"How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Makes ill deeds done!"
"My dear fellow, how glad I am to meet you!" cried Clinton, cordially
extending his hand in a manner which permitted the diamond on his finger
to catch the light, in what he thought a most bewildering glitter.
Arthur would have shunned him, as his new resolutions and good genius
prompted him to do; but there was that graceful form half-bent for his
greeting, there was that smiling face, looking its hearty "How are you?"
there was the social yet searching glance of that glittering eye, all
saying, "Shake hands with me," and Arthur did.
"Mr. Clinton, how do you do?"
"Well, my boy, well; really hope you've got over the effects of your
Carrolton ride. By-the-by, Quirk got you into that muss, not I, by Jove!
You were inclined to be a little huffy this morning; however you were
excusable--that's all forgotten. You'll do me justice now--there, give
me your hand again, and tell me you consider me one of you."
Arthur's generous heart could not withstand this merry, good-humored,
yet apparently sincere appeal, and the hand was again given. He thought,
too, that he might have been unjust in his reflections about Clinton,
for he had met him only by chance on his way to Carrolton, and in truth
he had urged him to no wrong, but had only joined him in what he was
already doing. Then, had he not kindly been the means of liberating him
from the watch-house, when he might otherwise have been left to meet the
shame and expense of a public trial? Verily, he had much for which to be
grateful to Mr. Clinton, and with one of those sudden impulses, natural
to a hasty temper and impetuous spirit, he sought instantly to make
amends for what now seemed the unjust and unkindly sentiments he had all
day been entertaining toward his new friend.
"Mr. Clinton, I fear I have blamed you most wrongfully. However, let all
this, as you say, be forgotten."
"That's it, my boy, I knew I wasn't mistaken in you. You've just the
heart there, in your bosom, that I was sure you had when I first saw
you. Believe me, I am proud to know that heart."
Arthur was but human, and, like all humanity, the gilded pill of
flattery was swallowed without the aid of sweetmeats. He could not but
remember, with a great deal of compunction, the great wrong he had, as
he felt, done Clinton in harboring towards him such unkindly thoughts.
"Oh, Mr. Clinton, pray pardon my neglect!" said he, suddenly turning
toward that young gentleman. "Allow me to make you acquainted with my
brother. Gulian--Mr. Clinton."
Guly bowed distantly. Those young eyes had seen deeper into the heart
before him, in the few minutes that he had been an observer of its
impulses, than Arthur had seen, or at least decided upon, in forty-eight
hours of mingled acquaintanceship and reflection. True, the boy knew but
little of the world; but there are some, and they are not the worldly
and suspicious, but the pure-minded and gentle, that shrink intuitively
from a polluting presence, scarce knowing from what they shrink. There
was much in Mr. Clinton which Guly saw to dread, as a companion for his
brother; and, at their first recognition, he was assured it was one of
Arthur's yesterday acquaintances, and felt a pang of disappointment at
not seeing him differently received by his brother.
"Where are you strolling?" asked Mr. Clinton, breaking a pause, which
had followed Guly's cool reception of himself.
"Merely out for a walk," returned Arthur; "it's only before and after
business hours, you know, that we have time for recreation."
"True, true," replied the other, stroking his chin, and speaking in a
commiserating tone. "Ah, that must be terribly dull business, for young
chaps like you. I always pity a clerk."
"Indeed, sir," said Guly, "we neither deserve nor need pity; we have
everything to make us contented and happy in our new situation, and
appreciate it, I assure you."
Mr. Clinton glanced for an instant keenly at the speaker, then answered,
with a light laugh:--
"Yes, yes, just so; I didn't apply my remark beyond myself; in fact,
it's something _I_ never could stand."
"We have extended our walk as far as we intended for to-night, have we
not, brother? Mr. Clinton, we bid you good evening," said Guly, as they,
for the third time, gained the gate by which they had entered the
square.
Mr. Clinton looked up in astonishment.
