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.