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Tales for Canadian Homes.
THE BLACK-SEALED LETTER;
Or, The Misfortunes of a Canadian Cockney.
by
ANDREW LEARMONT SPEDON,
Author of "Canadian Summer Evening Tales," "The Canadian Minstrel," &c.
Printed for the Author,
by Mitchell & Wilson, Montreal.
1872.
How slight a cause may change our life
Beyond its own control,
Produce a cordial to the heart,
Or canker in the soul.
The Black-Sealed Letter;
OR,
THE MISFORTUNES OF A CANADIAN COCKNEY.
CHAPTER I.
Old London!--city of cities!--whose foundations were laid when the
ancient Briton in his martial glory prowled among the dense forests
whose foliage darkened the waters of the Thames, long ere the foot of
the adventurous Roman had touched the shores of Albion; or the Dane and
Saxon had established themselves within the strongholds of the British
isles. Who has not heard of this great old city, teeming with human
life, and filled with the extremes of wealth, poverty, righteousness and
iniquity? Who has not heard of its eminent statesmen and its
distinguished authors:--its time-honored institutions of religion,
literature and jurisprudence: its antiquated buildings, themselves
volumes of history written the eventful finger of time:--its massive
warehouses; and also its magnificent mansions, wherein peers and princes
banquet in luxury:--its club-houses; and its dens of pollution, amid
whose shadows the grim spectres of degraded humanity struggle out a
wretched existence. Into this great city--wonderful and complicated in
itself--the modern Babylon of the world,--gentle reader, now follow me
in imagination, and I will introduce you to the subject of the following
story.
It is the Saturday evening of a chilly night towards the end of
November, 1869, that season of the year in which the grey old buildings
of London assume a more sombre aspect than during the sunny days of
summer. The twilight had congealed into darkness after a somewhat foggy
day, and mantling its shadows around the homes of the destitute and
degraded, tinging the wretched inmates with melancholy, and even making
their lives more miserable and less tenacious to the world. The dark
streets have been lighted up. The great tide of human beings that have
during the day thronged the thoroughfares, has partially subsided; but
thousands of pedestrians are still bustling to and fro; while the din of
carriages are heard on every street. The provision shops are crowded
with noisy customers. The coffee-houses are steaming forth their
delicious viands, where throngs of both men and women are greedily
satisfying their appetites: while thousands of ale-houses and gin-hells
are pouring forth their poisonous liquids, where crowds of miserably
degraded wretches of both sexes in human shape are swallowing down the
deadly elements and rioting in hellish revelry. Alas! how many a home
has been converted into a mad-house, yea, even into a very hell, by
these dens of pollution, in which dwell the accursed spirit-dealers of
iniquity.
Alas! how many a fond wife, with her little ones, perhaps destitute of
every domestic comfort, is at that very moment anxiously awaiting the
return of her husband. Hour after hour may pass away, until the very
depths of night appear to grow sad with the dreary sorrow of her heart,
and at length he returns--but not as a loving and sober husband; not as
a tender and home-providing father; not as a man, with all the noble
attributes of the human nature; not as a Christian, with the spiritual
Balm of Gilead, with which to soothe the cankering ills of his
household;--no, not as either he returns, but rather as a madman escaped
from the prison walls of Bedlam, or as fiend let loose from the nether
kennel.
But, nevertheless, there were thousands of happy households that evening
enjoying the domestic comforts of a peaceful home,--that place, the
dearest of all on earth, when sanctified by the affection of a united,
sober, and industrious family. Such was the home and household of Mr.
Charlston.
Mr. and Mrs. Charlston, their two sons and three daughters, were on that
night comfortably seated in their little sitting room after tea; the
mother and her daughters engaged at needlework; the father and his
eldest son, George, reading the newspapers, while Frederick, the
younger, was reclining upon a sofa. An infant of a year old was sleeping
in a cradle; a little kitten was nestling at its feet, and purring as if
trying to soothe the dreamy slumbers of its tender companion.
