ll that went on, contented and happy, though apparently
forgotten by every body. Indeed, such was my placid, patient
disposition, that I do not believe I should have uttered a sound or
moved a muscle if the whole of London had fallen about my little ears.

I did certainly sometimes wish to know what was to become of me, and at
last that information was given me.

The night before they sailed, Rose busied herself with Sarah in packing
up my house and furniture, which were to be sent to a little girl who
had long considered it her greatest treat to play with them. But Rose
did not pack me up with my goods and chattels.

'My poor old Seraphina,' said she, as she removed me from my arm-chair,
'you and I have passed many a happy day together, and I do not like to
throw you away as mere rubbish; but the new mistress of your house has
already more dolls than she knows what to do with. You are no great
beauty now, but I wish I knew any child who would care for you.'

'If you please to give her to me, Miss Rose,' said Sarah, 'my little
niece, that your Mama is so kind as to put to school, would thank you
kindly, and think her the greatest of beauties.'

'Oh, then, take her by all means, Sarah,' replied Rose; 'and here is a
little trunk to keep her clothes in. I remember I used to be very fond
of that trunk; so I dare say your little Susan will like it, though it
is not quite new.'

'That she will, and many thanks to you, Miss. Susan will be as delighted
with it now, as you were a year or two ago.'

So they wrapped me up in paper, and Rose having given me a farewell
kiss, which I would have returned if I could, Sarah put me and my trunk
both into her great pocket; and on the same day that my old friends
embarked for their distant voyage, I was carried to my new home.

CHAPTER III.

And now began a third stage of my existence, and a fresh variety of
life.

I at first feared that I should have great difficulty in reconciling
myself to the change; and my reflections in Sarah's dark pocket were of
the most gloomy cast. I dreaded poverty and neglect. How should I,
accustomed to the refinements of polished life and the pleasures of
cultivated society, endure to be tossed about with no home of my own,
and perhaps no one who really cared for me? I knew that I was not in my
first bloom, and it seemed unlikely that a new acquaintance should feel
towards me like my old friend Rose, who had so long known my value.
Perhaps