| There, stranger lips shall give the greeting, There, stranger eyes shall mark the meeting; While the bosom, sad and lone, Turns its heavy heart-beats home. |
A September sun was casting its parting rays far over the dull waters of the Mississippi, as a steamer, with steady course, ploughed her way through the thick waves and "rounded to" at the thronged and busy wharf of New Orleans.
Upon her deck, apart from all other passengers, stood two youths gazing with anxious eyes on the vast city spread out before them. The taller and elder of the two, bore upon his brow the flush of his twentieth summer. His figure seemed already to have gained its full proportions, and in his carriage and tone of voice there was all the pliant grace of youth, combined with manhood's strength and ease. His hair was of that purplish black so rarely seen save in the raven's wing, or the exquisite portraits of the old masters. The full broad forehead, shadowed by its dark locks, the clear black eye, the hue of health upon the check, and the smile upon the red lips as they parted over the snowy teeth, formed a picture of fresh and manly beauty over which the wing of this wicked world had as yet never hung darkly.
The younger was a mere boy; and stood beside his brother in that autumn hour, like a pure memory of other days; so marked was his whole bearing with that pureness of grace and refinement which circles some young brows like a halo. His figure was slender and delicate as a girl's; while his hair, almost golden in its hue, hung in curls about the blue-veined temples, and a brow of solid and exquisite formation, such as the lover of the intellectual delights to behold. His eyes were like the blue which lies revealed when the storm ceases and the clouds part in the sunshine; and the long lashes curled upon a cheek of almost invariable whiteness. His nose was of a pure Grecian cast, his mouth one of great expression and most beautifully cut. No one ever looked upon that young face without turning to look again, and felt holier for the gaze, in their hearts. Dear reader, do not imagine this an over-drawn sketch from a romantic fancy. I have only too weakly delineated the reality, as the portrait which hangs before me, looking down with its golden-fringed blue eyes upon my task, can fully testify.
During the whole passage the brothers had attracted universal attention, and won the good will of all; and now, as they stood arm in arm, amid all the hurry and bustle of the "first hour in port," not a sailor passed them but raised his dusty tarpaulin with a hearty "good e'en to the lads," and the passengers, as they reached the shore, would look up through the crowd once more at their young faces, to gain one more smile or one more parting wave of the hand, thinking, perhaps, it might be the last time forever.
"Guly," said the elder of the two, suddenly throwing his right arm around the slight figure of his brother, and drawing him closer to him, "tell me what makes you silent and thoughtful at this moment, when the scene of our future action lies before us, and our destination is gained. Of what are you thinking?
"I was thinking," replied the boy, as he laid his cheek caressingly upon his brother's shoulder, while his thoughtful eyes became suffused with emotion, "I was thinking of home. The sun is setting, and you know, at this hour our mother prays for her absent boys—were you thinking of the same thing, brother?"
There came no reply for a moment; Arthur only pressed his brother closer to him, but he answered at last, while a faint blush stole over his cheek: "No, Guly, I must confess my thoughts were far from that. I wish I could always think as rightly as you do, but it isn't my nature so to do. I was thinking of the untried path before us, the probable events of the next few years, the fair home so recently torn from us, the possibility of regaining possession of it through our efforts, and re-establishing ourselves in that station where we have ever moved. We must do this, Guly, for our mother's sake."
"With God's help we will."
Again Arthur's clasp tightened round his brother's figure, and again for a few moments he was silent; then suddenly resuming he said: "You must strive to make a good impression on Mr. Delancey, Guly; don't be timid or shrinking—such things have a bad effect. Be every inch a man, as you so well know how to be; bear always in mind how much depends on us two, and we shall get on bravely." It was evident Arthur dreaded more for his brother than he thought of for himself.
"I dread the meeting," returned Guly; "from the tone of his letter I learned to dread the man, and a boy-novice, as I am, in mercantile business, I shrink from the examination I may have to undergo, while you, with your experience, of course, scarce give it a thought. I have pictured Mr. Delancey as a very stern man."
They put themselves and their baggage into a cab, and at length brought up before a large and brilliantly lighted store, with the name "Delancey," in gilt block letters over the door. The cabman set the trunks which comprised the brothers' baggage, within, and pocketing his fare, drove off, leaving the youthful strangers standing upon the stage of their young future, waiting for fate to ring the curtain up.
In a short time a tall, heavily built young man, with a fine eye and pleasant smile, stepped between them, with an interrogative expression on his countenance, which asked, without the aid of any words, what might be their business; and Arthur replied that they desired to see Mr. Delancey as soon as possible.
The young man glanced at the trunk, and then at Guly's face, and ejaculating an "Ah, yes!" as if he had suddenly jumped at a conclusion, asked—this time putting his question into words—if they were the young chaps Mr. Delancey was looking for from the North; "because," said he, "if you are, I can settle you."
Guly replied that they were the same; and informed him they were not a little fatigued with their recent journey, and would be pleased to be "settled" as soon as convenient.
