
‘My face is my fortune, sir,’ she said.

“’Oh, then I can’t marry you, my pretty maid! 
But then I won’t marry you, my pretty maid!’
‘Nobody asked you, sir!’ she said,
‘NOBODY ASKED YOU, SIR!!’ she said!”

The dolls all clapped their hands very hard when Miss Isabella finished singing, as if they liked it “first rate.”  Mr. Morris leaned back so far in his seat, either from admiration or because he was slipping off, that his eyes suddenly shut up, and opened with a queer little pop inside of him when Minnie righted him.  As to Miss Morris, she glared at the company with her old white eyeballs as if she was looking down inside of herself to see how the pudding had agreed with her.

Then Maggie went on.

MISS ISABELLA.  There! how do you like that?

MR. MORRIS.  Oh, thank you, Miss Isabella; it’s the sweetest song I ever heard.

MRS. MONTAGUE.  Won’t you sing us a song, Mr. Morris?

MR. M. No, I believe I must go now.  I have all my things to pack up, so we can start off travelling right away.  Come, sister, stick the roots of your hair in, and open your distressed looking eyes, and let us be off home.

“I wonder if her eyes will open?” said Maggie.

“Let’s try!” said Lina.  “Give the wire a good, hard pull.”

As she spoke, she caught hold of the wire and gave a tremendous jerk, when, dreadful to relate, POP! out came poor Miss Morris’s eyes completely! and tumbled down somewhere inside of her! leaving two great holes in her head of the most fearful description!

The children stared at her in round-eyed astonishment.  Now she was certainly too hideous to come to the wedding; and the little girls tried to look as sorry as they could for her, but it was no use; Miss Morris was such a ridiculous object, that they all three burst into fits of laughing.  Lina, who had hold of the poor thing, shook so with glee, that the eyes rattled up and down inside her head like a pack of crackers going off, which made the children laugh still more.

At last Minnie contrived to check herself, and made the brother say, rather unfeelingly: 

Mr. Morris.  There you go with your eyes out!  A pretty figure you’ve made of yourself.

Miss Isabella.  Oh! oh!! OH!!!  OH!!!!

MRS. M. Goody, Isabella’s got the hysterics!  Get some water, quick! what shall I do?

MISS MORRIS.  Oh, my eye! my eye! it’s sich a pain!

MR. MONTAGUE.  Toby, bring some water this minute.

TOBY. (Minnie brings him in with a pitcher.) Here, massa, here de water.  My! see de olé woman wid her eye out! ha! ha!

MRS. M. Toby, put down that water, and go ’way.

Minnie accordingly made believe that Toby was pouring water right on the floor; then she turned the pitcher upside down in his hand, and spoke for him.

TOBY.  Dere de water, missis.

MRS. M. Oh! it’s all over the carpet!  How dare you, Toby?

TOBY.  Why, missis, you told me to put down de water!

MRS. M. Oh, I shall go distracted!

MR. MORRIS.  Come, sister, I ’spect you’d better go home and send for Doctor Bumpstead!  Maybe he can fish up your eyes again, and stick them in right side out.  A h! good-by, Miss Isabella, good-by, Mrs. Montague!

ALL THE DOLLS IN CHORUS.  Good-by, a h!

“Oh! did ever anybody have such a funny play before!” cried Lina, fairly dropping Miss Morris, and clapping her hands with delight.  “I mean always to play in this way.”

“Yes, it is so nice!” said Minnie.  “But, come, Lina, how shall we dress Miss Isabella to get married?”

“Oh, she has a wedding-dress all ready,” replied Lina; “white silk with lace over.”

“Splendid!” cried both the sisters.

“Now, if Mr. Morris could only have a plain suit, he would look so much more like a bridegroom.”

“Well, perhaps sister will make him one,” said Lina; “but what shall we do with poor Miss Morris?”

The recollection of Miss Morris’s mishap set them off again laughing; and finally they decided that she might come to the wedding, but must keep her handkerchief to her eyes all the time, as if she were quite overcome by having her brother married; as well she might be, for how would her two holes instead of eyes compare with Miss Isabella Belmont Montague’s charms?

This point settled, Lina and her little visitors were just beginning to review the other dolls, to see who would look best at the wedding, when a knock came at the door, and in walked Mary, Lina’s nurse, to say that Minnie and Maggie were sent for!

“Oh, what a pity!” cried Lina.  “I wish you could stay all day, and all night, and all the rest of the time.  It’s too bad!”

