nsumed every day at "Babies' Castle," from sixty to seventy
bottles filled per diem, and all the bottle babies are weighed every
week and their record carefully kept. A glance through this book reveals
the indisputable fact that Arthur puts on flesh at a really alarming
rate. But there are many others who are "growing" equally as well. The
group of youngsters who were carried from the nursery to the garden,
where they could sit in their chairs in the sunshine and enjoy a quiet
pull at their respective bottles, would want a lot of beating for
healthy faces, lusty voices, and seemingly never-to-be-satisfied
appetites.

A piteous moan is heard. It comes from a corner partitioned off. The
coverlet is gently cast on one side for a moment, and I ask that it may
quickly be placed back again. It is the last one sent to "Babies'
Castle." I am wondering still if this poor little mite can live. It is
five months old. It weighs 4lb. 1oz. Such was the little one when I was
at "Babies' Castle."

[Illustration: THE NURSING STAFF. _From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry._]

I looked in at the surgery, presided over by a fully-qualified lady
doctor; thence to the infirmary, where were just three or four occupants
suffering from childish complaints, the most serious of which was that
of the youngster christened "Jim Crow." Jimmy was "off his feed." Still,
he could shout--aye, as loud as did his famous namesake. He sat up in
his little pink flannel nightgown, and screamed with delight. And poor
Jimmy soon learnt how to do it. He only had to pull the string, and the
aforementioned funny little wooden man kicked his legs about as no
mortal ever did, could, or will.

[Illustration: "BABIES' BROUGHAM." _From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry._]

I saw the inhabitants at "Babies' Castle" in the schoolroom. Here they
are happily perched on forms and desks, listening to some simple story,
which appeals to their childish fancies. How they sing! They "bring down
the house" with their thumping on the wooden desks as an accompaniment
to the "big bass drum," whilst a certain youngster's rendering of a
juvenile ditty, known as "The Muffin Man," is calculated to make one
remember his vocal efforts whenever the hot and juicy muffin is put on
the breakfast table. Little Mary still trips it neatly. She can't quite
forget the days and nights when she used to accompany her mother round
the public-houses and dance for coppers. Jane is also a terpsichorean
artiste, and