n all his life. This is his first printed
work. Perhaps some old person will criticise it severely.

"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. "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 dul