villages to study new faces for their dolls, as in ancient Greece
the sculptors travelled about the country looking for beautiful forms.
Everywhere the doll is to the child the symbol of humanity — the first object of responsibility, the type of what is lovable, the model on which the dawning parental instinct practises itself.
The little girl does not know the faults and virtues of her own temperament until this ideal creature brings them out, being now tended with the sweetest care, now flung vehemently into an undeserved corner.
It is all imaginary, no doubt, but much of our sensibility lies in the imagination; the woes we relieve are those we vividly picture to ourselves.
Children will sometimes cry when the doll is pricked in sewing on a dress, or is forgotten when she should be placed at the window to see the procession go by. The sorrow is fantastic, but the thoughtful sympathy is real.
Whoever listens in the nursery will hear all the problems of ethics rehearsed upon this mimic stage of the doll's house.
In the travelling diary of a child of eight, written literally from her own dictation for her absent father, the important events of the pilgrimage were always shared by the doll.
“When we got to Nice, I was sick.
The next morning the doctor came, and he said I had something that was very much like scarlet-fever.
Then I had Annie [a sister] take care of baby [the doll], and keep her away, for I was ”