"No! you don't mean to leave so? Come, let's just step over to
Royal-street, and take a glass of soda-water. You will find it so
refreshing."
Poor Arthur "felt his pockets bare," and was about to refuse, when Mr.
Clinton slipped a hand through his arm, and drew him with him, saying,
as he did so:--
"You know it's _my_ treat this time, Pratt. Don't refuse a friend."
As Arthur moved away with him, Guly determined not to leave his side for
an instant, while in the presence of so dangerous a companion, and
though his heart went down as he saw Arthur thus forgeting all his
new-formed resolutions, yet he hoped for the best, and went with him
resolutely.
They entered a richly ornamented saloon, where all that could please the
palate or tickle the taste was most temptingly displayed; and Clinton,
tossing a gold half-eagle upon the marble counter, called for "a few
choice titbits and a bottle of wine."
As the last desideratum was named, Guly glanced anxiously toward his
brother, but Arthur's eye was turned another way, and when the collation
was brought he sat readily down at the table by Clinton's side. Guly did
not wish to appear ill-bred or impolite, and he accepted the hearty
invitation of his new acquaintance to "sit by," with as good a grace as
he could command. Of the wine, however, he could not be prevailed upon
to touch a drop--though he did not fail to perceive the sneer that
curled Mr. Clinton's thin lip at his refusal.
"You don't mean to say," said the last mentioned gentleman,
half-pityingly, "that you expect to remain in New-Orleans any length of
time without learning to drink wine?"
"I shall never touch a drop, sir, unless absolutely necessary in a case
of sickness."
"Bah! anybody would know you were from the North, my dear fellow, just
by that speech. Nobody hesitates to drink wine here, unless those who
are too poor to pay for it"--and the speaker glanced keenly, but slyly,
at Guly's face, then added: "Why, it's impossible here to avoid
drinking, even if you would. A young man calls upon a lady, and the
first thing she thinks of offering him after a seat is a glass of wine.
It is always there on the sideboard, and to refuse would be an act of
utter impoliteness. What could you do in such a case, my boy, eh?"
"I should, I hope, have sufficient courage to tell the young lady I
never drank, and must be excused; and if she liked me the less for it, I
would bear in mind that if such an act deprived me of her good will, her
good will certainly was not worth retaining."
"I should like to see you tried once, with a pretty girl in the case,"
returned Clinton, gulping down a second glass.
"I cannot wonder at the depraved state of society in this city," said
Guly, earnestly, "when woman, who should be the first to frown upon and
discountenance such practices, not only is the tempter, but the hearty
partaker of them. I am certain if the other sex were more strict--would
positively refuse to attend places of amusement on Sabbath evenings,
would refrain utterly from drinking wine themselves, and offering it to
others--there would be a great change here for the better. Woman little
thinks how much of man's depravity can be traced back to be laid upon
her shoulders."
"Nonsense!" said Clinton, with a short laugh. "Women, you'll find when
you've been here long enough, have less to do with it than rain-water
full of wriggle-tails, as they call those young animals that fill our
cisterns in summer time, and the no less disagreeable--to one not a
native here--muddy water from the river as a beverage. One is absolutely
forced to 'tip the goblet red,' in order to have something palatable to
rinse down his food. Woman, indeed! Poh! come, have a glass, and be
social."
"No," said Guly, firmly, drawing back; "I will not drink. However you
may scoff, Mr. Clinton, at woman's influence, it is to that I impute my
strength to withstand temptation here. My last promise to my mother, was
never to become a wine-bibber, and I shall keep it."
"Bravo!" exclaimed Clinton. "Here's a bumper to your resolution and your
mother," and touching glasses with Arthur, he swallowed the contents of
his goblet; though his companion, with conscience awakened in his breast
by his brother's words, scarcely touched the sparkling beverage to his
lips.