The clerk, whose name was Wilkins, regarded Guly attentively a moment, then smiled pleasantly, and said: "You are to sleep in the store—up stairs. If I'm a judge, you've been used to pleasanter places; however, I presume it will soon be home to you. Here, Jeff," beckoning to a tall negro near by, "tote this trunk up for your young masters."
"Jeff" appeared, and with a scrape and a bow signified his readiness to show the brothers to their room, and nodding to Wilkins, they followed the negro to the back part of the store, where a long winding staircase led to the floor above.
They had reached the stair foot, when Wilkins, who had been observing them, hurried after them, and holding out his hand to Gulian, said: "Don't get a bad impression of all of us here by the dingy room you'll find up there; notwithstanding you meet such a rough welcome, I hope you'll learn to like us and be happy."
"Thank you," said Guly, shaking his hand warmly, and feeling pleased at his frank, honest manner, "I've no doubt we shall be very good friends. Good-night."
"Good-night," returned Wilkins, and he stood watching the boy as he mounted the steep staircase, until the golden curls and young face were lost to sight. He turned away then with a short deep sigh, which sounded almost like a gasp, and thoughtfully resumed his station near the door.
"Dis is a gloomsome sort of place, young massa," said Jeff, the negro, as he placed the trunk at the foot of the bed and turned towards Guly, who was trying to look through the dingy window; "howsomever, 'taint quite so bad in the day time."
"What makes it more pleasant then?" asked the boy.
"Oh," said Jeff, "when 'tis light you can look straight down from here into de neighbors' kitchens; you can see all dey hab for dinner, how dey 'conomize, how different de misses are drest in de backdoor to what dey are when dey come out de front, and all dat."
"A pleasant occupation, truly," laughed Guly. "Does any one sleep in the store beside ourselves?"
"Massa Wilkins, sah, and me. Massa Wilkins' room is down below, just under the stairs; I sleeps behind the big door on the floor, and play watch-dog for master."
"What's your name besides Jeff?" asked Arthur, amused at the loquacity of the black.
"Same as my father's, sah."
"And what is your father's?"
"Well," said the negro, twisting a lock of wool in his fingers, "dat's a puzzler! His fust name's Voltaire, and I guess his last one's Delancey, 'cause he belongs to master, and his belongings generally take his name—sich as Delancey's hosses and Delancey's niggers; but bress de Lord! I 'spec you's sleepy; good-night, young massars—why didn't I tink of dis afore?"
"Good-night," said Guly, at the same time lifting a book from his trunk.
Jeff reached the door and laid his hand on the knob to go out, but as he cast his eye back at the brothers, he stopped short, then walked towards them on tip-toe.
"'Scuse me, massa," said he to Guly, "but I jist happened to tink mebbe dat big book was de Bible."
"And you are right."
"Was you gwine to read it, sah!"
"Yes."
"May dis chile stay an' listen? I like to hear de talk ob dat book; It fecks me inordly and makes me feel better in my heart."
Guly signified his assent, and opening the book, read in a sweet, mellow voice a selection of Psalms. Arthur listened attentively, but not more so than Jeff, who stood with parted lips drinking eagerly in every word. When Guly closed the Bible no one spoke; and after a moment's hesitation he knelt, as did his brother and Jeff, and from the depths of his pure young heart poured forth a prayer of sweet and touching eloquence, such as might have graced the lips of older and wiser persons.
| Backward we turn life's varied page, To note the changes written there. |
On the banks of the Hudson, in one of the oldest settled counties of New-York, stood the handsome dwelling of Arthur Pratt, the elder. All that wealth could buy was lavished upon the elegant house and grounds, to gratify the taste of the owner.
Mr. Pratt (or Colonel Pratt, as he was more generally called) had married quite early in life, and having inherited a large fortune from his father, sought out for himself and bride a home suited to their wealth and station. His wife was a woman of great personal beauty, of most engaging and graceful manners, and distinguished in her own circle for her sweet and unobtrusive piety.
As far as was consistent with what she considered her Christian duty, Mrs. Pratt mingled in the gay scenes with which she was constantly brought in contact; and her gentleness and affability were the comment of all. Col. Pratt having located himself in business (with the desire of having "something to do," which sometimes prompts the millionaire to busy himself in some way) in the adjacent city of New-York, was enabled to pass much of his time in the precincts of his happy home, and at the same time to enjoy the society of the haut ton of the city.
When the happy father clasped to his proud breast his first-born child, the little Arthur, he deemed his happiness complete. The boy was like his father, both in character and beauty; and as he grew in "winsome ways," he became the pride and pet not only of the household, but of friends and visitors. So much indulgence, and openly expressed admiration, did not fail to foster the boy's inherent spirit of pride, and he soon learned to demand concessions and indulgences which were all too rarely denied him. At times, the mother, her fears aroused for the well-being of her child, would remonstrate upon the course of training pursued with him; but a laughing promise of amendment, forgotten almost as soon as given, a kiss, a word of endearment, or a gentle smile, caused the subject to be dropped; not to be renewed until some glaring fault in their darling boy again demanded it.
