"Photographing children," he says, "is charming work, but it_The Harmsworth Magazine, v. 1, 1898-1899

be successful so long as the customary relations between them and the

photographer exist. They usually enter a studio with much the same

sort of feelings as they do a dentist's. They should be made to feel

at home before the business side of their visit is reached. Instead of

being at once placed in the 'operating' chair, they should be allowed

to wander about, if old enough, at their own sweet wills and in

any case become accustomed to their strange surroundings. Wild

gesticulations, promises of chocolates, stories of 'the little bird,'

and orders to 'keep like that,' only serve to produce expressions

of wonder and fear. Personally I let the child amuse itself with new

toys, and either pretend to take no notice, or else join in the game.

This may go on for half an hour. Meanwhile, an attendant is quietly

focussing an almost concealed camera, and when the child begins to

prattle, I wait for an unconscious and happy expression, then snap

goes the shutter, and the thing is done.

[Illustration: "WHO IS THAT LITTLE FELLOW?"]

[Illustration: "I DON'T LIKE HIM!"]

"Every child's face is beautiful to at least one pair of eyes. The

features may not be symmetrical, the eyes may be small and dull, but

the charm of childhood does not lie entirely in facial beauty. It is

the coy smile and the quaint expression that a parent prizes most. And

it is these characteristics that a photographer should aim to catch.

Mothers often make the mistake of rehearsing the sitting at home. It

is even better not to mention the matter in the presence of the little

one; it is usually much more satisfactory if the visit is a surprise

one as far as the child is concerned. It is also unwise to dress the

young sitter in unaccustomed clothes or to warn it to be good. For

general work, my rule about posing children is, 'Never pose them at

all.'"

[Illustration]

Mr. Byrne's studios are veritable toy-shops, containing everything

from a jumping frog to a model of an Atlantic liner. Indeed, Mr. Byrne

has given a big firm of toy-dealers a standing order to send anything

new that comes in the market. Antiquarians will learn with a pang

that the dear old Noah's Ark is going the way of all flesh. British

children will have none of it. They refuse to look pleasant for less

than a little bicycle with rubber tyres, or a miniature motor-car with

real boilers--at least when they go to be photographed.

So much, then, for how Mr. Byrne's "happy" results are produced; what

about his "unhappy" ones? Both are well represented here. Take the

first pictures, Sunshine and Shadow. What caused the inquisitive

little fellow in the first to find the world all dark and so little of

interest in life a few seconds later?

It must have been something wholly unexpected, for it effected much

the same change in his companion's countenance. Was it a pin-point

gently insinuated between the shoulder blades, or a cold sponge

dexterously applied to the little spine?

[Illustration: "QUEEN OF HEARTS."]

That is what mothers would like to know. Mr. Byrne says, with a

smile, that it was neither--that the expression was a purely natural

development. But will the mothers of England believe him?

[Illustration: UNHAPPY LITTLE PEOPLE.]

There is, too, the case of the little boy gazing so intently into a

hand-glass; what did he find hidden in its depths to make him suddenly

cast it aside, and turn to where the photographer is presumably

standing, with such a look of mingled disappointment and disgust? His

discovery was evidently remarkable, for, as will be seen, it had the

additional effect of taking his fore-lock out of curl. Again Mr. Byrne

is appealed to, and again he smiles and vouchsafes the same reply. And

again the mothers of England will have their suspicions.

[Illustration: "RATHER SLOW, THIS!"]

In photography, as in many another profession, the path of those who

would forsake the beaten track does not lie through acacia groves.