"You spoke of the depravity of this city, also"--continued Clinton,
shoving back from the table, and wiping his lips. "It isn't, in my
opinion, one-half, or, to say the least, any more depraved than any of
your Northern cities. The only difference is, here everything is done
open and above board; what sin there is, is before your eyes, and you
don't feel when you tread our streets, that you are walking over hidden
hells, and sunken purgatories, which is, I think, more than you can say
in behalf of your Northern cities. Now, isn't it?"
"The fact of all the dissipation and Sabbath-breaking here being openly
carried on, is the very worst argument, Mr. Clinton, you could bring
forward. It proves how much worse the tendency, when it can so harden
the heart of society as to regard it without a shudder, and to look upon
such things as right. Sunday absolutely loses its identity here, in the
manner in which it is kept; and a little more law, more rigidly
enforced, would, I am certain, elevate the standard of society into a
purer and more ennobling atmosphere. If men still persisted in sin, the
fear of punishment would force them to keep out of sight of those who
would be Christians, which, for some, must be really a hard matter now.
Yesterday, in coming from church, I met a full company of soldiers, in
complete uniform, out for a drill. I passed many stores thronged with
customers, even as on a week-day, and received an invitation to attend a
horse-race on the Metarie Course; all of which, you will admit, was in
jarring discordance with the sermon upon which I was trying to reflect,
and the Prayer-Book in my hand."
Clinton burst into a loud laugh.
"The time will come when you'll know better than to reflect upon sermons
here, and will put your Prayer-Book in your pocket, instead of carrying
it in your hand. People go to church in this place to see and be seen;
to learn the fashions and see new faces--not to remember sermons or read
prayers. I heard a minister declare, the other day, that he could preach
a sermon over every six weeks, and not one in twenty of his hearers
would remember to have heard it before. I've had serious thoughts of
turning minister myself; donning a gray wig and white cravat, and
'spounding the Bible, as the blacks say, to my deluded hearers. 'Pon
honor, it's the most lucrative situation a poor devil can have.
Preaching a short sermon, morning and night, to an inattentive but
fashionable congregation, who are sure to make a minister popular among
'em, if he don't touch their peculiar sins too closely, give him an
immense salary, let him off on full pay for four months in a year, and
pay his debts when he accepts a call in another quarter."
"A comfortable situation, I must confess," said Arthur, with a smile.
"When you take a stand in the pulpit count upon me for one of your
hearers."
"A thousand thanks for your promised patronage," returned Mr. Clinton,
with a bow of mock gravity; "but suppose we discuss the matter moving;"
and rising, he led the way into the street.
As much as Guly wished to be rid of Mr. Clinton's society, he saw the
thing was impossible, at least at present, and submitted to a farther
endurance of it with as much suavity as possible. Still keeping by his
brother's side, he walked on in silence, anxiously awaiting the moment
when their companion should see fit to leave them.
"Hallo!" cried Clinton, suddenly stopping before an illuminated window,
and peering earnestly into it, "the new numbers for the next lottery are
up; come on, let's go in, and take one jointly."
Arthur thought of his lost portemonnaie, and felt strongly tempted to
run the risk of recovering his money in that way; but he remembered that
he had nothing wherewith to buy a ticket, and hesitated.
"Don't," said Guly, earnestly, "don't be led into such folly, Arthur.
Come, let's go back to the store."
"Not till you have tried your luck once," said Clinton, persuasively;
"come, it is but a trifle if you lose it, and think of the chance you
run."
"I've left my purse at home," said Arthur, blushing at the falsehood he
stooped to utter; "I would really like to join, but can't to-night,
really."
"Pooh! if the money is all, I'll advance that; and you can pay me when
you like. Come along."
Arthur entered the shop reluctantly, it is true, yet ashamed to confess
to his social, open-hearted companion, the compunction he felt. The
ticket was purchased, and half given to Arthur.
"If you are determined to purchase a ticket, Arthur," said Guly,
gravely, "I must insist that you do not run in debt to Mr. Clinton for
it," and opening his purse, he handed to that gentleman the sum just
expended for his brother's half of the ticket.