Gulian seemed sent to his father's arms just in time to prevent the utter ruin, by over-indulgence, of young Arthur. He was a delicate but exquisitely beautiful babe, and his frequent illnesses made deep demands on the endearments hitherto so freely lavished upon his brother. For a time Arthur was highly indignant at the new turn of affairs, and openly resented the slights which necessarily he now often received. Naturally, however, he was of a noble and generous disposition, and soon learned to tenderly love the helpless babe, whose blue eyes would brighten when he drew near, and whose lips murmured, for their first word, "Arty."
Arthur had attained his sixth year when his brother was born; and when time had written Guly a schoolboy, the closest affection united the children, notwithstanding the difference in their years and disposition. Guly, as he was called, though of a cheerful disposition, never displayed that sprightliness and vivacity which characterized Arthur. Even in his merriest moments, a thoughtfulness mingled with his mirth, which rendered him ever attentive to the comfort of others.
There was an attraction about the child which won all hearts—a natural grace and refinement of manner, mingled with a presence whose influence was always for good. With the tattered beggar he came in contact kindly, pressing into his tawny hands the alms he had to give, while Arthur, though equally generous, spoiled his gift by the manner in which it was bestowed, tossing his gold contemptuously at the weary feet of those who asked it, and turning carelessly away. Too early had he learned the power of that wealth to which he might one day becomes the joint heir with his brother, and his pride, perhaps, was censured more than he deserved.
His love for his mother and brother were strong redeeming traits in that self-willed nature, and toward those two beings he ever exercised a lofty and ennobling forbearance. Throughout their school-days he assumed the part of defender and protector toward his younger companion, and if a slur was ever cast upon Guly's meekness, or a taunt uttered at his almost girlish beauty, an earnest champion was ever at his side to adopt his cause, and give the lie to those who dared thus to speak; and Guly in return looked up to Arthur as one brave and manly in all things, a superior both in mind and body; little dreaming of the hour when their stations should seem changed, and he assume the part of guide and guardian over his brother.
Colonel Pratt was desirous that both his children should choose a profession. But Arthur impatiently expressed his distaste for such a course, preferring the busy hum of mercantile life, to the long study necessary to fit him for a profession. Consequently, after having received a good school education, he was placed in his father's store, there to become acquainted with the business under the immediate care and supervision of his doting parent. Gulian at this time was still at school, the same gentle-souled, spiritual-looking boy; who perhaps more than Arthur had wound himself round the fond heart of his mother, and who seemed to love her presence, and cherish her affection, with a depth of feeling unusual in boys of his age.
One morning, late in August, as Colonel Pratt was about to proceed to the city, his wife observed him wandering over the house and grounds with an air of thoughtfulness amounting even to dejection. Astonished at this in one usually so cheerful-hearted, she joined him, and anxiously inquired the cause.
"I have suffered for several days from this same depression of spirits," he answered, with a faint attempt to smile. "Perhaps some wise sightseer might declare it a presentiment of coming evil, but it is no doubt the mere effect of a slight indisposition, occasioned by the extreme heat and application to business."
"Stay at home with me to-day, Arthur!" said his wife, earnestly, reading beneath his attempts to treat the matter lightly a seriousness which he had striven to conceal.
"Nay, my wife," he answered, "it would but seem that I yielded to a superstitious dread. It will all be right to-morrow."
Seeing the boat drawing near, the fond husband bade his wife an affectionate farewell, and hurried to the wharf. She saw him safely on board, and watched the steamer till out of sight.
In life she never saw that husband more. The boat in which he returned was the ill-fated "Empire," which was sunk near Newburgh, and he was among those who perished. The corpse of Colonel Pratt was not discovered until two days had elapsed, and immediate burial was necessary upon the arrival of the body at that dear home whence he had so lately departed. This blow was so severe to his wife, that for several weeks her reason deserted her, in an attack of long-continued illness. She recovered, only to learn, that extensive speculations, whose prospect of certain success had induced Colonel Pratt to invest very nearly the whole of his fortune, had proved an utter failure, and that she and her children were destitute.
Here was something which called forth all her energies, and for her children's sake she nerved herself to action. Their beautiful home, the scene of so much happiness, passed into strangers' hands. Horses and carriage, and even Mrs. Pratt's jewelry, all went in the general ruin. Naught was reserved save enough to purchase a diminutive cottage not many miles from the scene of her former prosperity, and thither she departed, taking with her Arthur and Gulian, who had never before tasted the bitter dregs of poverty or sorrow.
As usual, in such cases, the many friends who had so gladly shared her wealth, now apparently forgot her existence, and she was left to battle with the heavy change alone. It was impossible for them all to live together now, and the mother felt that if Arthur left her, Gillian, too, must go to learn the ways of that world, of the hollowness and falseness of which he as yet knew nothing.
