"'Oh, mother! my dear mother!' I shouted as she approached, quickly raising myself up from my couch.
"'Frederick, my son Frederick,' she exclaimed taking hold of my hand in her own, and kissing me affectionately. 'I have come to take my farewell of you, my dear son, as I am ready to depart on a long journey and will not again see you on earth. Around my poor body your father, brother, sisters, and other relatives are at this very moment sobbing in tears, while in spirit I am here present with you. My time on earth is limited to seconds. My words are therefore few. My injunctions are these,—I hope you will comply with them. Repent of your wickedness and folly. Abstain from intoxicating liquors and evil company. Live a righteous life. Return at once to England, and seal those bonds of a life-union with Clara, whom you have unjustly wronged. Promise me, my son, to do these things and I shall depart in peace.'
"I was so overcome and bewildered at that moment that I could say nothing more than simply to whisper,—'Mother, I shall try to do so.' She then kissed me; bade me good-bye; and on wings of light instantly soared out of the room, leaving it in darkness again. I was so awfully impressed at this moment that I awoke suddenly. It appeared to me to be more of a waking reality than a dream. From that time until the present moment it has preyed heavily upon my feelings. Again and again have I tried to eradicate the impression, but every effort has only had a tendency to rivet it the more firmly to my mind, until it has at length assumed the aspect of a reality. I fear my apprehensions are too true; however I trust to Providence that my dream was nothing more than a baseless emanation of fancy. The evening after my arrival in Toronto from the Red River expedition I wrote a letter to my parents, and also one to a cousin of my own residing in London. I stated the circumstances which compelled me to return from the expedition; that the doctor had advised me to go back to England, as the Canadian climate was not suitable for my constitution; and that I purposed being in London to spend the Christmas holidays with my friends. Neither did I forget to mention the anxiety I felt about my child; nor did I neglect to express my intention of paying an affectionate compliment to its mother on my return. I desired my friends to reply immediately on receiving my letters. Nearly five weeks have elapsed since I wrote, but no answer has been received yet. I however expect something by the next English mail. I am living in suspense; a dreadful feeling indeed to endure. Had my health and means permitted, I would have gone directly to England on my return from the expedition. Instead thereof I sent the letters referred to, and having rested in this city a couple of weeks, I went down to Kingston to visit an old acquaintance who had emigrated thither a few years ago; but when I arrived there I discovered with disappointment that he had recently removed to the State of Minnesota. It was then, sir, that I had the pleasure of meeting with you. Your kindness and familiarity on that occasion, and also since, have been as medicine to my soul. I have considered you as a genial and sympathetic friend. I have told you the history of my past career. I trust to God that my future will be characterised with less unfortunate events, but with deeds more worthy of being told. I feel, and I know that I have been the author of my own wretchedness and folly. I have wasted my time, my money, and my energies in dissipation. I have feasted my conceited fancies upon glory as light and transient as the flying gossamer: and besides all this, I have done injustice to my parents—to my child—and to her who gave it birth. I have wronged her with cruel heart, a heart that has recoiled upon itself, and now stings its own affections in the madness of remorse. But worse than all, I have done injustice to my Maker. I have mocked at His mercy. I have insulted His dignity. I have trampled upon His laws. Oh! miserable wretch that I have been! However, I have resolved to live a better life. I trust to God that through His divine power I shall be enabled to abstain from intoxicating liquor and evil company."
"I intend returning to England in December next," continued Frederick, after a few moments silence. "Yesterday I met with a gentleman who formerly belonged to London, and with whom I was somewhat acquainted. He is now a resident of Hamilton, some 50 miles from here, and does a large business as an upholsterer. He offered me immediate employment, at $1.50 per day. I have engaged with him for two months, at the expiration of which time, if health permit, I will ship myself for England. So that no time may be lost I shall leave for Hamilton to-morrow morning, to be ready to commence work on Monday.
"Now, sir, as you intend remaining in Toronto for a week or two you will indeed favor me by calling at the Post-Office, especially when the next English Mail arrives, and any letters or newspapers addressed to me, please forward immediately."
I promised faithfully to do so:—and having thanked him for his favors I bade him good-bye for the present, expressing a wish that I would find him in a happier state of feelings at our next interview.
CHAPTER IX.
Having returned to the hotel at which I was staying I retired immediately to bed. I slept but little during the night, my fancy having been kept awake by the expressive interview of the preceding evening. The eventful narrative of Frederick Charlston's career was ever present to my mind, producing feelings akin to those of an experienced reality. But the most striking characteristic was the singular dream to which I have alluded. Dreams in general are nothing more than the echoes of the soul, or the breathings of imagination when the consciousness of the mind is in a latent state. Some dreams however, may be the productions of a spiritual agency photographing as it were through the electric telegraph of the soul the impressions of the real event upon the mind of the person who is absent, causing strange forebodings to loom up in the horizon of imagination. Be this as it may, it is a well known fact, that dreams have been occasionally verified. Thousands of them, however, are by the dreamer construed to suit circumstances. But the millions of these visions that arise nightly from the bed-chambers of the world are nothing more than the flickerings of the mind, at random, and like vapor, arising into the atmosphere of the soul, frequently assuming a variety of fantastic forms as a metamorphoses of preconceived ideas.
Immediately on hearing of the arrival of the English Mail I hurried down to the Post-Office, and inquired of the gentleman in attendance if there were anything for Frederick Charlston. Shuffling over a pile of letters he drew one out and handed it to me. It was mounted with deep mourning, and heavily sealed with black sealing wax. I was startled at the appearance thereof. I took but a momentary gaze and requested him to forward it by the next mail to Hamilton. I felt an anxious curiosity to know the contents of the Black-Sealed Letter. I felt certain that some of Frederick's relatives had recently died. The aspect of his dream more forcibly impressed itself upon my mind. But let a few days more pass away, and the mystery will be solved.