The Knickerbocker, Vol. 10, No. 4, October 1837 — John Shaqi
The Knickerbocker, Vol. 10, No. 4, October 1837Various
History
The Knickerbocker, Vol. 10, No. 4, October 1837
Various
Periodicals
'As the sweet child grew up,' continued she, 'she was the talk of all
tongues, far and near; and before she was fifteen, Sir, gentlefolks
came from all parts to see her. A fine time we had of it, surely;
first one pretence and then another kept us answering questions and
inquiries about her, all day long. As for Dame Beetle, who kept a
little shop, and sold gloves over the way, just facing this window,
she made a pretty penny by the beauty of our dear child; though the
old simpleton thought it was the goodness of her gloves that brought
her so many gentlemen customers. Why, I have known no fewer than five
or six of the neighboring squires, ay, and lords too, so difficult
to fit, that they've been standing over the little counter by the
hour together; but I warrant not to much purpose, as far as the real
object of their visit was concerned. No sooner did horse, or gig, or
carriage stop in the village, than dear Mr. George--that is him that
was with the Doctor, you know, Sir----'
'Oh, his name was George too?'
'Yes, Sir, that it was; and down here he would run as fast as legs
could carry him; and his first question was always, 'David, where
is little Harri? Take her into the garden.' And here he would sit
till the gentry opposite were gone away. If ever one creature did
doat upon another, Mr. George loved that sweet child. Ah! would to
heaven he had lived to make her his wife! But it's all fate, and so I
suppose it's for the best as it is; though I would have died, sooner
than things should have fallen out as they have, if that could have
prevented it.'
'A thousand times over,' responded David, with a fond glance at the
picture; 'I'd rather never have been born, than have lived to weep
over the ruin of such heavenly beauty and goodness.'
A chill of horror struck upon my heart, as I repeated, with inquiring
emphasis, the word that had produced it. 'The ruin?' said I;
'impossible!' and as I raised my eyes toward heaven, at the thought
of such a sacrifice, they caught those of the victim in the picture.
I could have wept aloud, so powerful was the influence of the gaze
that I encountered. There sat the loveliest creature that the world
e'er saw; an artless, careless child; health, hope and happiness
beaming in her sweet fair face; her lips, although the choicest
target for his aim, the foil of Cupid's darts, so pure, so modest was
the smile that parted them. Her eyes, the beacon lights of virgin
chastity; her joyous look the Lethe where pale care could come but
to be lost, it scared off wo. And were these made for ruin to write
shame upon? Oh man, monster, ingrate, fiend! Heaven, pitying the dull
clod of nature's 'prentice work, sends an ethereal solace to your
aid, and when the blessing comes with three-fold charms, to make the
bounteous gift more welcome still, you seek, with whetted, graceless
appetite, to abuse it, and know no bounds that limit less than
infamy, to make up the mortal sum of your ingratitude.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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