About this time, a Southern paper fell into their hands, containing an advertisement, by a merchant in New-Orleans, for two young clerks, to fill vacancies recently made in his number of assistants. After due consideration, it was determined that they might fill those places, and the merchant was accordingly written to. An answer was immediately returned, desiring that they should come on as soon as possible, stating that it was not his custom to engage Northern clerks, but that it was a season of the year when it was difficult to procure any one, and for this reason he had decided in their favor. He further stated that he should expect them to remain with him winter and summer, as he could not go to the inconvenience of engaging clerks from such a distance, and then have them away three or four months in a year.
On the whole, Mrs. Pratt thought the letter a very stern and disagreeable one in tone, and shuddered as she pictured to herself the character of the writer. What would her delicate and gentle Guly do, in daily contact with such a cold, blunt-lipped man. Still, there was nothing she could devise that would be well for them, and New-Orleans, at that time, was considered an El Dorado, where industry and perseverance soon brought the fickle goddess to bestow her glittering stores. It was a long way to send them from her side, but she experienced a pride which prevented her from applying for situations for them nearer home. Thus, it was decided they should go. In the bright anticipations of future fortune and happiness, which immediately filled his busy brain, in the preparation for departure, and the prospect of his approaching journey, Arthur in a measure forgot the calamity which had over-taken them, and the attendant painful separation from his sole remaining parent. He dwelt enthusiastically upon the fortune he was confident he should soon win. He told how frequent his letters home would be, and hinted that, as soon as practicable, they would contain something more than mere words. His voice, when dwelling upon this subject, was always loud and confident, and even in the midst of all their troubles he sometimes laughed as merrily as of old, when picturing their restored wealth and renewed happiness.
Not so Guly. He hovered round his mother like some gentle spirit; saying but little, yet evincing in every glance of his expressive blue eyes, and in every noiseless footfall, the deep sorrow which lay in the recesses of his young heart. When he spoke it was in accents of tenderness and sympathy for his mother; and though he never talked as Arthur did of the approaching journey, and its results, there was an expression of firmness and determination in his thoughtful face, which more than once forced upon the mother's heart the conviction, that in that distant land, this frail being, after all, might prove the stronger of the two. Daily she warned them of the temptations and snares that would beset their path, and taught them to zealously shun such, as they would a viper in their way. They listened and promised; and when the expected day of departure arrived, bade her adieu in the midst of her tears, and prayers, and blessings. Thus was the widow left utterly alone; yet in her faith she felt not forsaken, knowing that the Father of the fatherless was with her in her woe.
Number—Chartres-Street.
With the first ray of the morning light, Gulian was awake. Without disturbing his brother, he rose, dressed himself, and took a survey of his chamber by daylight. It was a large, gloomy-looking room, unceiled and unpainted, and the rough beams and rafters looked like the ponderous ribs of some antediluvian monster, which might crumble in at any time, and bury all beneath them. The windows were large, but dingy and begrimed with the unmoved dust of years; and spiders' webs hung in profuse festoons from the dirty sashes. A quantity of old barrels, boards, wine casks, and other lumber, were carelessly thrown in one corner, and the door which opened upon the staircase was covered with big-lettered advertisements, in such diversified type that it seemed as if the old door was "making faces" all the time, to improve its Punch and Judyish appearance. The windows looked down into the courtyards of adjoining dwellings, which were built up so high that no view was afforded beyond. As Guly looked down now, he saw the servants hurrying about with their turbaned heads and ebony faces, busied with preparations for the morning meal; laughing and joking as they passed one another, apparently as happy in these narrow gloomy courts as though they were the possessors of the proud mansions adjoining.
Such was the view from two of the windows of the room. There was another one covered partially by a tattered and dusty painted shade, at the southern extremity of the apartment, but Guly did not approach it, not caring to look down upon what he thought must be a third edition of kitchen scenery.
Opposite the bed was a pile of empty dry goods boxes; and one or two pieces of furniture of the same description were placed about the room, which, with the addition of one store stool, minus a bottom, served for seats.
The bedstead was of common stained wood, furnished with a tester and flimsy mosquito bar, through the grim and smoky folds of which were visible sheets of unbleached factory muslin, an emaciated mattress, and a pair of lean pillows, which seemed quite lost in the much too large cases which covered them. The boy sighed as he took in all the dinginess and gloom, and his heart throbbed yearningly for the pleasant room which, even in adversity, had been his at home, cheered and enlivened so often, too, by the presence of his tender mother.
"It isn't time to get up yet, is it, Gulian?" said Arthur, half-rousing himself, then closing his weary lids again. "The sun isn't up yet, is it?"
"The sun never gets into this room, Arthur; we can only know when it's up by the increased light."
"I was dreaming of home; oh! such a pleasant dream! I must sleep a little longer," murmured Arthur again, in the lingering tones of one but half-awake.
"Not this morning, brother. Come, we must up, and be doing. I hear them opening the store below; we shouldn't be late the first morning, you know, dear Arthur. It is too late to sleep."
