Mrs. Loudon

“But not less pious was the ardent pray’r
That rose spontaneously.”

“Look at him! Is he not a beauteous boy?”

The christening was quite a splendid festival. A number of friends and relations, among whom was Lady Theodosia R., became inmates of Lodore House for the occasion. All the neighbourhood was invited to join their party for the day; and the tenantry and poor people entertained on the lawn and borders of the lake; while the inhabitants of the town of Keswick illuminated their houses to show their respect and affection for the family.

The names of Julia and Frances were given to the little girls. The ceremony was over, and Edmund, who had been dressed very sprucely for the great occasion, was standing near one of the nurses, endeavouring to pacify his baby, as he invariably called the eldest of the twins. The young lady was evincing her displeasure at the drops of cold water which had visited, so suddenly, the nice warm glow produced on her cheek by the full lace border of her cap, and the sheltering shawl of her nurse.

Mrs. Montgomery, who was looking on much amused at the little manoeuvres of Edmund, naturally recollected (the whole business being about names) that he, poor fellow, had but one appellation, and though that did very well now, the case would be altered when he began to go among strangers, when some sort of surname would become quite indispensable. She chanced to express her thoughts on the subject (in an under tone of course) to Lady L. and Mr. Jackson, who were standing near her, adding, that as there was no name over which she had so good a right as her own, she thought he had better in future be called Montgomery.

“Are you quite determined, madam?” asked Mr. Jackson.

“Yes, quite,” she replied.

“Come here, then, my dear little fellow!” proceeded the worthy clergyman, addressing Edmund in an elevated tone.

Edmund obeyed timidly, but immediately.

Mr. Jackson still stood opposite to the font, though, his sacred duties being ended, he had descended the steps previous to the foregoing conversation, which took place while the congregation were moving out of church.

The figure and countenance of Mr. Jackson were fine and impressive, and his air and carriage lent to them all the dignity which the Ruler of nature intended man to derive from his upright form, when the mind is upright too. The infantine figure at his knee seemed, by contrast, to add nobleness to his stature. His eyes were raised to heaven, those of the child to his face, as laying one hand on Edmund’s head, and extending the other, he pronounced with solemnity the following words:

“May the Almighty Father of the fatherless, and Defender of the orphan’s cause, bless, guide, and protect you, under the name of Edmund Montgomery, till your claim (if you have such) to any other shall be known and acknowledged.”

The tones of his voice were fine; and, on this occasion, a tenderness was blended with their depth, supplied by the growing partiality he had for some time felt for poor Edmund; while his naturally grave and almost severe deportment, borrowed, when, as now, he had been recently engaged in divine service, a grace from his piety, a humility which yet elevated: it was a consciousness, visible, of standing in the presence of his Maker.

When our party had come out of church, and were waiting under some trees in the little green that surrounded the building, for the carriages to come up in convenient order, Mr. Jackson, who still held Edmund by the hand, turned to Mrs. Montgomery, and, with an enthusiasm peculiar to himself, and the very glow of which prevented his perceiving that he not unfrequently produced a smile on the lips of those who were not capable of entering into his feelings, said, “This child, madam, is a more perfect personification of my ideas of what the angels must be, than any thing I have ever before met with, or even read of.”

“You except the ladies, I hope,” said Lady Theodosia, “or, at least, those of the present company.”

“I make no exceptions, madam,” replied Mr. Jackson, with but little gallantry of voice or manner. Then turning again to Mrs. Montgomery, he was about to proceed; but Lady Theodosia ran on thus:—

“It is certainly customary to say of any fine fat child, that it is quite a cherub; but I cannot see why a perfection so earthly, should lay exclusive claim to the attribute of angels! The Edinburgh sick nurse, in that case, would be the most angelic creature among us, for she must measure, as Sir John Falstaff says of himself, at least three yards round the waist.”

Lady Theodosia was very thin.

“My premises, madam, led to no such monstrous conclusion!” replied Mr. Jackson, with much more severity of tone than the occasion called for.

“Monstrous conclusion!” echoed the doctor. “Come, that’s very good! The person your ladyship has just mentioned, is somewhat monstrous, it cannot be denied.”

Mr. Jackson, meanwhile, with a gravity not to be shaken, proceeded addressing Mrs. Montgomery as follows:—“In my mental visions, I have often indulged in speculations on the possible appearance of angels. I have, ’tis true, always pictured them to myself decked in that freshness of beauty peculiar to extreme youth; yet, on the brow, I have imagined an expression resembling what may be traced here!” and he passed his hand over the forehead of Edmund. Then taking off the little plumed Scotch bonnet, and viewing him as he spoke, he continued: “That look, I had almost said of thought, that touch of sentiment, scarcely corresponding with the dimpled and infantine loveliness of the cheek: that smile too, of perfect happiness, emanating from the blissful consciousness of never even wishing wrong! No seeds of jarring passions there, madam! no contentions of spirit: but that absolute harmony of soul, so rarely to be met with on earth, when every impulse of the native will is in unison with the sense of right implanted in all, by the great Author and Source of good!”

Lady Theodosia was dying to laugh, but dare not, Mr. Jackson’s face was so perfectly serious. Edmund looked up at the moment, conscious that he was spoken of, though, of course, not comprehending what was said.

“The eye,” continued Mr. Jackson, “when it meets yours, certainly conveys a tender appeal, a silent claim on protection, that we scarcely expect in that of a superior intelligence.”

Lady Theodosia philosophically observed, that the child’s hair was black, and that angels were always depicted with golden locks. (Her ladyship’s were auburn, bordering on red.) “And as to supposing,” continued the lady, “that angels must invariably be children,” (Lady Theodosia was no child,) “it is quite an erroneous idea. Milton’s angels were of all ages.”

“But there were no ladies among them, Theodosia!” said Lord L., just coming up. “Lovers call you angels, but brothers and married men may speak the truth; and, it must be confessed, that all the angels upon record are either children or young men.”

“Oh fie! my lord,” ventured the doctor; “is it not recorded every day before our eyes, in the fairest characters,” bowing and smiling to Lady Theodosia, “that the ladies are angels! Fair characters! fair characters! Come, that’s fair, very fair, a’n’t?”