Many obstacles strew the way. For instance, Mr. Byrne conceived the

notion of posing children in a big boot, such as appears in two of the

accompanying reproductions. It is a simple-looking boot, yet it took

two years to make; that is to say, the day the order was given, and

the day it was satisfactorily carried out, were separated by a span

of such duration. But much happened in between. First of all Mr. Byrne

made a rough design of what he wanted, giving the dimensions, etc.,

and sent it, through a friend, to a local bootmaker. Perhaps, not

anxious to have his idea noised throughout camera-land, Mr. Byrne's

instructions were not as explicit as they might be; it was the time

of the dynamitard outrages, and the worthy artist in leather grew

suspicious. What might his customer want with such a boot? it was most

unusual; he had never heard of a man with such a large foot; and why

only _one_ boot? He didn't like such peculiar orders, but he would do

what he could in the matter; of course it would cost a goodish sum. As

to whether the poor man had nightly visions of the strange boot being

filled with infernal machines and placed under the House of Commons,

and himself charged by the State with aiding and abetting the plot, no

reliable information is forthcoming, but certainly, after two months

had elapsed, he sent word to say that he found the work more difficult

than he had anticipated, and that unless the one-legged individual,

for whom the boot was apparently intended, could call and be measured

in the ordinary way, he must regretfully throw up the job. A carpenter

was next tried, but with little more success. The boot actually did

come home, after a time, but it was large enough for six children to

lose themselves in, instead of comfortably accommodating one. At this

stage it occurred to Mr. Byrne that one of the Drury Lane "property"

men, used to tailoring for pantomime giants and other unusual

creatures, would be able to make a boot a little bit out of the common

without being too inquisitive as to its mission in life. So it finally

arrived, a beautiful creation, fit for any Brobdingnagian dandy, and

redolent of Day and Martin. But Mr. Byrne wanted a dilapidated boot;

to save further trouble, however, he proceeded, with the aid of a

pocket knife and an old hatchet, to dilapidate it himself.

[Illustration: "WHAT DOES ALL THIS MEAN?"]

It was much the same with the egg appearing herewith. It was tried in

canvas, wood, and papier-maché before the more serviceable aluminium

produced a "lay" that any pantomime bird might be proud of. Both the

boot and the egg have done yeoman service since. They have assisted in

producing something approaching a thousand photograph-pictures.

When Mr. Byrne had shown that the novel could be blended with the

artistic in child photography, would-be imitators were not slow to

appreciate the innovation. Photographers wrote from all parts of the

country to inquire where Mr. Byrne obtained his "properties"; they

would like to add duplicates to their own studios. Guileless Mr. Byrne

replied in each case--"From America."

It would be as difficult for Mr. Byrne to say how he came to make a

spécialité of child photography as it would to explain what led him to

take to the camera at all. He practically drifted into both.

[Illustration: LITTLE MISS PENSIVE.]

"My life," he says, "might almost be described as one long drift.

Although I was born in Ireland, I entered the Italian army, for some

reason no one, not even myself, has ever been able to explain, when

I was fifteen years of age. I fought in the Austro-Franco-Italian

campaign of 1859, being one of the only two Britishers engaged in the

war. The other was the late Colonel Peard. Like him, I was present

at the great battles of Magenta and Solferino, and like him I several

times came near ending my career on the plains of Lombardy.

"When the war was over, and there seemed no prospect of another,

I drifted away from the colours, back to London, and into the more

peaceful occupation of portrait making. Photography was in its infancy

in those days; and I can only presume that I took kindly to it because

I had always been something of an artist, which was of considerable

advantage to me in my new profession. After a while I discovered

that I secured happier results with children than was usual, probably

because, being naturally fond of them, I devoted more care and

attention to them than was customary, for child sitters were rare

then, and photographers were apt to regard them as rather bad

bargains, notwithstanding the higher fees charged."

[Illustration: LITTLE DAMES IN FANCY FRAMES.]

It is not surprising to learn that Mr. Byrne has "snapped" nearly all

the little English royalties; his studios being located at Richmond in

Surrey, he has frequently been summoned to the White Lodge and Windsor

Castle, not to mention more distant royal seats. Regarding juvenile

princes and princesses, Mr. Byrne has something interesting to say.

