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676 THE PHOTOGRAPHIC NEWS. [SEPTEMBER 25, 1891. TAKING THE BABY. BY F. E. B. Mrs. Crummey, wife of my old friend, Jack Crummey, is an exceedingly pretty little woman, and it was therefore only natural that, when she asked me to take her baby (she meant, of course, take its portrait), I should respond by saying that I should be delighted. So an appointment was fixed for Saturday afternoon. I forget the sex of the child, but feel sure it was either a boy or a girl. I also forget its age, but I recollect it had no teeth. It might, of course, have had false ones, but if it had it wasn’t wearing them. When I first got to Mrs. Crummey’s the child was asleep. This was annoying, because the hour had been fixed under the impression it would be awake, and would have had a bottle of something—I forget what—though I remember thinking that a glass would have been a more suitable quantity for one so young. When they told me the cherub was slumbering, I very innocently suggested waking it up, but Mrs. C. would not hear of it. She said : “ The darling would be dreadfully cross, and scream all the afternoon.” This startled me so much that I immediately took to creeping about on tip-toe, and talked in hoarse whispers like a stage villain. I occupied part of the period of waiting in getting my traps together, arranging a background, and so on; but even after this had been done, the infant Crummey slept on. About three o’clock, however, and just as the light had begun to fail a little, a loud wail from somewhere upstairs announced that the young sluggard had roused up, and encouraged me to hope that the time for action had arrived. But I was mistaken; I had reckoned without the bottle, and another half-hour went by while it was being emptied. And then came the detail of dressing. And what a dress! A nice, clean, starchy little nurse brought the infant down with an inexpressible pride which at first froze me dumb, although I subsequently found courage to pro test. The little bald head was crowned with a hat like that attributed to Hamlet’s aunt—-a thing all plumes and brim ; monstrous rosettes hedged in the small visage on either hand, and a dish-shaped bib stuck out under the tiny chin like a preposterous lower jaw. A great white coat of some fluffy material enveloped the unhappy little creature’s body, and effectually concealed its shape, while its hands were encased in a species of boxing-glove. It is almost needless to explain that the little thing itself was quite indistinguishable under such a mass of millinery. I pointed this out to the mother as gently as I could, but both she and the nurse took my complaints in very ill-part, and assured me that “everybody else” thought baby looked sweet in this particular costume. Mrs. Crummey, indeed, became, as I thought, a little sarcastic, and, turning to me with her sweetest smile, said, “ Do you wish me to take anything off ? ” I, of course, hastened to explain that I couldn’t think of such a thing, and that it was the baby’s dress which was too much, and, after she had remarked with great asperity that this was what she meant, we began to pull off some of the darling’s swaddlings. It was an astonishing business. Under the great coat there was a woollen waistcoat with sleeves, under that a white nightgown with an embroidered front, under that a belt of buckram with armholes, under that a small shirt, and then flannel, and then—but life’s too short to go right through with that child’s garments. I know it was all so extraordinary to me that I began to fear the poor little soul was constructed on the principle of the Japanese puzzle, boxes that lie packed one within another, and dwindle down from a tea chest to an infinitesimal cube. So I again ventured to put in my spoke, and suggested that we had done enough for one day, and might stop at the flannel; but Mrs. Crummey was now bent on rushing to the opposite extreme, and insisted on stripping her offspring of every rag, and flouring it all over like a leg of mutton. It resisted these outrages stoutly, and uttered piercing cries during their progress, which the nurse obstinately ascribed to wind, even after I had pointed out that there was not a breath of air stirring. Mrs. C., on the other hand, maintained “the precious” thought it was “going out.” “ Going out!” said I, “ why, you surely don’t send it into the streets in this condition, do you?” “Oh, really!” said Mrs. Crummey, “ you’re past everything,” and as that was the only answer I could get from her, I left the matter there. When the little victim was absolutely naked, I wanted to begin without further loss of time, but at this juncture both mistress and servant conceived the idea that baby ought to have one sock on and the other lying near it, and that the socks just discarded were unsuited to the purpose, and must give way to a pair which were the gift of grandma. A general hunt there upon ensued of a somewhat protracted character. And all this time the light was growing weaker. All things, however, come to him who waits, and at length baby was got into position in the middle of the dining room table, and besought to look in the direction of the camera. But this it firmly, or rather obstinately, declined to do. I danced in front of it with keys, I laughed, I cried, I clucked, I crowed, I imitated animals, and played the fool with a vivacity that fairly took the nurse by storm. Yet her charge remained obdurate. It buried its face, it stood on its head, it rolled over and over, but look towards the lens it would not. Nay more, it discom- fitted me in the middle of an energetic pas de seul (executed solely in its interest), by frothing at the mouth, plunging heavily forward, and calling out “ madman!” in stentorian tones. The mother and the maid hailed this performance with enthusiasm, and declared the word was “ grandma but I know better. It said “ madman ” beyond all ques tion, and what is worse, it wasn’t far out, as the sequel will show. Well, to cut a melancholy story short, let me hurry on to say that, just when I was on the brink of despair, I hit upon the expedient of offering this unmanageable brat the india-rubber bulb and tubing which I use for exposing, and that the inspiration seemed a happy one at the outset. The young hopeful stopped short in its gyrations, sat perfectly still, and then (under the impression that the articles tendered it formed part of a new and gigantic feeding bottle) broke into an angelic smile, stretched forth a fat, unsteady hand, and muttered “ta.” The two women were in ecstacies over this display of intelligence, and we all three stood round while the little demon made slobbery but determined efforts to extract nutriment from the unpromising materials I had given it. I declare, I had so little suspicion of evil, that if anyone had asked me at that precise moment whether I liked babies, I should have told a lie and said “Yes.” And then in the twinkling of an eye the scene changed, for the malignant little beggar, without an instant’s warning, gave a yell of savage delight, took a firm grip of the tubing, and, by throwing itself backward with fiendish recklessness, caused my brand new “ Acme ” to fall over on the fender
