THE

NURSERY

A Monthly Magazine

For Youngest Readers.

[33]

THE BIOGRAPHY OF A BUBBLE

[34]

THE BIOGRAPHY OF A BUBBLE.

“Why use such big words as ‘biography’
and ‘criticise’?” this old person may ask. “Are you not
writing for little people? Is not your subject a poor little
bubble that could not have lived longer than three or four
seconds?”

To which this papa replies: “Old person, do not meddle.
This papa knows what he is about. The little folks understand
very well that a ‘biography’ is a story of a life; that
to ‘criticise’ is to find fault; and that a ‘critic’ is a fault-finder.”

So all critics will please get out of the way, and leave
this papa alone while he writes the biography of a bubble.

This bubble was born just as the clock struck four, on the
afternoon of the 13th of January, 1873. Its name was
“Diamond.”

“Why, how could a bubble have a name?”

Now, you just be quiet and patient, and in good time
you shall learn all. Papa had promised his little daughter
Grace, that one of these days he would blow some bubbles
for her amusement.

Grace reminded him several times of his promise; but
papa was always too busy to attend to it. At last Grace
said, “When will one of these days come?”—”It shall
come now,” said papa.

So he got a pipe, and a bowl of soap-suds; and Grace stood
at his knee while he blew bubbles. Grace was delighted.[35]
“Name them,” said she; for papa had named her kittens,
and she thought he could name the bubbles.

The first one’s name was “Sparkle.” It was a very big
bubble; but it did not live long. The name of the second
was “Glory.” I think it might have lived a second longer
than it did, if Grace had not touched it with her finger.

The third bubble floated up almost to the ceiling. Its
name was “Napoleon.” It rose as bravely as if it had no fear
of breaking. It expired of old age, after reaching the term
of ten seconds and a half.

At last, just as the clock struck four, little “Diamond” appeared.
She was a delicate little thing, and bright with all
the colors of the rainbow. She was not proud like the other
bubbles. She did not try to mount. Perhaps papa’s breath
made her go as she did.

Grace admired “Diamond” very much. “Why, see, papa!
She is coming to kiss me,” said the little girl;—”she is on
my cheek.”

Yes, little “Diamond” ended her life on the cheek of innocence.
What better end could she have had? Was it not
much better than mounting to the cold, white ceiling, and
living to a dull old age, like the big bubble whose name
was Napoleon?

[36]

JACK’S MENAGERIE.

[37]

THE STORY OF A LITTLE DUCK.

I was one of a family of nine brothers and sisters. We all
found ourselves outside our shells one fine, sunny day in
spring; but we felt chilly, and were glad to nestle under the
wings of the kind old hen whom we regarded as our mother.

In a day or two, we began to look about the world. We
found that it comprised a pretty lawn, on which our mansion
was placed, with a brick wall at one end of it. The other
end of the world was at the foot of the lawn, and consisted
of a level expanse as smooth as a sheet of glass.

Our mansion was formed of wood, with a high pointed
roof, and with open bars in front, through which we could
look out and enjoy the prospect. We could crawl under
the bars easily; but mother-hen could not.

One day a great, strong giant came and lifted up our
mansion right over our heads. This giant had two legs,
but no wings. Poor thing! They called him a little boy.
He frightened us very much at first; but as he fed us, and
called us, “Ducky, ducky!” we soon grew fond of him.

When the boy had lifted up our mansion (which he
called a coop), mother-hen started at once on a journey
round the world. We stopped to pick up some bits of
grain, and some little worms, which we found. “Cluck,
cluck!” said mother-hen, which means, “Come, come!” and
we all said, “Quack, quack!” which means, “Yes, yes!”

On we went, threading our way through the forest of
grass; and our ideas were much enlarged by finding that
the world comprised a vast farm-yard as well as our lawn,
and the distant glass-like boundary. On we went, “Cluck,
cluck! quack, quack!” and at last found ourselves close to
the smooth expanse, which we learned was called a pond,
and composed of a beautiful liquid called “water.”[38]

Into this pond my brothers and sisters dashed, and of
course I followed. How delicious! The water was cool
and refreshing, and so buoyant, that we moved about on it
more easily than we could walk on the land; but, when we
looked back to the bank, we saw mother-hen calling out in
grief and dread, “Cluck, cluck! come, come! you’ll drown,
drown! Oh, oh!”