Alas! that this first bright dream of home, in that old gloomy room, should ever have been broken! Alas! that the first sweet slumber, on that rude couch, should have had its awaking! Alas! for the beauty of that boyish face, radiant in the flush and glow of early youth, with the halo of home dreams upon it, that it had not there and then chilled and crumbled! Alas! for the innocence and purity of that buoyant spirit, that it had not then taken its flight to brighter realms, forewarned of the dark time coming, when it would quake to find in conscience's depths, that, indeed, "it was too late to sleep."
Upon going down stairs the first person the brothers met was Jeff, who stood at the foot of the staircase, looking up as if expecting them. They returned his cheerful and respectful salutation kindly, and passed on to the front door, where Wilkins stood in his shirt-sleeves; leaning against the door-post, reading the morning paper.
He raised his eyes as they approached, and nodded to them, and, somewhat to Guly's surprise, inquired how they had rested, adding that the room needed some cleaning before it could be made habitable for human beings, and he would see to it.
They thanked him, and, as he resumed his reading, they could do nothing more than stand in the door and look out, or walk briskly up and down the floor for exercise. The clerks began to gather in after a while, all of whom gave the young strangers a passing greeting, as they stationed themselves at their respective places. At length beginning to experience the craving of naturally good appetites, they walked up to Wilkins, and inquired where they were expected to board.
"Good gracious! sure enough!" said he, flinging his paper on the counter, "I came near forgetting you; and would have been off to breakfast without you in a minute more. Come on," and he put on his coat as he went out of the door, and led the way down street. They only walked a couple of blocks, then entered a large room, opening upon the street, with glazed glass doors, which stood open on account of the heat of the morning.
"I always eat here, as it is cheaper than to take a boarding-house, I think; and, besides, you can always have just what you call for. If you take my advice, you'll take your meals here, too," said Wilkins, assuming a very patronizing air, as he rang the little table bell for the waiter.
Arthur thanked him for his kindness, and asked him when they would probably see Mr. Delancey.
"He's only in the store from nine in the morning till three in the afternoon," replied Wilkins. "You will see him shortly after we get back there."
When their meal was over, arm in arm they took their way back to the store. It wasn't nine o'clock yet, so they didn't walk very briskly, but looked about them, and made their comments to each other on the appearance of the buildings, the streets, etc., etc., and Arthur drew some comparisons between them and those in New-York. They reached the store almost at the same time that a pony-chaise, driven by a very respectable-looking negro man, drew up at the door. A tall, spare gentleman, in a suit of black, stepped out of it, and after reaching back for his walking-stick, entered the building. He had, apparently, seen about fifty winters; he was active enough to be fifty, but he was wrinkled and skinny enough to be sixty. His hair was quite grey, and of a dry, husky nature, which prevented its ever looking smooth; and, in consequence, it stuck straight up in front, and straight out at the sides, in a very bristling and business-like manner. He had a deep frown between the eyes, which were of a cold stone color, of a most peculiar expression, and exceedingly quick and restless; always darting hither and thither, never as if looking for a bright side to anything, but always as if seeking for something amiss. His nose was high and pinched, but long, also, and very hooked; so hooked that it seemed as if each nostril had baited a corner of his mouth, and drawn it up in speaking distance, so that when it was open, the end of that prodigious nasal organ might refresh itself by looking down his throat.
There was a firmness in his tread, as he passed through the store, looking quickly to the right and left, without turning his head, which told of energy and decision; but there was in the whole appearance of the man something repugnant and disagreeable, and a shadow seemed to fall on every face he passed, so that the whole line of clerks, ranged on either side behind the counters, and a moment before so cheerful and bright, looked as if a pall had been dropped over them after he had gone by.
Gulian and Arthur had shrunk back at his first entrance, and felt as certain at that moment that this man was Mr. Delancey as they did a few minutes afterwards, when Wilkins took them up, and formally introduced them.
"So, you've come?" said he, by way of greeting, and turning his keen eyes upon them alternately, as Wilkins named them, "which of you is it that's been in the business before?"
"I, sir," said Arthur, stepping forward.
"What do you know about it? what have you been accustomed to doing—anything more than sweeping out and cleaning the lamps?"
"I never swept out, or cleaned a lamp, in my life, sir. I have sold goods, and sometimes taken charge of the books in the book-keeper's absence."
"No airs, young man—don't want any exhibitions of pride here; you'll have to do whatever you're set at in my service, if it's washing windows. Can you make out, a bill?"
Arthur's face was very red, and angry words were on his lips, but Guly's hand that moment touched his arm, and pressed it gently. He remembered all, and answered calmly that he could.
"Step up here, then, and let me see you do it," said Mr. Delancey, making room for him to use the large desk.
Arthur obeyed, and in a clear, bold hand, drew up the bill properly, and handed it to him.
He ran it over with his eyes quickly and eagerly, as if certain of finding a flaw; and there was something like disappointment in the tone of his voice as he said, briefly, "Right, sir," and laid it down.
There was a moment's pause, during which Mr. Delancey busied himself in writing down a great many figures on a piece of paper. When he had finished he handed it to Arthur, with a look of triumph in his face, and said, "Let's see you solve this problem correctly, if you can."