"You are very particular," remarked Clinton, with something like a
sneer, and pocketing the change, while he glanced with a look of
impertinent curiosity at Guly's grave but beautiful features.
"Do you go our way?" inquired Arthur, turning toward him as they left
the shop.
"No; sorry to say I don't," returned Clinton, lighting a cigar, and
offering one to each of the brothers, who refused it. "I am really sorry
to part with you; but if you must go, good-night," and with a graceful
move of the hand, the young gentleman bade an adieu to his friends, and
turning down another street, was soon out of sight.
The brothers walked on for some distance in silence. Guly was the first
to speak.
"Have you enjoyed your walk, Arthur, as much as you would have done, had
we been left to enjoy ourselves in our own way?"
"Well, I must say, Guly, that I've had a pleasant time. I think young
Clinton a charming fellow, and must confess he has enlivened the last
hour exceedingly."
"And your heart and conscience are both quite as unburthened as they
would have been had you not met him?"
"I'm sure I've done nothing to burden either, Gulian," returned Arthur,
somewhat impatiently. "You must remember I am several years older than
you are, and am expected to act differently from a mere boy like
yourself."
"Did you remember that yesterday was your twenty-first birthday?"
inquired Guly, quietly.
"No!" said Arthur, with a slight start; "and your sixteenth birthday was
last Monday! How differently have they passed from what they used to do
at home, when they were always celebrated together."
"Mother must have remembered us yesterday," remarked Guly. "How she
would have loved but to look over here upon us!"
"I would not have had her seen me yesterday!" exclaimed Arthur, warmly,
"for all the wealth this city ever saw. Her heart would have broken."
"Yet you persist in recognizing your yesterday's companions, and in a
measure practising yesterday's pursuits. Mother never allowed wine to
make its appearance on our birthday-fetes, my brother."
"True, but that was in the North, and our parents were always very
strict. What would you have me do when I meet such a social companion as
Clinton? He has such a pleasant, happy way with him, that one really
can't refuse him; and for my part, a glass of wine, more or less, will
hurt nobody, I guess, materially."
"The social glass has been many a man's ruin, dear Arthur; and it is
better to resist temptation in the beginning, than to fight the
influence of liquor in the end. I wish I could coax you to promise never
to taste another drop."
"What folly," said Arthur, laughing. "Why, my little Puritan, as long as
it is the custom here, why not indulge a little? I think I can promise
you never to be intoxicated. I shall shun that. But when I'm with young
men of such habits, it would seem very odd in me to refuse, and I must
now and then take a harmless glass."
"Then, Arthur, why not choose companions of different habits? You
certainly will admit such a course is wrong for any young man. See the
influence even, which Clinton's society has had upon you this evening.
He has really induced you to think such practices here are allowable,
and even commendable. This morning, without arguing the case, you
voluntarily confessed it to be very wrong. Oh, Arthur, I already begin
to wish we were out of this dreadful place."
"You are a chicken-hearted little body," returned Arthur, playfully;
then speaking more gravely, he continued: "Well, Guly, it is not, after
all, so much my fault. I am of an age to wish to enjoy myself. I have
been accustomed to having every comfort and happiness around me; the
fond love and refined society of a mother, together with the noble
presence and good advice of our father. Look at the change! We have come
here poor, but with delicate and luxurious tastes. We have no father, no
mother, no home. One rough and dingy apartment to sleep in, is the only
spot we can look upon and call ours, and that we share in common with
the refuse lumber of the store and a colony of spiders and bedbugs.
Beyond our washer-woman, we haven't the acquaintance of a single member
of the other sex in this city; and, apart from each other, not one to
call a friend. It isn't a very pleasant state of affairs to reflect
upon, Guly; and this morning, when I lay alone up stairs on the bed, I
couldn't keep from thinking that these wealthy merchants who employ so
many clerks have much to answer for."