Mr. Charlston was about fifty-five years of age, in physical appearance
tall and nervous; with sharp, prominent features, and well-defined head,
denoting energy and perception. His wife was apparently about fifty
years; well proportioned in form and feature, her face expressive of
sensibility and affection. The little furrows around her dark eyes, and
the streaks of gray hairs, had already denoted the footmarks of elder
age; nevertheless, she was still possessed of a considerable share of
that beauty which in her younger years had distinguished her as the
"Belle of Elton," the village in which she had formerly resided. The
daughters in appearance somewhat resembled their mother, the eldest of
whom was then in her twenty-first year. George, the first-born of the
family, was possessed of a robust constitution, of the middle size, and
about twenty-six years of age. Frederick in appearance was the very
_facsimile_ of his father, with all the finer sensibilities of his
mother; yet, apparently possessed of a stern determination of will,
amounting to stubborness when actuated by the impulses of a nervous
temperament. Mr. Charlston was a hatter by trade; and at the time
referred to kept a hat factory of his own in Fleet Street. His industry
had placed him in favorable circumstances. Estimating the value of labor
and intellect, he had given his children a tolerably good education, and
at a proper age had apprenticed his sons to become tradesmen. George
followed the business of his father. Frederick was a cabinet-maker, and
at the time referred to had been two years employed as a journeyman.
Neither Mr. Charlston nor his sons were then addicted to intemperance.
Frederick was a strict teetotaller. Occasionally a bottle of ale was
partaken of by the others; or when an acquaintance visited the house, or
during the Christmas holidays, an additional bottle might be set down to
grace the table. They were, however, a sober and industrious family; and
when the labours of the day were past, they generally gathered around
the household hearth to spend their evenings pleasantly and profitably
to themselves.
On the evening referred to, and whilst Mr. Charlston and family were
engaged in their respective duties, as described, the door bell was
rung. George attended to the signal; and in a few seconds a young man
entered the room, signalizing himself in a very familiar but somewhat
uncouth manner.
"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Charlston. How are you Eliza, Amelia, and
Charlotte? and you Frederick, old lad? I didn't see you at work to-day.
I thought something was out of joint with you, and I have come on
purpose to see. Why what's the matter with your neck? You have it
swaddled up as if you were determined to defy the hangman's rope from
ever getting a hold of you," ejaculated Charles Holstrom.
"Oh, I have only caught a bit of a cold in my throat," replied
Frederick; "come Charlie, take a seat by my side and give us your latest
news about town."
The husky voice of Holstrom awoke the infant from its peaceful slumber,
and the poor thing began to bawl loudly as if startled from either
surprise or fear.
Mrs. Charlston lifted it to her knee, and having hushed it into
quietness she began feeding it with some cordial food.
"Well, I declare, he has grown to be a big lump of a lad," exclaimed
Holstrom. "I dare say, Frederick, you feel conceited enough now to think
yourself a degree above such fellows as George and I are, in having
graduated as a Batchelor of Arts--I mean--Bachelor of Babies. You will,
no doubt hereafter, append B. B. to your name as a title of merit; or,
Bad Behavior, I should rather have said. However, the initials will
stand for both. He's the very picture of yourself, and will soon need a
hat as big as his grandpa's."
At this moment the bell was again rung; and shortly afterwards, a
graceful looking young woman entered the room. Very politely she shook
hands with Mr. and Mrs. Charlston and the others present. She then took
the infant, and pressed it lovingly to her bosom, imprinting a few
kisses upon its tiny lips. The child in return smiled affectionately,
apparently delighted with the caresses of a recognized and familiar
friend.
"I say, Clara," exclaimed Holstrom, addressing the young woman, with
whom he was apparently acquainted, "I think it would be charitable on
your part to spare a few of those luxuriant caresses for poor Frederick;
a slight sprinkling of balm from your roseate lips would work wonders as
a remedy to his breathing apparatus. Just come and see how many dozen of
blankets he has wrapped around his throat: enough, I am sure, to supply
the beds of a whole household on a winter's night."
"Why, Frederick, how did you get such a cold in your throat?"
interrogated Clara.
"By sleeping alone during the cold nights of the past week," retorted
Holstrom, ere Frederick could get time to breathe out a more respectful
answer.
At this moment the subject was immediately dropped through the timely
interference of Mr. Charlston, reading a paragraph of interesting news
from the _Times_. After an hour's conversation on various topics the
young woman arose and announced her intention of leaving; whereupon
Holstrom sprang up, bade them all good night and immediately departed.
Clara shortly afterwards left also, promising ere long to repeat her
visit. It was customary for Frederick to accompany her home; but on
account of his illness that night George offered to convey her to her
residence, distant about one mile.
"Thank you, George, for your kind offer," replied Clara; "but there is
no necessity to do so to-night; a female acquaintance who accompanied me
to a friend's house a few doors from here, is expecting me to call for
her, and perhaps I may be detained for some time, therefore, dear
George, excuse me."
No sooner had Clara departed than Frederick, disguised himself in his
father's old hat, overcoat and muffler, and immediately started in
pursuit of Clara.