The Knickerbocker, Vol. 10, No. 6, December 1837Various
History
The Knickerbocker, Vol. 10, No. 6, December 1837
Various
Periodicals
There were two principal streets in the village of Weckford,
stretching along the banks of the river, as far as the eye could
reach; and the offices, stores, dwellings, and factories of the
Worthingtons, their children, and connexions, were everywhere to be
seen. Many of the mansions, along Pleasant-street, were embellished
with balustrades, where the residents, at the close of the labors
of the day, came forth to enjoy the sweet odors from the flowers
of the gardens, the ornamental trees of the walks, and the cooling
breezes from off the beautiful river. It was at such an hour, that a
stranger, clad in miserable tatters, with a long beard, dishevelled
ringlets, and leaning upon a rough stick, cut from the woods,
tottered slowly and feebly into the village.
'Will you tell me,' said the stranger, inquiring at the door of
a descendant of the Worthingtons, 'where the dwelling of Thomas
Worthington, Esq. is?'
'It is that noble edifice which you see yonder, beyond the long row
of factories.'
The inquirer moved slowly on, apparently scarce able to sustain
himself, from physical imbecility. He was met at the outer gate by a
servant.
'Will you tell your master that a distant relation, from across the
water, who has experienced many misfortunes, desires to see him?'
The servant returned, and ushered the traveller into the outer hall;
and in a few minutes, the owner of the mansion appeared.
'I am, Sir, your supplicant,' said the stranger. 'You doubtless
recollect, that a brother of your mother, residing in Scotland,
had many sons. Misfortunes have thickened upon one of them. He is
poor, and, from a recent loss of every thing by shipwreck, is now
pennyless. He begs a lodging at your hands, and something wherewith
to clothe his almost naked frame.'
'I have nothing to give to stragglers,' said the lord of the mansion.
'Most persons like you are impostors.'
'_I_ am no impostor,' said the petitioner; 'here is proof that I am
not,' taking a letter from the American consul from his pocket; 'but
I am your poor unfortunate cousin; and if you will but relieve my
pressing wants, Providence may put it into my power to reward your
kindness.'
'I repeat, I have nothing to give; and I should advise you to get
some daily work to supply your wants.'
The stranger heaved a deep sigh, and left the house. He tottered on.
It was impossible to pass many dwellings, without encountering one
owned and occupied by a Worthington, or his descendant. He called
upon many; told his misfortunes, and solicited relief; but _all_ were
deaf to his petition, and most of them shut the door in his face.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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