“All right!” said my eldest brother; “no fear: here we
are as jolly as sandboys! You may as well come. It’s
capital. Here goes for a dive!” And, so saying, under he[39]
went, and soon came up again, laughing, “Quack, quack!
oh, it’s so jolly!”

But poor mother-hen did not see any thing jolly about it,
and was always in fear when we went to the pond, into
which she would never go herself.

In time we grew up, and found that we could actually fly
in the air. Oh, capital! When that horrible monster with
four legs, which they called “a dog,” ran after us, we opened
our wings, and flew over the lawn to the pond. And there
stood the stupid dog bawling out, “Bow, wow! bow, wow!”

One day our ideas were again expanded by our being
driven through a gate. We then found that the world was
much larger than we had thought; for beyond our wall
was a broad ploughed field, as well as a vast forest, the edges
of which touched the distant sky. Wonderful discovery!
How grand a duck feels when gaining useful knowledge!

Every thing went on pleasantly enough, until a great
awkward giant, named Bob, came and looked very hard at
us. At first we did not like him; but he was really very
kind, and called us “Ducky, ducky, ducky!” and threw us
handfuls of barley. He then seized two or three of my
fattest brothers and sisters, and frightened them so much,
that they called out, “Quack, quack! don’t, don’t!” But
they need not have made such a fuss, as he put them safely
in a basket with a lid to it to keep off the rain, and took
a great deal of care of them indeed.

How kind of him to take the trouble to carry them in
this basket on his arm, instead of leaving them to waddle
along the road! In this way he has taken all my brothers
and sisters away with him, except myself and my brother
little Jack Drake. I dare say he will soon take us with him
in his nice basket.

Certainly it is a good thing to have men to attend to us[40]
so well. I am sure they must be very fond of ducks to
take such care of us. And so I said to Jack Drake; but all
he said in reply was, “Quack, quack! quack, quack!”

OUR THANKSGIVING DINNER.

We live in a little village near the city of Cincinnati.
We have not lived here many years; and our grandparents
and aunts and uncles and cousins are so far away, that they
cannot often come to see us.

This year, on Thanksgiving Day, none of our friends were
with us; and mamma and papa felt very sad to have the
big turkey cooked, and only our own family to eat it.

So, happening to see a ragged little boy in the street,
mamma called him, and told him to go out and find eleven[41]
more poor little boys, and tell them to come with him and
get a Thanksgiving dinner.

He ran off in high glee; and, sure enough, when twelve
o’clock came, along came the whole number of poor, hungry
little boys. Their eyes sparkled with delight when
they saw the nice brown turkey, and the pies and cakes.
They were soon seated at the table; and papa and mamma
waited on them.

It made us all glad to see how the poor fellows enjoyed
their dinner. One ragged little boy was so afraid of soiling
the cloth, that he quietly slipped the bones under the table.
Another boy saw him, and told the rest; and then they all
had a good laugh.

After they had eaten as much as they wanted, they were
taken into the room where the piano is; and mamma got
“The Nursery” containing the song of “Mother Hubbard,”
and played and sung it to them.

Papa then gave each one a paper of candy and a nice
large apple, and sent them off. No sooner were they out of
the door than they set up a yell like so many little Indians,
and ran to their homes as fast as they could, I suppose, to
tell about the good time they had had.

We all think now that we enjoyed our Thanksgiving
as well as children who had their own friends to dine with
them. And I do not doubt that those poor little boys will
remember their unexpected dinner as long as they live.

[42]

THE GRANDPA STORY.

“Which shall it be to-night, Harry?” I said a little while
ago?—”The Goblet Story, The Grandpa Story, or About
the Runaway Boy?”

“Oh! The Grandpa Story,” said Harry at once; “for
grandpa has been here to-day, and brought me ten notched
sugar-plums,—five red ones, and five white.” So I began:—

One bright Monday morning, I looked out of the front-window, and
said, “Why, Harry, Uncle David has come to town! He is tying his
horse under the elm-tree.” A minute after, Uncle David opened the door
into the sitting-room, and said, “Is there any one here who would like to
go out to grandpa’s to-day?” And mamma spoke right up, and said,
“We would all like to go. It will do my little lads good to have a nice
ride.”

“Get ready quick, then,” said Uncle David. So mamma put a little
blue cloak and a white sun-bonnet on Freddy the baby, and a linen coat,
and straw hat with blue ribbons on Harry; and they all went out, and got
into the carriage.[43]

Then away they rode through the pretty streets, and over a covered
bridge, where the horse went trot, trot, trot. Then they crossed a
railroad-track, and drove past a station, and
stopped at a store; and Uncle David went in
and bought a great box of sugar for Aunt
Mattie, and a little bag of candy to carry home
to his little boy Philly.

