LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1951, 26 May 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

ACCIDENTALLY OVERBOARD, [From the ‘‘Atlantic Monthly,”] Chapter I. Mr Ceobge Barrow was walking rapidly up Broadway one October afternoon. He tad an appointment to keep, and so, to judge by their anxious haste, had most of his neighbours, who pushed by each other, or dexterously evaded the opposite current of sidewalk travel. The chief interruption to the hurrying stream lay in the slower movement of impotent folk, children and women who were charmingly unconscious of blocking the way, and babbltd of whatever came into their heads as freely as if they were in. a country lane. Two ladies in the middle of the stream were so very leisurely in their movemants that they seemed to be constantly dropping behind in the tide of travel Successive companies passed them, and Mr George Barrow, in his turn, overtook them and slackened his pace. He was too much preoccupied to notice who they were, but in a momentary dislocation of the crowd he had an opportunity to pass. By a common accident at snch times, one of the pair retreated a pace, and he stood for a moment by the side of her companion. Ho was impatient to push on, but was detained by the press in front of him just long enough to hear from his neighbor the words, — *Mr George Barrow ? My dear Helen, I confess to being in love with that gentleman. ’ At the mention of his name he instinctively raised his hat and turned his head, but before he could look on his neighbor he had canght the rest of the sentence, and darted forward ; a suppressed note of dismay fold him that he had been discovered, and he pressed on more rapidly, as if he might thus obliterate the incident. His errand took him shortly down a side street, and walking at a more leisurely pace he was able to reflect.

He was still blushing a little ; he was also smiling to himself. The accident seemed so odd, so * ntirely independent of his will, that he could consider it without in the slightest degree apologising to himself. It was plain that the candid young lady who uttered the confession supposed herself making it to her friend. He had himself more than once made a like blunder when walking in a crowded street, but he could not remember ever having divulged any important or tender secret, least of all to the person from whom ha would most carefully have guarded it. At this, he readily admitted to himself that the confession he had heard could scarcely be an nnrererved one.

Whatever theories might be held as to the solitude of a great city, he could not assent to one which would make it reasonable for a young lady to utter such a confidence on Broadway, if it were anything more than an extravagant mode of stating an ordinary interest in him. Still, the most modest man is open to subtle flattery in unguarded moments ; and he blushed again, as he asked who among hia acquaintances and friends could possibly have delivered herself of even so much truth as lay at the bottom of this extraordinary declaration. He had not noticed the dress or the figures of the two ladies. He recalled perfectly the pleasant voice in which the words were spoken, but he tried in vain to associate it it with any one whom he knew. Besides the voice, the only clue which he had was in the name of the friend.

And here again he was obliged to confess that amongst his somewhat limited range of acquaintance there was no one whom he knew as Helen.

Helen herself was naturally of leas interest to him than Helen’s confiding friend, and he returned to the voice and the words, as if they might yet yield the secret. There was a half-jesting tone In the sentence—of that he was sure ; but he would fain believe that the other half was sincerity. It was the sincerity, or, more exactly, the possibility of sincerity, in the tone and words that gave him a little sense of guiltiness in attempting to discover the person who had uttered the words. Whosoever she was, she certainly would not have chosen to have him overhear her ; and the unpleasant fact was not so much in his having overheard her as in the consciousness on his part of being known by her to have overhead. She knew that he overheard ; he knew that she knew it; worst of all, she knew that he knew that she knew it. There could scarcely be a doubt of this, and he was not the one to build on the doubt.

It will readily be seen how painful to a sensitive and honorable young man would be this accidental participation in a secret which concerned himself so nearly, and the embarrassment in Barrow’s case was the greater that he was not wholly free to accept the deliberate confession of tbis unknown young lady. If it were possible that in the darkness of night, say, upon a lonely remote heath, he should whisper a like secret to some trusted friend, it might properly adopt the same phrase—‘l confess to being in love with—Miss Cameron,’

Yet he had so indefinitely made this statement to himself that it would be very unreasonable to suppose him prepared to make it to another, under the most favoring circumstances. He was in love with Miss Cameren, after the shy fashion which dreads nothing so much as exposure to the object of love He hovered about her, he watched her at concerts and In society, and bestowed a mute homage upon her which half intoxicated him without apparently bringing him any nearer to the person herself.

There is with some lovers a sort of hasheesh experience, when the exploits of their own imagination seem almost more delightful than the real pleasure at which they aim. At any rate, Barrow’s regard for the beautiful Miss Cameron had been thus far so delicious that he was in danger of substituting the shadow for the reality. The sudden discovery that he was himself an object of interest to an unknown lady acted as a touchstone to his concealed passion and showed him how disagreeable was the possibility of a divided regard. There was something distressing to him in the thought that he might perchance have awakened an interest in himself just when he had disposed to another of any reversionary rights that he might have; moreover, he seemed to see himself by this turning of the glass, and to disclose the weakness of his own lovemaking. A resolution seized him. He would have done with this toying of love. Yet, even as he declared this to himself, he could not help feeling something more than curiosity respecting the unknown lady. He pitied her confusion from the bottom of his heart. He wished that it were possible to undo the mischief. There came a glow of modest pride at being thus selected. At that moment he fancied he knew a iittle how a woman might feel when she discovered herself to be loved. Would that he had already disclosed himself to Mias Cameron ? The appointment which he was hastening to keep was nothing more serious than the obedience to a command from his cousin and familiar friend, Anna Hester, who had sent for him to como to her that afternoon, as she needed his help. He found her sitting before her writing desk, and she jumped from her seat and welcomed him with an excess of gratitude. • George Barrow, you are a man of honor. The clock is striking four, and you sre here at the moment. Now, what do you think I want of you ?’ * To help you at your German, and save you the trouble of a dictionary.’ ‘ Nonsense. It is not the trouble, but your definititions and explanations are more intelligible than the dictionary’s. No; you write a beautiful hand ’ — ‘ More accomplishments charged to me,’ he murmured—‘ more useful accomplishments!’

