The Seven Little People who have lived with me for the last two or three years, and with whom I have been wont to entertain my friends among the children, are now about to leave their quiet home and make their appearance in society. The experience which they severally have enjoyed, whether under the sea or in Percanian palaces, or on desert islands, or upon birth-nights, has perhaps hardly fitted them for associating with the world's people; and yet, I trust, they will find some glad to receive them, and hear them tell of the friends whom they found in their various wanderings. It is true that two of these Little People have no friends at all, but then it was their own choice, for did they not deliberately cast themselves away, and abjure all society but that of their mute companion? It will be found also that in one of these Stories there are no Little People, but it is no more than just that the Friends should for once be allowed their drama to themselves. All of these Seven are the children of my brain, and I am somewhat loth to let them go so far from me; but if they find no hospitable fireside to receive them, they will at least always be welcome at mine.