Then they rode up a steep hill, and came out
upon Westfield Plains. And then what beautiful
things they saw!—a man with a gun, a
squirrel cracking a nut, a little girl with red
hair, a man picking apples from a tree, and, best of all, a boy flying a kite.

By and by they drove up a hill to grandpa’s house. Cousin Philly, who
was out on the piazza, ran into the house to
tell his mamma that Aunt Susan had come,
and brought all her little boys with her.

Tiger, the great black dog, said, “Bow,
wow!” to Harry, as he went up the steps.
Cousin Anne sat in a great rocking-chair by
the open window, and sang to her dolly,
“Rock-a-by baby.”

Aunt Mattie was glad enough to see them,
and gave Harry a round cooky with a hole in the middle, that he thought
very funny. Mamma always makes square cookies, with no holes to put
your fingers through.

By and by, when grandpa came in from the
orchard, they had a nice supper. They had
peaches and cream, and biscuits and honey;
and, oh! how good every thing tasted!

Philly lent Harry his cup with the picture
of a queen on one side, and “Remember me”
on the other; and Harry drank two cups of
milk, the cup was so pretty.

After supper Harry’s eyes began to droop;
and so mamma said, “Kiss grandpa, my little boy, and the dear little
cousins, and then let’s run to bed with sleepy head.”

In six seconds after Harry’s head touched the pillow, he was fast
asleep.

The next morning he awoke fresh and bright; and, after breakfast,
Philly and Harry went out into the road to play. They made little[44]
sand-hills and houses of pebble-stones, and dug wells in the sand, and had
a real good time.

In the afternoon, mamma put the cloaks and hats on Harry and Freddy;
Uncle David drove up to the house; and they all got into the carriage, and
had a nice ride home.

JACK FROST.

MISS JONES’S PICTURE.

I have just been looking at Miss Jones’s picture. How
do you think Miss Jones looks?

She wears a shawl pinned close up to her throat, a cap
tied under her chin, and a pair of spectacles over some very
wise-looking eyes.

What a funny-looking picture! I call it a funny picture,[46]
because the clothes are an old lady’s clothes; but the face
is a little girl’s face, round and plump and rosy. If I could
take off the cap and the shawl and the spectacles, I should
see a little girl of four years, with a white dress, a pink sash,
and long curls hanging down over her shoulders.

Her name is Edith May. Her mamma calls her Edie.
Edie likes to fix herself up, and “play people” as she calls
it. She takes many different parts.

Sometimes she is an old lady, and sometimes she is a
young lady. Sometimes she plays she is mamma; and then
she runs round taking care of her dollies, and says she
doesn’t know what she shall do now that Tilly has the
measles, and Hannah has the chicken-pox, and she verily
believes that the baby has the measles too.

The other day, she said she was going to be Miss Jones,
and go down to the saloon and have her picture taken.[47]

So she fixed herself up with cap and spectacles and shawl,
and went down to the photograph-room, and told the artist
that she was Miss Jones, and she had called to have her
picture taken.

Then the artist placed a chair for her, and she sat up as
straight as she could. When the pictures were finished, he
sent them to her mamma, who has sent one to me; and
here you have it in “The Nursery.”

SUE’S SEASONS.

[48]

“CLEAR THE COAST!”

I told you last month how Robert hoped that Santa Claus
would bring him a sled; and how Robert woke on Christmas
morning to find by his bedside a beautiful sled, painted red,
with thick iron runners.

The next day he went with Uncle Charles to the hill on
Boston Common, near Park Street, to see the boys coast.
Here is a picture of the scene, drawn from life; and a very
correct idea it will give you of the sport that may be witnessed
in Boston after every snow-storm.

Robert had his sled with him; and as he stood with Uncle
Charles, looking at the coasters, the little boy longed to be
of them and among them. But Uncle Charles said, “You
are not quite old enough yet to coast in public: you have
not had practice enough.”

Then a big boy, who had been admiring Robert’s sled,
stepped up and said, “I should like to try that sled, sir: I
can take the little fellow on the sled in front of me. I will
take good care of him, sir.”

Robert begged so hard to take his first lesson in coasting
under the care of this big boy, that Uncle Charles at last
consented; and in the picture you may see Uncle Charles
waiting for the two boys to come along on the sled.