‘ And I want yon to write some invitations for me. Besides, you express yourself so cleverly ; you are so—so concise, i think the word is.’ ‘Anna, Anna, when shall I convince you that I am not to be flattered into doing what you want me to do ?’ * Never, so long as you do it like a good boy, as now for example,’ and »he gently forced him into her chair. ‘Here you have paper, lien, ink, everything but ideas. I have the idea J you shall find the words. Listen. I mean to invite a few friends for the evening. Kverybody says society is frivolous, and everybody else complains that people indulge in foolish and conventional phrases. A few persons, G. B. among them, demand that Woman shall reform society by the establishment of intel-

1 actual coteries. George, lam that woman. I will be a Madame de Sevigne, is it ?—somebody whom yon qnote to me. Don’t shake your head. Yon don’t believe in my reformatory powers! Wait till you are one of my convicts. You are not to put all this into the invitations. I don’t want my friends to know they’re to be reformed. My guests art to be invited to a gathering where no one is to speak ’ — ‘ But, Anna ’ —

‘ You are not to speak, sir. Listen to me. You despise the average young man because he describes everything as ‘so gay,’ or ‘jolly,’ and the average young woman, because she finds everything ‘so nice,’ or ‘ heavenly.’ You say these people have no discrimination in their style, and besides that they talk about the weather and other senseless topics. Now it is no better than if they are made to talk French or German all the evening. One can be silly in a foreign language, and then that is so like a boardingschool. No, my guests are to pass the evening without articulate speech. They may bring slates, especially pretty little porcelain slates, or pencil and paper, and they may talk with the deaf-mute alphabet, but above all they may talk with signs. Yon are a good mimic; be so good, sir, as to say, ‘ What a pleasant gathering Miss Lester has ! without opening your lips. ’ Barrow laughed, but laid aside his pen which he had been holding, and stood up before his cousin. He looked about the room at an imaginary company. His smile broadened ;he looked significantly at Miss Lester, and bowed intelligentlyjto a bust of Clytie tha’tanswered the purpose of a young lady for the moment. He clasped his hands in a subdued ecstasy. ‘ Excellent I’ cried Miss Lester. 1 1 under, stood it perfectly, though your glance at me was a trifle too mysterious, as if I were the keeper of a company of lunatics. Never mind, yon will do well enough when yon have a real person to look at—Miss Nelly Cameron, for instance. Clytie cannot smile back.’

Barrow was a triflle dismayed. He had sedulously refrained from mentioning Miss Cameron to his cousin.

‘ There, there, George !’ said she, * keep that look for the evening. Sou could do wonders with it. It is far more eloquent than speech. Now do yon not see how much vivacity could be given to an evening, and how much could be taught of the art of expression ? Why young men will learn what to do with their arms and hands, and the fan will resume its old place. Oh, don’t quote Addison to me, unless you can do it in pantomime. Then, if people get nonplussed, you know they can write, and they won’t dare to write such silly, incoherent things as they say. One thing more—l propose that each person may be permitted to ask and to answer one question, viva voce, during the evening. The occasional explosion of a solitary sentence will give it the appearance, at least, of originality. Now you understand my plan. I want you to frame the invitations so as to convey an accurate notion. It won’t do to have anyone come with visible speech,’ Barrow found the task a somewhat difficult one, and scribbled over a good many sheets of paper before he had anything to show to his cousin. ‘ You might let the first invitation be addressed to Miss Cameron,’ said she, as she stood patiently behind his chair. ‘ Do you mean to invite her ?’ ‘Certainly; the has wit as well as voice, and I think she knows how to write legibly.’ * Well, Anna, will this do ?’ and he read her what he had finally written:— ‘Miss Lester begs the pleasure of Miss Cameron’s company as one of a party of amateur deaf-mutes on Thursday evening. To guard against misunderstanding a copy of restrictions is enclosed. ‘ Gramercy Park, October 16th.’ ‘You see, Anna, I call them restrictions to avoid anything so formal and formidable as rules and regulations,’ ‘Well,’said Miss Lester, a little doubtfully, ‘ perhaps that is as good a way as any. I had intended to include it all in the invitation. But let me hear the restrictions. EESTBICTIONS. 1. Guests are expected to refrain absolutely from speech, except that each is allowed to ask and to answer aloud one question during the evening, 2. The deaf-mnte alphabet, pantomime, and writing, whether on paper or slate, to bo the sole modes of communication. 3. The restrictions to be observed only in the drawing-room. Free speech allowed in the dressing-rooms. ‘Oh, but that will never do!’cried Mias Lester. * The drawing-room would be deserted immediately.’ ‘Not at all,’ said Barrow. ‘Do you not see that as the gentlemen and ladles have separate dressing-rooms there will be no inducement to them to desert the drawingroom, where they will be together ?’ (To be continued.")