If there is one thing on earth, more lovely than another, it is a fair
girl of the tender age of Winifred Wood! Her beauty awakens no feeling
beyond that of admiration. The charm of innocence breathes around her,
as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought
and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil.
Beautiful is the girl of twelve,--who is neither child nor woman, but
something between both, something more exquisite than either!
Such was the fairy creature presented to Thames Darrell, under the
following circumstances.
Glad to escape from the scene of recrimination that ensued between his
adopted parents, Thames seized the earliest opportunity of retiring, and
took his way to a small chamber in the upper part of the house, where he
and Jack were accustomed to spend most of their leisure in the
amusements, or pursuits, proper to their years. He found the door ajar,
and, to his surprise, perceived little Winifred seated at a table,
busily engaged in tracing some design upon a sheet of paper. She did not
hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her
head.
It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she
pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most
favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike
figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her
countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun
falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that
seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. Winifred's features would
have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they
had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;--a disorder, that
sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be
sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. We have seen pitted
cheeks, which we would not exchange for dimples and a satin skin.
Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look. Her mouth was worthy of
her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and
pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about
them. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and
fringed by long silken lashes. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and
finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. She was
dressed in a little white frock, with a very long body, and very short
sleeves, which looked (from a certain fullness about the hips,) as if it
was intended to be worn with a hoop. Her slender throat was encircled by
a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of
her head rested a diminutive lace cap.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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