"How so, Arthur? You surely couldn't expect a merchant to direct and
govern the private pursuits of every young man in his employ?"
"No, surely not. Those clerks who have their homes and relatives here in
the city, are well enough off; but when, like us, they come from the
North, without even an acquaintance here, wouldn't it be better, not
only for the clerks, but for the merchant himself, if he would show a
little kindly interest in them and their welfare? Here, for instance,
are ourselves: Mr. Delancey was made acquainted by our first letter with
all the train of circumstances which forced _us_ to this course. He is
well aware that our family is as good as his own, and why then has he
not said to us that we would be welcome visitors at his house, and thus
given us one place where we might occasionally spend our leisure hours,
and call it home? Would it not at once have placed us in our own sphere,
and kept us from looking for social friends among strangers, of whose
character we know nothing? With the firm standing and position that Mr.
Delancey has here in society, to have taken this kindly notice of us
could not have lowered or affected him one particle in the social scale,
and would have placed us in that position which we have ever been
accustomed to occupy. It would have bound us more closely to him; and
instead of clerks, coldly and rigidly performing our assigned duties for
him, it would have rendered us his grateful and sincere friends, happy
to do aught in our power, either in or out of business hours, which
would oblige him or advance his interests. At least, I know this would
be the case with me, and I think that when I speak for one I do for
both."
"I must admit, Arthur, that you are right. Though I have not quite as
impulsive a heart as yourself, and am not nearly as proud-spirited, I
cannot always bear meekly the curtness and harshness with which Mr.
Delancey treats us. And with clerks, as a general thing, it is certainly
more for an employer's interest to win them as closely as possible to
himself; for, of course, if he forces them to seek companionship among
whomsoever they may meet, and they fall into low and dissipated habits,
which renders them unfit for business, then, of a necessity, that
interest suffers; and were I the employer in such a case, I am sure I
could not hold myself entirely free from blame."
"Oh, in such a case, the employer thinks no farther than to give a clerk
his walking papers, and to show him the door. They never pause to
remember that they were probably the primal cause of his downfall;
neither will they make amends, by even giving him the good name he
brought to them, for another situation. When I reflect upon these
things, Guly, sometimes there's a great deal of bitterness comes up in
my heart, which I cannot keep down, though I try ever so hard."
"Never let it rise there, Arthur. While we both live, dear brother, we
are certain of one heart that is as true as life itself. Let us cling
close to one another, and try and be happy and contented together, and
no harm, save sickness and death, can approach us. In loving one
another, we are but being true to ourselves."
They had by this time reached the store door, and as Guly ceased
speaking, Arthur stepped upon the step, and placing both hands on his
brother's shoulders, held him a little way from him, and looked
earnestly into the beautiful eyes raised up to meet his own.
"Guly, whatever happens--though I hope and am sure nothing will that is
unfortunate or sad to me or between us--try and love me all the same;
forget my faults and remember my virtues--if I have any; I want always
to think of your heart as trusting mine, and loving me."
He looked away for a moment, with his eyes bent thoughtfully upon the
ground, then parting the hair from his brother's brow, he bent down
hastily and kissed it, as if from an impulse which he could not resist.
Guly looked wonderingly up in his face for a moment, then drew him away
into the shadow of the archway adjoining, and, laying his head upon his
shoulder, wept.
"Love you, Arthur!" he exclaimed, throwing both arms about his brother,
and drawing him close to his heart; "Through all and through everything,
come what might or may, I can never love or trust you less than now.
Your happiness is my prayer and watch-word; all I ask of you, dear, is
but to be true to yourself and me."
"Bless you, Guly--there! don't shed any more tears--we shall henceforth,
I am sure, be very happy together."
"Then, what prompted you to speak so strangely and forebodingly?"
"I could not define the feeling, if I should try. It was nothing more
than a flitting shadow, cast from my restless spirit upon my heart.
Come, let's go in."