He could not see them at first: but in about five minutes
down they came like the rush of a torrent; and little Robert,
as he saw Uncle Charles, cried out as loud as he could,
“Clear the coast, clear the coast!”

Uncle Charles clapped his hands; the ladies waved their
handkerchiefs; and Robert felt quite proud, when, as he
reached the bottom of the hill, some boys gathered round,
and pronounced his sled “a first-rate runner.”[49]

[50]

That was a proud day for Robert; for, before he left the
Common, he was allowed to coast once all alone; and he did
it in such good style, that the big boy told him he would
make a “prime coaster.”

“What did he mean by a “prime coaster“?” asked Robert.
“He meant,” said Uncle Charles, “that, with a little more
practice, you will coast very well,—as well, perhaps, as he
does himself.”

OUR NEW DOG.

We have a new dog. His name is Bright. He is only
two years old. His master one day took the cars near our
place for California; and poor Bright was left behind.

I met him at the railroad-station. He seemed to be in
great distress. I had some bread in my hand, and offered
him a piece. He was too sad to eat. I patted him on the
head, and said, “Poor doggie, have you lost your master?”

Bright howled as if he understood my question; and I
believe he did. When I got home that day, I found that he
had followed me. As I stood on the door-step, he fawned
at my feet, and made a low, imploring noise, as if he would
like to say, “Do be my master, and let me be your dog: I
will be such a good dog!”

I understood what he wanted, and said, “Well, old fellow,
you shall have your wish. I adopt you as my own dog.”

Thereupon Bright wagged his tail, and barked, and put his
fore-feet on my shoulders, and tried to lick my face. We
understood each other now completely.

Bright seemed to understand that he must not only be
good to me, but to all under my care. I had a little white
kitten named Snow-drop. When she and Bright first met,[51]
she was so much afraid, that she leaped up on top of the
bookcase to be out of his way.

It was amusing to see how he tried to coax her down, and
to make her feel that he was her friend. Snow-drop mewed,
and raised her back; but Bright, by some good-natured
half-barks and playful grunts, soon made her understand
that he was one of the family, and bound to treat her well.

By and by Snow-drop left off mewing, and began to purr.
Bright lay down on the carpet, and began flapping and brushing
it in a half-circle with his tail. That meant play.

So Kitty at last came down; and, when I left the room, she
and Bright were having a grand frolic together. I know
you would like my dog Bright if you could see him.

[52]

BUNNY.

[53]

[54]

THE CHILDREN’S PARTY.

DANDY THE BEAR.

We have a dancing bear in our village. His name is
Dandy. He belongs to Mr. Werner, a German, who leads
him about the streets, and makes a show of him. We children[56]
all give Dandy some of our spare cents when we see
him; for a bear has to be fed like you and me.

“Come, Dandy,” Mr. Werner will say, “here are the
young ladies and gentlemen, all with plenty of cents in
their pockets to give you if you perform well. They are
good judges of high art. They can admire the poetry of
motion. So do your prettiest.”

Mr. Werner has a monkey and a pet dog. The monkey
is called Captain. He wears a hat with a feather in it. The
name of the pet dog is Grip. He is fat and greedy; and, if
he sees a boy with a cake, he begs for a piece of it; indeed,
he wouldn’t object to the whole of it. I wonder if you can
spy out Grip and the Captain in the picture.

But Dandy makes more fun for us than all the rest.
“Now, Dandy,” Mr. Werner will say, “make your most
stunning bow to the ladies, and then give us a turn on the
light fantastic.”

By the “light fantastic,” Mr. Werner means “the light
fantastic toe.” He has made this joke so many times, that
we know what he means by it.

Thus encouraged, Dandy will bow, raise himself on one
of his hind-feet, and whirl round in a pirouette. (If you do
not know what a pirouette is, you must get some one to explain
and pronounce the word for you.)

You would laugh to see Dandy imitate the great dancers.
Though he can hardly be called graceful, he is very amusing;
and we children willingly pay for the sight a cent each
when the Captain passes round the hat.

Mr. Werner thinks of taking Dandy to other towns to
show off his accomplishments. If you should ever see him,
I hope you will treat him well for my sake. I am the boy
in the picture with a slate under his arm; and my name is

[57]

LITTLE MISCHIEF.

IV.

Bessie went to pass a week with her Aunt Clara and
Uncle Frank. Uncle Frank was a portrait-painter. One
day Bessie took her doll Cornelia, and went into his studio.