“Oh, that the afternoons were forty-’leven times as long!” said Maggie.  “Well, we must go, I suppose.  Good-by, Lina; we’ll come Monday afternoon, if mamma will let us; and finish the play.”

So the children kissed each other, and Minnie and Maggie were bundled up in their warm coats and hoods, and went home.  As soon as they were gone, Lina ran to her sister Alice with Mr. Morris, and begged her to make him a suit of black to get married in, as Miss Isabella had expressed her preference for that style of dress.  Alice kindly promised she would, and that very evening she hunted up some black cloth that was left from a cloak of her mother’s, and in a few hours Mr. Morris was rigged out in the last style of fashion.  Here is his carte de visite, taken in his wedding clothes.  You see, the photograph man left his own hat on the table by mistake; doesn’t it look funny?

It was past Lina’s bedtime before Mr. Morris was completely dressed; but she was allowed to sit up “just this once,” and when he was finished, she kissed Alice a great many times, carried him off in triumph, and shut him up tight in a box, for fear his clothes should get tumbled.

Monday afternoon, Minnie and Maggie came again, bringing with them a dear little wax doll of Minnie’s, and a great paper of sugar-plums, to “play party” with.  When Mr. Morris had been sufficiently admired in his new clothes, the children collected the other dolls, and put the Montague family in their house again.  Mr. Montague was left all alone in the parlor to receive the company, and the ladies were up stairs in the front bed room.  Miss Isabella’s wedding dress was spread out on the elegant French bed, all ready for her to wear; and as it is a well-known fact that a fashionable lady cannot possibly get dressed in less than three hours, the time was put at nine o’clock, as the wedding would take place at twelve.

Lina then began the play: 

MRS. MONTAGUE.  Come, my dear, it is time for you to dress; you’ve only got three hours to get all ready in.

MISS ISABELLA.  Yes, mamma, I am putting on my shoes now. (That is, Maggie was putting them on.) Oh, dear! they are a great deal too tight! they hurt me dreadfully.  Please let me take them off.

MRS. M. No, they are not; they are a beautiful fit; don’t be silly, Isabella.

ISABELLA.  I think you are real mean!  There, they are on; now I must put on my dress.

Here Maggie made her stand up, and Lina put on her dress and fastened it.

ISABELLA.  Oh, my! what a beautiful dress!  Can’t I keep it on all the time, mamma?

MRS. M. Why, no; of course not!  This is your wedding dress.

ISABELLA.  Well, then, I mean to get married over again next year, so I can wear it some more.

MRS. M. Now I must put on your veil, my dear, and then you will be all ready.

Here Maggie clapped her hands to express Miss Isabella’s joy, while Lina put on the veil.

ISABELLA.  Oh, how pretty I look!

MRS. M. Don’t be vain, Isabella.  There, you are dressed; sit down now, while I get ready.

So Miss Isabella sat down with her new frock sticking out all around her, like a perfect balloon, a most magnificent creature to behold!  Her dress was made of white silk, trimmed all round the bottom with deep blonde lace, which was finished at the top with narrow silver cord.  It was looped up on one side with a bouquet of white flowers, with silver leaves, and her waist was covered with a blonde lace bertha, and had a bouquet of the same flowers on the front, called a corsage.  She wore a lace veil and a wreath of orange blossoms, and in her hand, tied fast there, was another large bouquet, and a lace-bordered pocket handkerchief.  As to Mrs. Montague, she was hardly less splendidly attired, in a mauve silk with eleven flounces, a lace collar and sleeves, and a superb diamond breastpin made of glass.

Well, dear me, I don’t know how I can find room enough to describe all the splendid ladies that came to the wedding.  They were none of them quite as elegant as Miss Isabella Belmont Montague, but they all had on their Sunday-go-to-meeting, Fourth-of-July, Christmas-and-New-Year’s best clothes, and looked as fine as fiddles.  Poor Miss Morris came, with her handkerchief up to her eyes, and stayed so all the time, crying as if her heart would break, I presume.  She was so dismal, in her old green barege, that Minnie kindly dressed her in Mrs. Montague’s purple silk, which fitted her quite well; so she didn’t look so very bad, after all.  Aren’t you glad?  I am.

Pretty soon in came the minister, who was no other than Angelina! as her black nun’s robe was the most like a gown that could be found; and when she was set up with her back against the centre table, the parlor door opened, and in marched the bride and bridegroom.  Minnie and Maggie held them in their proper places, and the minister married them in rhyme; which, it strikes me, was a new style.  This was what he said: 

“Now you’re married, you must obey;
You must be true to all you say,
And live together all your life;
And I pronounce you man and wife!”

