The brother clerks

by Mary Ashley Townsend

Though his receipts were spent in debauchery, Arthur managed, as a general thing, to fill his place through the day faithfully; and since the sudden demise of clerks in the establishment, it had become absolutely necessary.

But one morning, Guly noticed that Arthur looked pale, and suffering, though resolutely remaining on duty. Alarmed lest he should be taken with the prevalent disease, to which his habits rendered him peculiarly liable, Guly questioned him, and finding that he was really unwell, turned to his employer, and said:—

"Mr. Delancey, Arthur is too ill to remain longer in his place; he must give up until he can get better. He has remained here too long this morning already, with the symptoms of cholera about him."

"Well, he's a fool for that," muttered the merchant, in reply, with much of his old manner; "I should suppose he

was old enough to know that he must give up when he's sick. I'd whip a negro of mine that worked round, and didn't tell when he was sick. Let him lie down here in your room."

It was the old room which Wilkins used to occupy; and Arthur, every moment growing worse, hastened thither, and threw himself upon the bed. Guly immediately sent for a physician, and put aside all his business, to attend upon his sick brother. Slowly the hours went by. Everything that could be done was done, and, in fearful anxiety, Guly hung over the form of that brother—now, in this dark moment, forgiving him all his sins and unkindness, and loving him, oh! how tenderly!

The sun went down, and Guly had no brother! In fearful agony he had yielded up his strong spirit, and now lay pale and still in the fond arms which encircled him. The dead-cart stood waiting at the door, and with tears, which he did not struggle to repress, Guly saw the corpse robed in the habiliments of death, and placed within the coffin. Those were times which permitted of but little delay, and bodies were often beneath the turf before they were fairly cold, and even while Guly bent to take a last adieu of the still form before him, the cartman, a burly negro, was loudly vociferating for "the body," declaring it would be dark before ever he could get his "load dumped." The coffin was placed upon the top of a number of others, and Guly,

too overcome by the grief and anxiety he had experienced, to be able to follow it to the cemetery, stood in the door-way, watching the dismal cart, as it rattled along, bearing to its last resting-place, all that remained of the once proud and happy Arthur.

The negro sat upon his pile of corpses, and jogged along over the uneven streets, whistling as he went! It was late when he reached the graveyard, and the stars were beginning to peep out in the sky. It so happened that his was the only cart at that time depositing in the cemetery, and, accustomed as he was to such things, the man's hand trembled nervously as he moved about among the tall monuments, and at last stopped in an open space to deposit his load. He ceased whistling as he drew the bolt from his cart box and slid the contents out upon the ground. As they struck, there came a crash; a sound which fell fearfully upon the ear in that silent place, and the cartman righted the box hurriedly, and hastened round to see what was the matter. While peering into the dusky light, he felt a cold hand grasp him about the waist, and suddenly turning his head, saw that the last coffin he had taken, from being placed high, had split in its fall and burst open; and, oh, horror! its occupant was creeping forth with its ghastly face peering up into his! With a mad yell the negro bounded to his cart. He leaped wildly in, but the cold hand clung close, and the sheeted figure sustained

itself behind him. With shrieks of terror, which echoed fearfully in and out among the tombs, the man plied the lash to his affrighted horse, and they dashed away through the dim streets at a mad pace, the negro, with eyes starting from their sockets, and mouth wide open from fear, ever and anon turning his head, but always meeting that ghastly face close to his, and seeing the grave-clothes floating backward in the wind! Then the whip fell more heavily on the poor horse, and the screams of mortal fear rang out more startlingly clear; but the fearful scourge had rendered the streets almost deserted, and the ghostly form still clung to the affrighted negro, sometimes sinking as if from exhaustion, upon its knees, sometimes again drawing itself upon its feet; but holding ever on with the pale shroud floating backward in the wind.[B]