First Love. Mrs. Loudon
in a boy’s cockade.
To prevent, however, a serious disappointment on the part of Lord L., an explanatory message was sent to him before she was permitted to enter the drawing-room. There was but one child’s nurse, too; but what with grandmamma’s help, and good Mrs. Smyth’s assistance, and Edmund’s, which he judicially afforded, by running under every body’s feet who carried a baby, they contrived to manage till a second nurse could be procured.
We speak of nurses under certain limitations; for Lady L. had been too well instructed by her mother, in every right sentiment, to meditate for a moment depriving her infants of the nutriment nature had ordained for them.
The doctor, as soon as he thought he could venture to assert that there would be no more, either boys or girls, frisked into the drawing-room, rubbing his hands, and smiling with perfect satisfaction.
“I give your lordship,” he said, “joy, twice told! twice told! I believe I am justified in so doing on the present twofold occasion. Twofold, heigh? twofold it certainly is, literally so, and twofold should be our rejoicing; else are we ungrateful for the bounty of Providence, and the liberality of nature! Liberality of nature, heigh?”
“But—,” said his lordship, with a countenance of some anxiety.
“We did not anticipate this, sir,” continued the doctor, “this is a contingency that we did not anticipate.”
“Pray—,” recommenced Lord L., making a fresh effort to be heard; but the doctor proceeded.
“Two beautiful girls, upon my life—beautiful! I already see future conquests sparkling in their eyes!”
“Are you sure, doctor,” asked the major, “there won’t be any more? A boy now, eh? Girls first: all right that—Place aux dames.”
“The next,” proceeded the doctor, still addressing Lord L., “shall be a boy. At present two belles have been sent us, and we should make them joy belles! eh? Come, that’s rather good, a’n’t it?” And with his usual pirouette, he flung himself on the sofa beside the major, threw one leg across the other, and with his head a little back, and on one side, looked up and smiled with entire self-complacency.
Mrs. Montgomery now appeared at the door, to give Lord L. the long-wished-for summons; which he obeyed on tip-toe.
“From Scotland, I presume, sir?” said the doctor to his neighbour on the sofa.
“Ee noo, sir,” replied the major; “bit hoo did ye ken I cam frae Scotland? No by my speech, I reckon.”
“Oh, sir, the name—the name,” returned the doctor, a little disconcerted.
“Morven is a weel kent name, dootless,” rejoined the man of war; “and for my speech, I should tack ney sham that it savoured o’ the land o’ my nativity, provided sic was the case; bit it fell oot, that being much wee my regiment, on the sarvice o’ his Majesty, I ha’ been full saxteen year o’ my life oot o’ Scotland; se that noo, when I gang to Lunnon, ne body kens me till be a Scotchman: that is, by my speech. Bit ne’ doot—”
Here the doctor, who had kept silence unusually long (perhaps from admiration of the major’s pure English), interrupted his companion, to descant on use or custom being second nature, &c. And the major being one of the many who never listen to anybody’s speeches but their own, leaned back on the sofa, and fell asleep.
CHAPTER X.
“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 manœuvres 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