When the marriage ceremony was over, the children set Mr. and Mrs. Morris down side by side on the sofa, and leaving them to entertain the company, and talk for themselves if they could, got the supper ready.  It was such a grand supper that they were obliged to have a table from up stairs besides the dining table.  Everything in the box of eatables was brought out, even the roast beef and buttered toast, two dishes not ordinarily seen at suppers.  The sugar-plums were disposed around wherever room could be found, and when everything was ready, Minnie took Toby to the parlor door and made him say: 

              TOBY. 
          Ladies and gentlemens, please to come to supper,
          Plum cake, and cream cake, and white bread and butter.

Up jumped Mr. Morris in such a violent hurry that he nearly tumbled over, and offered his arm to his bride; which Minnie made him do by bending it round, and pinning his kid hand fast to his waistcoat.  Maggie and Lina made the rest of the company walk after them in procession, as fast as they could lift them up; and they all pranced and paraded round by the back of the house into the dining room.  Only poor Miss Morris was left out, and she had tumbled off her chair, and was lying behind the piano, on the top of her head, with one leg sticking straight up in the air like an awning post, and the other foot apparently boxing her ears, as it was turned back in a most extraordinary manner, till it touched her head.

Meanwhile, there were fine times going on in the dining room.  Mr. Montague took the foot of the table, and the bride and groom the head.  As soon as they were all seated, Mr. Montague said: 

MR. MONTAGUE.  Ladies and gentlemen, don’t you think we’d better drink the bride’s health?  Here, Toby, give the company some wine glasses.

MRS. M. Dear me, ladies, what a pity! there’s only six goblets; so the rest will have to drink out of teacups!

ALL THE DOLLS (or all the three little girls, whichever you please).  Oh, never mind; that doesn’t make any difference.

MR. MONT.  The bride, ladies and gentlemen!

ALL THE DOLLS.  Mrs. Morris! hurray! hurree! hurror!

MRS. M. Now, Isabella, it’s time for you to change your dress, my dear. 
You are going travelling, you know.

ISABELLA.  Oh, what a pity!  I don’t want to take it off a bit!

But, of course, she had to.  It wouldn’t have done to go travelling in a white silk dress, would it, you dear little poppet?

So Maggie took Miss Isabella (for they called her either that or Mrs. Morris by turns, indifferently), away from table, and dressed her in her gray travelling dress, which was trimmed with black velvet and small steel buttons.  Then she put on her second best bonnet, with a blue veil, and her India-rubbers, in case it should be damp, and locked up the wedding dress in her trunk, which was about as large as a candle box, had a real little lock and key, and her initials painted on the side.  When she was all ready, down she came again, to take leave of her relations and friends, who had eaten up all the wooden refreshments by this time (though, strange to say, the dishes seemed as full as ever), while Minnie, Maggie, and Lina eat up the sugar plums; and poor Miss Morris sucked her thumbs, I suppose, for not a speck of anything else did she get.

There was a great time bidding good-by, and so many hard noses were bumped against the bride’s cheek this time, that they made a dent, which looked quite like a dimple, and improved her appearance very much indeed.  As to Mr. Morris, nobody took the slightest notice of him, as is usually the case with the bridegroom, but he didn’t seem to mind it in the least; for he went on smirking at the company as blandly as ever.  Perhaps he didn’t want people’s noses making holes in his face; you wouldn’t want them made in yours, would you? you dear little Pinkey Winkey!  Bless your heart! there’s dimples enough in that cunning face already.

But now the carriage was brought round to the door, for Mr. and Mrs. Morris to go on their travels.  It was made of ahem! tin, and was drawn by two dashing tin horses, with tails like comets, and manes like waterfalls, and such a great number of bright red spots painted all over them, that they looked as if they had broken out with a kind of scarlet measles.

The bride and bridegroom were put in their places, the big trunk was hoisted up in front, and away they went! and travelled all the way down the entry to the head of the stairs, and through sister Alice’s room to the fireplace!  My! what a long journey! ’most a hundred miles, I should think! that is, it would seem so to dolls.

Thus ended the grand play of Miss Isabella Belmont Montague’s wedding, which had taken two whole afternoons to finish, and which the children thought the most interestingest play that ever was.  If you want to know what became of her after that, I advise you to go right to Lina’s house and ask how Mr. and Mrs. Morris come on with their housekeeping!  That’s all there is of this story BOO!!