On the easel stood a portrait. Bessie looked at it, and
thought it must be a likeness of her friend Col. Fraser.
“But,” said she, “the mustache is too faint: it wants paint.”

Then she remembered hearing her uncle say that he had
more work than he could attend to. “What if I do a little
work for him, and so give him a surprise!” thought she.[58]

V.

“Uncle Frank, when he is by, never lets me touch his
paints,” said Bessie to herself; “but that must be because
he does not know how clever I am. Nothing can be easier
to paint than a mustache. It is only a number of hairs.”

So Bessie climbed up into her uncle’s chair, and took one
of his long brushes in her hand. Then she looked at the
colors on the palette, and tried to mix the blue and red as
she had seen Uncle Frank do.

The long brush was hard to manage. However, she
remembered the rhyme, “Try, try, try again;” and she
worked away until she thought she had got the tint.[59]

VI.

At last Bessie was ready to begin her great work. So,
standing on tiptoe, she applied the brush to the upper-lip.
She was determined, while she was about it, to give Col.
Fraser a thoroughly good mustache, long and thick.

Now and then she would step back a little way, and consider
the picture from a distance, as she had seen her uncle
do. She was well pleased with her work. It was certainly
a great improvement: so Bessie thought.

At last she laid down her brush. She felt quite charmed
with her success, and picked up her doll off the floor, that
she might see how well her little mamma could paint.[60]

VII.

“It is beautiful! Is it not, Cornelia?” she said, as she
threw herself back in the chair. “Uncle will never say
again that I cannot paint. Perhaps it is more blue than
Col. Fraser’s mustache; but it is all the prettier for that.”

Bessie remembered, too, that her mamma had once read
to her a story about a man with a blue beard. “So people
do have blue mustaches sometimes,” thought she.

What did Uncle Frank say when he saw what she had
done? I am sorry to say he did not agree with Bessie that
the picture was improved. At first he was vexed; then he
laughed; then he gave Bessie a kiss.

[61]

TOO MANY PRESENTS.

Did you ever hear of the boy who had a drum and a
trumpet and a rocking-horse for his Christmas presents, and
cried, after all, because Santa Claus had given his sister a
doll, and hadn’t given him one?

I have heard of that boy; but, to tell the truth, I doubt
the whole story. It is a little too tough for me. I don’t[62]
believe there ever was such a boy; and I won’t believe in
him until I see him.

But I did know a little boy who almost cried because he
had no Christmas present. He was a good boy too. He
would have been pleased with any thing; and it was too bad
that Santa Claus forgot to bring some little gift for him.

The queerest case, though, is that of the little boy whose
picture we have here. You see him just as he looked on
Christmas morning, with his presents all around him; and
yet you see he does not look happy. What can be the
matter with the child?

Ah! the trouble is, that he has too many presents. He
has so many that he doesn’t know what to do with them.
He doesn’t know which to play with first. He is afraid all
the time that some of them will get lost. And so, by trying
to enjoy them all at once, he fails to enjoy them at all.

Poor boy! he is having a hard time of it, and I pity him
very much. If I were going to prescribe for him, this is
what I should say, “Tom, my boy” (I know by his looks
that his name is Tom), “don’t be cast down. I’ll show you
the way out of your trouble. Your case is pretty bad; but
there’s a remedy. What you want to do is to give away
something.

“Now, there’s that doll that you are hugging so closely.
What does a boy like you want of a doll? That must have
been meant for some little girl. It was sent to you on purpose
to give away. Of course it was.

“Then there are those two wagons. You don’t want
both of them. You know you don’t. Find the boy who
hadn’t any Christmas presents, and give one of the wagons
to him. Let that wooden soldier go with it; for what do
you want of a soldier, when you have a gun of your own?

“And what if you should give away something that you[63]
do want very much; why, it wouldn’t hurt you a bit: you
would feel all the better for it. Just try now, Tom, and
see if you wouldn’t.”

Perhaps the little boy would take my advice; and perhaps
he wouldn’t, but, if he should, I’m sure he would make
a much more cheerful picture than he does now.

THE DOG AND THE SHADOW.

A dog, crossing a bridge with a piece of meat in his
mouth, saw in the water what he took to be another dog,
with a piece of meat twice the size of his own. Letting go
his own, he flew at the other dog to get the larger piece
from him. He thus lost both,—that which he grasped at
in the water, because it was a shadow; and his own, because
the stream swept it away.

[64]