The Brother Clerks | Page 5

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.
CHAPTER III.
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,