The Gilpins and their Fortunes | Page 2

for ever in this world, I should agree with Arthur; for, from all I see and hear, I am convinced that wealth cannot secure happiness; but as this world is only a place of preparation for another, it is evident folly to set one's heart upon what must be so soon parted with."
Withers made a gesture of impatience, exclaiming, "Come, come, I won't stand any preaching, you know that; but we are old friends, and so I don't want to quarrel about trifles, when we are so soon to separate! You stick to your opinion, I will stick to mine, and we'll see who is right at last."
"If this matter were a trifle I would not press it, but, because I am sure that it is one of great importance, I do press it upon you most earnestly, though, believe me, I am sorry to annoy you," said Arthur Gilpin.
"Oh! I dare say you mean well," answered Withers, in a contemptuous tone. "But don't bother me again on the subject, there's a good fellow. You, James, are so above me, that I don't pretend to understand what you mean." Saying this with a condescending air, he shook hands with the two brothers, and entered the house of his father, who was the principal solicitor of the town.
The two Gilpins walked on towards their home. Their father possessed a small landed property, which he farmed himself. He had a very numerous family, and though hitherto he had been able to keep them together with advantage, the time had arrived when some of them must go forth to provide for themselves in the world. James and Arthur had long turned their thoughts towards Australia, for which part of the British possessions they were preparing to take their departure. Mr Gilpin, or the squire, as he was called, was looked upon as an upright, kind-hearted man. He was sensible, well educated, and a true Christian; and he brought up his children in the fear and admonition of the Lord.
A year passed by: a long sea voyage was over, and James and Arthur Gilpin stood on the shores of Australia. Two other brothers, with their sisters, remained to help their father in his farm at home. James and Arthur had left England, stout of heart, and resolved to do their duty, hoping to establish a comfortable home for themselves and for those who might come after them. Their ship lay close to the broad quay of the magnificent capital of New South Wales. They had scarcely been prepared for the scene of beauty and grandeur which met their sight as they entered Port Jackson, the harbour of Sydney, with its lofty and picturesque shores, every available spot occupied by some ornamental villa or building of greater pretension, numerous romantic inlets and indentations running up towards the north; while the city itself appeared extending far away inland with its broad, well-built streets, its numberless churches, colleges, public schools, hospitals, banks, government buildings, and other public and private edifices, too numerous to be mentioned.
The Gilpins, as they were put on shore with their luggage, felt themselves almost lost in that great city. They were dressed in their rough, every-day suits, and looked simple, hardworking country lads, and younger than they really were.
Large as Sydney then was, it was still diminutive compared to what it has since become. Founded by criminals, it was unhappily as far advanced in crime and wickedness as the oldest cities of the old world, though efforts were being then made, as they have ever since continued to be made, and, happily, not without some degree of success, to wipe out the stain. The two brothers stood for some time watching the bustling scene before them. Huge drays laden with bales of wool were slowly moving along the quay towards the ships taking in cargo, while porters, and carts, with ever-moving cranes overhead, were rapidly unloading other vessels of miscellaneous commodities. Irish, Negro, Chinese, and Malay porters were running here and there; cabs and carts were driving about, and other persons on foot and on horseback, mostly in a hurry, evidently with business on their hands. There were, however, a few saunterers, and they were either almost naked black aborigines, with lank hair, hideous countenances, and thin legs, or men with their hands in their pockets, in threadbare coats and uncleaned shoes, their countenances pale and dejected, and mostly marked by intemperance. Many of them were young, but there were some of all ages--broken-down gentlemen, unprepared for colonial life, without energy or perseverance, unable and still oftener unwilling to work. The brothers had not to inquire who they were. Their history was written on their foreheads.
"What shall we do next?" asked Arthur.
"I should like to get out of this place as soon as