That sneering "if you can," to Arthur's mind seemed to imply so much doubt of his capacity, that he felt stung to the quick; and it was with a gesture of pride and impatience, which he could not repress, that he took the paper. He returned it to the desk in a few minutes, and again those cold gray eyes ran over his work, and again they showed disappointment when it proved to be right.
"Wilkins," said Mr. Delancey, turning to that individual, who had remained standing near, "Give this young man the vacancy in the bleached goods department, which Jones left."
Mr. Wilkins moved away to fulfill the order, and Arthur was about to follow him, when his employer called him back.
"It is my custom," said he, "to give young clerks the first year a merely nominal salary, but as you seem to be pretty well acquainted with the business, and have a face that may win custom, you will get liberal pay. I will give you five hundred a year. Five hundred—but mark me, sir, you've got to earn it!—every picayune of it, sir, you've got to work for. When any clerk is caught idling or dawdling about these premises, he's turned out, neck and heels, with only just what he can scrape together on the shortest possible notice. I hope we understand each other. Go, now."
Arthur bowed, and moved away with Wilkins, who pointed out his place to him, and having introduced him to the young men on either side of him, returned to his position near the big desk.
After dismissing Arthur, Mr. Delancey seemed entirely to have forgotten Gulian, and leaned stiffly back in his chair, regarding the lines of clerks and the customers, who now began to flock in, without taking any notice of him. When Wilkins approached, however, and cast a meaning glance toward him, he seemed suddenly to remember Gulian, and turning round, said, bluntly:
"Come here, sir."
Guly's face had lost every vestige of color, and his heart beat so violently that it seemed to make him tremble all over, and he came forward hesitatingly, with his eyes cast upon the floor.
"So, you know nothing at all about a store, eh?"
"No, sir."
"Well, I think, for my part, such a white-livered, baby-faced chap as you are would have been better off at your mother's apron strings, than coming so far from home to get initiated."
No answer, but the pale face and golden head drooped a trifle lower.
"Do you know your multiplication-table?"
"Yes, sir."
"Step up here, and repeat it."
Without lifting his eyes Guly obeyed; and stepping forward, commenced in a low tone to repeat the table.
"Louder, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Delancey, angrily; "how do you suppose I can hear such a muttering as that?"
The throbbing in his breast increased to such a degree, that Guly felt as if he could not breathe. He reached up and laid one white delicate hand upon the desk tightly, for support, then summoning all his courage, he elevated his voice, and went on, mechanically, to repeat what, in calm moments, he knew as well as A B C, but which now seemed to be a sort of dead memory, which would desert him every moment.
"Louder, sir!" again shouted his tormentor, as his voice unconsciously lulled again. "What do you want to play the fool in this way for? If you know it, speak up."
There was a sudden turning of heads by the clerks nearest the desk towards the spot, attracted by the unusually loud tone of the proprietor. Guly felt, rather than saw, that he had become the object of attention, and with a last effort raised his voice, and commenced another number, but suddenly he ceased altogether, the white hand slid from the desk, and he fell fainting at Delancey's feet.
Wilkins sprang quickly forward, with a hot flush burning on either cheek, and lifted the boy like a baby in his arms. As he did so he cast a look full of deep and mysterious meaning upon Delancey. It was a look difficult for a mere observer to interpret, but the merchant quailed visibly beneath it, and turned aside his head.
Wilkins bore the quiet figure in his arms farther back into the shadow of the staircase, and placing him in a large chair which stood there, bathed his temples with camphor water, and held it to his nostrils, gazing upon him meanwhile with an intense and anxious gaze. At length the snowy lids, with their curve of golden lashes, trembled slightly, then opened wide, and the blue eyes were raised an instant, appealingly, to the face which bent kindly over him.
"A drop of water, Mr. Wilkins, if you please."
It was brought, and he drank eagerly.
"Are you better?"
"Yes, Wilkins, almost well."
He dropped his head upon his hand a moment, and those to whom he was visible saw his lips move earnestly for a moment or two.
"I can go on without any trouble, I think," he said, in a voice of gentle earnestness, referring to his unsaid table.
"You needn't say any more unless you would like to," returned Wilkins; "I am sure you know it."
"I would rather," said Guly, firmly.
He rose, and, with Wilkins at his side, again approached the desk where Mr. Delancey had resumed his stiff position, leaning back in his chair.
"He will finish, if you please, sir," said Wilkins, with the respectful bow of an inferior, but at the same time fixing his eyes sternly on the merchant's face.
Mr. Delancey assumed an air of attention, and Guly, taking his old station in front of him, commenced in a clear, distinct voice, and repeated the table unfalteringly, from beginning to end.
"There! why couldn't you have done that in the first place, without acting such a namby-pamby farce, I'd like to know?"
"I had not the power, sir."
"Well, what do you s'pose you're good for in a dry goods store, anyway, eh? Look at that!" and he lifted one of the boy's small white hands by the tips of the fingers, and held it towards the light, as if he would look through it, then dropped it with a contemptuous "Umph!"