[Illustration]

"Royal children have charming and simple ways, and it is usually

an easy matter to establish friendly relations with them. That once

accomplished, photographing always becomes a pleasure. They are just

as fond of new toys as other children, just as eager for a romp,

frequently more so. Indeed, I have more than once had to 'play

soldiers' with some of the Queen's grandchildren while waiting for

them to reach a sitting-still mood."

[Illustration]

Perhaps much of Mr. Byrne's success is due to the fact that

photography is not merely his profession; it is his hobby as well.

He is constantly devising new and novel poses, both for his private

sitters and the child-models he employs. When a mother calls at the

studio with her bairn, she is shown numerous bulky volumes, veritable

picture galleries of children in almost every conceivable attitude,

and invited to choose which she would prefer for her own little one's

portrait. Bewildered by such a display, she usually elects to leave

the choice to the photographer, and she is invariably wise; for the

pose that shows to perfection the characteristic beauty of one child

may be quite unsuitable for another. A trained eye notices these

things as quickly as a practised artist can tell whether a certain bit

of scenery is "paintable" or not. One of Mr. Byrne's child-models must

be the most photographed little person in the country, for she has

figured in no fewer than two thousand studies. To show the variety of

these, a page herewith is devoted to a composite reproduction of the

little model in some of her happiest poses. The sweet child, it might

be mentioned, is the daughter of Mr. Byrne's laundress.

[Illustration: A CHILD MODEL--SOME OF HER HAPPIEST POSES.]

Mr. Byrne has three "Don'ts" for mothers who would secure speaking

likenesses of their little ones. Don't let the little one know

beforehand that it is going to a studio. Don't dress it in any costume

to which it is unaccustomed. Don't endeavour to arrange its hair; this

will look better if allowed to fall naturally.

[Illustration: SOMEBODY'S NEST-EGG.]

It must not be supposed, however, that the subject of this article is

a photographer of children only. Between them, eighty-nine exhibitions

in various parts of the world have awarded him something like a

quarter of a hundredweight of medals for exhibits of all kinds, while

he has also photographed nearly every adult member of our royal family

and innumerable celebrities. In this branch of his work, however, Mr.

Byrne has to content himself with the artistic, and leave the novel

severely alone. For the Prince of Wales, considerate sitter though he

is, would hardly consent to have himself "caught" in an old boot, or

Sir Ellis Ashmead Bartlett, though he does much to amuse his fellow

members of Parliament, permit himself to be represented emerging from

an aluminium egg. So the "properties" have to be laid aside at times.

[Illustration: BUILT FOR ONE.]

"The Queen," says Mr. Byrne, "is one of the best sitters in the

world, very rarely moving or spoiling a plate. That abomination of all

studios, the head rest, is quite unnecessary in Her Majesty's case.

The Prince of Wales takes quite a keen interest in photography

himself, and when sitting will go to considerable personal trouble in

order that the results may be successful. The Prince will get together

a royal group where anyone else would fail. The German Emperor is a

most genial sitter; but his pose before the camera is apt to be rather

stiff, and his expression somewhat stern. Nearly every royal sitter,

in fact, has some peculiarity which one finds it one's task to

moderate without destroying altogether."

[Illustration: "I DON'T LIKE PHOTOGRAPHERS!"]

But we are no nearer Mr. Byrne's secret. How were the "unhappy"

pictures obtained? Stories are told of fond mothers, waiting

in anterooms, being horrified to suddenly hear piercing shrieks

proceeding from the studio. Breathlessly they have dashed in, to find

Mr. Byrne all smiles, baby all tears. When the proofs came home, the

picture showing baby crying was generally voted wonderfully lifelike,

even if it was not selected for general distribution.

These strange rumours are referred to, and once again Mr. Byrne is

appealed to to withdraw the veil; but yet again he smiles and replies

as before. Which reply, it is to be feared, the mothers of England

will accept with the customary condiment.

