Christening Sunday.

Cromwell Argus, Volume XXVIII, Issue 1435, 27 October 1896, Page 3

Christening Sunday.

W. Pett Ridge in tho St. James’ Budget. The uneven grassed space shaded by tho church is white this afternoon with gorgeously apparelled babies, who stare fixedly at tho sky and show no signs of nervousness at the important ceremony in which they are about to play lead. Now and again they arouse themselves, frown critically at St. Matthew's, and punch their mothers in the eye for fun ; and for this they are—if tho parent ho annoyed—shaken, or, if tho parent bo gratified, they are tossed up uud down, and the delighted parent says, ‘ Did'ims hit urns mamma iu the eye, then ? Urn shall hit urns mamma iu tho eye, the hooful boy, if run likes. Bo it attain, * And when Hie clover pugilist,

essaying to perform the feat again, and missing his parent, hits himself on tho nose, ho screams a good deal, and is only pacified when bis mother succeeds in deluding him into the idea that the church is a railway engine. It would be wrong to assume that all the babies are here for the purpose of being presently christened. The mature in tants of as much as a year old have been brought apparently with a view of giving their juniors a send-off, and by their presence to proffer encouragement. ‘ Well, we’ve had a rare argument about it, me any my 'usband, and I’ve been all along in favor of Julier Maud but bo—he’s awful old fashioned in some of his ideas—and he’s stuck to Martha because he’s got a aunt Martha. But, as 1 toll him, that’s nothing to go by.’ ‘ Nice to have the name ’auded down, though, from generation to ’ ' Oh, well.’ Tho young matron, jogging her baby up and down in a way that 1 cannot think gives the baby any real or lasting pleasure, speaks somewhat tartly at finding, even at this stage, objections. ‘lf you are to go on like that- why you’d never have anything fresh. Now Julier is a name that sounds very nice, I think, and when she grows up she can’t turn round on us and say we’ve ’ampered her by giving her a silly name. And Maud ’ ‘ Mord’s all right.’ The lady releases her five-year-old hoy the better to enjoy the conversation, and the five-year-old goes off to punch gentlemen under his age. * Mord, I think, is reely a very pretty name. Come into the Garden, Mord. Name’s in tho song, you know.’ ‘ Well, at any rate, wo argued it out, me and my 'usband, and 1 talked up bill and down dale; and at last he says, * Oh,’ he says, ‘ ’ave your own way about it,’ he says, ‘ only for goodness’ sake do leave ’arping on the question.’ And’ (triumphantly) ‘Julier Maud she’s to be, please goodness, in about ’alt an hour or so. And don’t they keep you waiting a time I Why, when I brought my third ’ere ’ An important bustling little old lady in u crapo bonnet appears at the porch, and outsiders on the pavement who are looking through the railings quicken their interest. The important old lady looks round at the assembled mothers, who rush towards her, and shepoints sternly a leanbr >wnforefinger at two. These come obediently from the crowd with their friends, and, assuming an appropriate air of solemnity, sniff and go into the church, Tho important little old lady, being appealed to hy other waiting parents, remarks sharply that they muse all take their turn, and that neither she nor the curate is made of cast iron, and ptobably never will be. If christeners will come all of a lump in this way (adds the old lady wrathfully), why they must put up with it, that’s all. And the old lady, her crape bonnet shivering with determination, goes. ‘ Yes.’ With correct pride in answer to a compliment from another parent. ‘ Yes, it is a fine child, certainly. Six weeks ’ ‘Only six weeks?’ (with flattering amazement). ‘Six weeks come this evening,’ ‘ Why, I’m sine I’ve seen babies at six mouths not half ’ ‘ L know. Everybody says the same. Talk of the ’neighborhood. Of course, its early days yet ; but / think it’s going to take after my husband and be tall.’ The short mother nods up to a tall weedy young man who stands shyly near, looking as though lie wished there were other men present to give him company. ‘ All his family are tall. Quito conspicuous, iu fact, some of them.' ‘ He’s got his father’s nose,’ remarks the complimentary lady. The complimentary lady smiles strenuously at the placid baby and speaks to it. ‘ The aossy ickle boy, he is, he’s dot his fasser’s own ickle uosey-posey, he has.’ Nods her head archly at the astonished wondering infant. ‘ Oh yes, he has, ihe sossy ickle boy.’ * She’s not a little boy,’ remarks the short mother with some austerity, ‘ she’s a little girl, and as to her nose, why it’s a good deal more like my side of the family than his. Don’t you think so yourself, Robert?’ Robert, blushing, says awkardly that he’s no judge. ‘ Still,’ she says sharply, ‘ you’ve gob common sense, I s’poso. You’re not qulle a fool.’ Robert from his eminence half agrees to this suggestion, and the corapli mentary stranger hastens to make tip the ground which sho feels she has lost. ‘ Of torse she’s a ickle dirl ! Such a sossy ickle dirl it is. Sossy, sossy, sossy, sossy ickle dirl 1’ The infant is a demure young lady in a regal kind of pelisse, and says, ‘B-r-r-r’ rather coldly and turns her fluffy little head away. ‘ Oh, and was she shy, then? So urns shall. So unis shall be shy, then.’ The complimentary little lady com racnces to tickle tho infant’s tiny woollen shoes in a way that causes it to sneer contemptuously. “ Creepy mouse, creepy mouse, creepy——’ ‘ Come on, Robert !’ The sfiort mother interferes, * i lon’t stand there like a great gawk, bub take it and hold it for a bit. You men don t care a bit whether we women-fulk work ourselves to death or not so long as you ’ ‘ Why, ain’t I offered to take it two or three times V ‘ And a pretty awkward way you’ve got ot ’olding the dear little thing now that you have took her. Here ! Hand her back. Yon give me the fidgets !’ A sound of a screaming baby, who seems to be having a spirited discussion with the curate on first principles, and to be losing its temper, comes through the open doors of tho church, and anxious mothers resting now on (the square flat stones that bear an indistinct date of seventeen hundred and something, hush their infants assiduously to prevent a general riot. One purple-faced infant, with a tiny nose that will require a lot of training in order to get it into shape, docs in-

deed join in, and makes so much noise that the people outside the iron railings peep thiongh with increased curiosity. The purple-faced baby is treated in a dozen different ways ; is patted on the hack, is danced up and down, is halfsmothered on its mother’s bodies, is beamed at strenuously by every avaiiah e patent, and nothing induces it to moderate its tones L 230 stopping casually at the iron gates, his presence is at once utilised by the specious elders. ‘’Ero’s a copper coming for him.” L 230 humorously entering into the scheme by saying in a deep voice, ‘What’s all this row about?’ the purple-faced baby ceases instantly its uproar, resumes a more reasonable complexion, and aflects to be deeply interested in the artistic qualities of its mother’s brooch. Some dispute arises near the porch between two mothers as to the respective weight of their offspring, and the two babies are passed round to a jury of matrons, and these handle the competitors with an acute air much as though they were selecting poultry. One of the jury points out with some bitterness that of course (here’s no automatic machine here by which the question might bo definitely settled. ‘ When you don’t want them,’ adds the jury woman, ‘they are all over the shop.’ Babies come out of the church now invested with names of own ; the important old lady in the crape bonnet has beckoned to nearly all her clients, and the audience outside the railings begin to think of tea. * Como on, old girl ! You don’t want to stand gazing at them uglyfaced little kids any longer,’ The middle-aged wife sighs as she turns away from the iron railings and takes her husband’s arm. ‘Ah Jim !’ She shakes her head reflectively. * I’d give a ’undred thousand pound to be able to call one of ’em me own.