"What shall we do with him, Wilkins?"
"Give him the embroidery department. His hands are just fit for such delicate work, and besides it will just put him under my eye."
"Poh! he'll make such ruinous mistakes, that I'll never be able to stand it, sir. Give him Harper's place in the thread and tape, up here, then he'll be under my eye."
Guly shuddered.
"He'll do well, sir, in the place I propose," Wilkins returned quietly, but firmly. "With a little instruction, I'll answer for him; and there's a freer circulation of air down there, something he needs."
"Well, take him along, and see what you can do with him. I expect nothing more than that he'll die on my hands, before he's earned enough to pay his funeral expenses."
Wilkins turned, and beckoned the boy to follow him.
The First Sunday at Church.
Wilkins was head clerk in the establishment, and although he had all the books to keep, his work was lighter than that of any of the rest. He went to work later in the morning, and left it earlier at night. Besides being book-keeper, he was a sort of a superintendent of the whole concern; and the clerks looked up to him as second only to the proprietor himself. To win Wilkins' favor was to propitiate Mr. Delancey: a fact well known, and acted upon.
Guly's beauty, or gentle disposition, had evidently gained for him, through Wilkins, the best stand in the store. His work was light and agreeable, he had no heavy lifting to do, and the Beautiful, which in any form was delightful to him, was constantly before his eyes. In addition to this, the clerk who stood next to him, on his right hand, was a most estimable and kind young man, of the name of Hull; who used every effort to assist his young neighbor, in learning to correctly perform his work, and by his own example, taught him patiently to endure its tediousness. This, together with the frequent and kindly-tendered instructions of Wilkins, enabled Guly, who was naturally very quick, to readily acquire the knowledge requisite for his situation; and with his brother, nearly opposite, to speak to occasionally, and to see all the time, he felt that he was highly favored.
As Mr. Delancey had never shown any interest in the matter of their board, they still continued to "victual," as Wilkins called it, at the restaurant, and sleep at the store. By dint of working a little before going to bed every night, the brothers, without reminding Wilkins of his promise to "see to it," had managed to make their sleeping apartment present a very habitable appearance.
As every moment of their time, since their arrival, had been taken up with business, they remained in their room the first Sunday, without going to church; feeling that for each of them to pour into the fond breast of their distant mother all the thoughts, feelings, and events, which they had experienced since they had left her side, would be as acceptable to Him whose day it was, as to attend church, leaving her to mourn in anxious uncertainty as to their safety or happiness. The succeeding Sabbath, however, they rose early, and, after performing their devotional exercises, prepared themselves to attend public worship.
While waiting for the bell to ring, they sought Wilkins, for the purpose of inquiring what church Mr. Delancey attended. Wilkins had taken possession of the merchant's seat at the high desk when they found him, and, as usual had his coat off, reading.
He looked up, apparently a good deal surprised, as they put the question to him, and exclaimed, rather dryly:
"Why, you don't say you're going to church!"
"Certainly, Mr. Wilkins. Won't you go with us?"
"Ah! not I."
"Do you never go?"
"I used to, but it was a long time ago. You forget that I have been in New-Orleans five years."
"No, we don't forget that. Mr. Hull said, the other day, that Mr. Delancey would never get as good a clerk as you again, or one that would be as faithful, and remain with him so long. But does being here a few years make any difference about going to church?"
"I'm afraid you'll find so."
"How can you spend so much unoccupied time without church, Wilkins?" said Guly, earnestly, stepping up on the chair round, and seating himself quietly on the head clerk's knee.
Wilkins flung down the novel he had been reading, and, reaching out his strong arms, clasped both hands round the slender figure sitting there, and, throwing back his head, looked thoughtfully into the boy's blue eyes.
"I spend it," said he, at length, speaking in a suppressed voice, and more as if talking to himself than another, "in racing on the Shell Road, in betting on fast horses, in excursions out of town, and in visiting"—he stopped short, then added, through his shut teeth, after an instant's pause—"places which I hope to God you'll never know more about than you do now."
"Are you going to the race-course to-day?" asked Guly, suddenly lifting his head.
"I don't feel quite well. No, I reckon not," returned Wilkins, disjointedly, and moving uneasily in his chair.
"I weary you," said the boy, gently essaying to leave his seat on the head clerk's knee.
"No! no! you don't!" cried the other, eagerly; and suddenly drawing the bright head down upon his bosom, he added, in a voice of deep emotion, "Oh, that I had you always thus to lie upon my heart, and keep the evil out!"
The church bell at this moment began to ring, and, having ascertained where the Episcopal Church was, the brothers started forth, and, arm-in-arm, walked briskly forward. Whenever Guly looked back at the tall store, towering up above its brick-and-mortar neighbors so proudly, he thought of Wilkins sitting in there in the gloom, all alone, and wishing for some one to lay upon his heart, and keep the evil out.