[Illustration: POISON

POISONED RING.

POISONED GLOVES.

POISONED SWORD.

POISONED HOCKEY STICK.

POISONED SHIRT.

POISONED DAGGER.

POISONED BOOTS.

POISONED BOWL.

]

[Illustration: Decorative frame]

DEVICES CONCEIVED BY THE GRIM AND GHASTLY INGENUITY OF OUR

FOREFATHERS.

The ingenuity of man in devising schemes to perpetuate life has almost

been equalled by his ingenuity in framing devices to abridge it. In

all ages there have been men who hated convention, even conventional

murder. When they desired to remove an enemy secretly, they had

recourse to poison; but not to ordinary schemes of poisoning. They

made it an art.

An interesting device, very palpably suggested by the famous shirt

of Nessus, is that given on the opposite page. The shirt was charged

within with poison of great acerbity, which so acted upon the skin of

its wearer as to inflame and then blister with incredible malignity,

until the victim died in horrible agonies.

Various hypotheses have been put forward with respect to the history

of the shirt we illustrate, which is now in an American museum; but

there seems every reason to believe that it is the garment mentioned

in a German work of the 15th century by Adolph Beckert, as having been

exhumed with the body of a Greek military captain, with an inscription

to the effect that, having been guilty of gross insubordination,

amounting to treason, he was ordered to denude himself of his garments

in the presence of the soldiers, and don the fatal tunic.

Of equal, if not greater antiquity, was the device in vogue among the

Tartar princes.

When a prince desired to dispatch an inconvenient subject, he was

invited to a game of hockey, participated in by the various nobles,

officers and officials of the Court. The Royal Chamberlain always

took good care that the technical miscreant should play with a special

stick, within whose jewelled hilt lurked the deadly poison. But even

the drug would have been scarcely sufficient to destroy life if there

had not been also concealed in the handle a number of microscopic

needle points which, tiny as they were, and almost unobserved at the

first handling, were quite sufficient after a few minutes' play to

puncture the skin.

In this connection we may advert to the vast number of swords and

daggers extant whose tips were impregnated with poison; these are to

be found in many museums in Europe. There are not a few even in our

own Scotland Yard. Although legitimately poison devices, they betray

little ingenuity.

The pair of gauntlets shown on the opposite page are said to have been

the property of a great foreign political notability. Once well on

the hands of the victim, a species of gum, with which the interior

was lined, adhered with such tenacity to the flesh that it was next to

impossible to remove the gloves, except by cutting them away; and

even then the gum remained impervious to water, or of solution, until

inflammation was succeeded by festering, and unless amputation of the

whole arm followed, death inevitably ensued.

Several deaths from the wearing of poisoned boots have been recorded,

notably that of Andre Nolofski, courier to the Russian Empress

Catherine the Great, who was discovered some nine miles from Moscow,

lying prone dead on the side of the road, with apparently not a mark

of disfigurement, until someone removed his boots. Then a surgeon

discovered that tiny poisoned needles had pierced his feet.

Poison rings were not unknown to the Romans. A hollow duct was

contained in half the ring, from which poison was supplied to a needle

of infinitesimal size at the opposite side. The other half of the

circle enclosed a very delicate mechanism for operating the needle.

When, with a slight pressure, the hand of the enemy was clasped with

apparent cordiality and good-fellowship, it gently punctured the skin

without exciting suspicion.

Another device we illustrate was in very common use amongst the

Chinese up to a century ago. It consisted of a bowl heavily coated

with a colourless soluble poison on the inside. Upon any hot liquid,

such as tea, being poured into this cup, the poison became dissolved.

As a whole service of this ware might come into the possession of one

family without suspicion, it is not difficult to credit the fact that

in spite of every precaution about food, seven or eight persons were

often exterminated by this process.

OUR MONTHLY GALLERY OF BEAUTIFUL AND INTERESTING PAINTINGS.

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