When they reached the church, Arthur asked the sexton if Mr. Delancey's pew was full, and, on being informed there was no one in it but himself and wife, he desired to be shown to it. It was situated quite at the head of the aisle, near the pulpit; and the sexton's hand was on the door, before the merchant, who was sitting in his usual position, bolt upright, in the pew, noticed their approach.
When his eyes fell upon his two new clerks, the frown between his eyes deepened very visibly, while his whole face wore a look of angry astonishment. Holding the door shut, as the sexton, with his best bow, attempted to open it, Mr. Delancey leaned out, and, in a harsh whisper to Arthur, which was loud enough to reach Guly's ear, exclaimed:
"What the devil do you want? I hope you don't expect to sit with me? Up gallery with you! There's seats enough for your class there."
So saying, the merchant jerked himself back, and, resuming his stiff position in the pew, looked straight ahead with his stony eyes, as if utterly unconscious of any one else.
With burning cheeks the brothers took their way down the carpeted aisle, and reached the pillared porch.
"I'm not going up there to sit," said the elder brother, proudly; "if there is no place for me below, there is no place for me in the gallery;" and flinging off the gentle hand that would have detained him, he sprang down the granite steps, and started at a rapid pace down the street.
Guly stood for a moment, gazing anxiously after him, half-tempted to follow, but seeing his brother took the direction towards the store, he decided to remain, and mounting the winding stairs, found himself in the spacious but scantily peopled gallery.
Guly's was a pure mind, unaccustomed to drawing sarcastic comparisons, or indulging in bitter fancies; but, as he looked down into the body of the church, he could not help wondering to himself which were the most acceptable in God's sight: the mass of life, bowing and swaying in their costly array of silks and laces, and fine cloth, kneeling on their velvet cushions, and bending their brows upon their jeweled hands, or the few earnest and devout, seated in the unornamented gallery, kneeling upon bare floors, seated on uncushioned benches, bending their hearts in simple worship to Him whose Word they came to hear.
The Broken Sabbath.
As soon as Arthur's rapid walking had taken him out of sight of the church, he slackened his pace, and walked moodily on along the almost deserted banquette, towards the Levee. Still smarting from the wound his pride had received, his cheeks burning with the flush of anger, and his heart heavy at the remembrance of his unkind words to Guly, the youth looked anxiously about for something to divert his thoughts, and while away the hours till church was out, when he hoped to rejoin his brother, and with him return to their apartment.
At this moment, however, he received a hearty slap upon his shoulder; and turning quickly, saw one of the clerks of the store, well known to be of low and dissolute habits, but who managed to retain his place by steady application to business during business hours.
Hitherto, Arthur had never had anything to say to him, beyond what was necessary in the store, having intuitively shunned him as an unfit associate. Now, however, he felt that any companion was better than solitude, for the unoccupied Sabbath hours; and although a sense of shame filled his breast, that he should ever have given the opportunity to such a man to approach him thus familiarly, he crushed it with an effort, and extending his hand, exclaimed, in a hearty tone:
"Glad to see you, Quirk; whither bound?"
"Anywhere that I can get company," returned the other, giving Arthur's hand a close grasp. "This is the only day, you know, that a clerk has to himself, and I always make it a point to have a deuce of a time to begin the week with."
And the fellow burst into a loud laugh.
Arthur withdrew his hand hastily, and an expression of disgust swept over his fine features. The quick eye of the other did not fail to detect it, and, eager to retain the vantage he had gained, he said:
"You musn't mind my easy expressions, Pratt; they come to me somehow like second nature, and I can't help them; just let 'em pass; and tell me what you'd like to visit to-day, and what you'd like to see, and I'll show it to you; for there's no sight in this city that I ain't as used to as measuring tape."
"I've never been accustomed to go sight-seeing on Sunday," said Arthur, in a hesitating tone.
"That was because you were never accustomed to working every week-day before."
"No, it was because I was strictly taught to 'Remember the Sabbath-day, and keep it holy.'"
"Fiddlesticks! all that'll do in the North, where folks put on their long faces every Sunday, and go to church, rain or shine, and don't cook any dinners, and don't read anything but pious books, but such things ain't expected here of anybody. Why, this is always a holiday here—the military companies are always drilled on Sunday, the best races are reserved for Sunday, the best plays at the theatre are on Sunday nights, and so are the best balls. Ha! ha! to talk of keeping this day holy here."
"You shock me!" said Arthur, with a shudder.
"Just what every young prig from the North is sure to say at first, but they get to be one of the 'fast ones' at last. I was quite sober myself when I first came here. I was from the land of steady habits, ye see—the only son of my mother, and she was a widder; but she died, and nobody cared for me here, so I just joined the b'hoys, and learned how to enjoy myself."
"I'll tell you what we'll do!" exclaimed Quirk, after another short pause, "we'll just take the cars, and go to Carrolton. That's a fine place, and it can't hurt your conscience any to visit it. Even the ministers ride up there on Sundays sometimes."
"How soon could we return? By the time church is out?"
"Oh, we can come back any minute we like. Hurrah! Now hop in, or we'll be left."