LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2187, 28 February 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THAT LOW AMERICAN. ‘ Well, old fellow, here we are at last,’ 1 said to my friend Barton, as we both arrived at the picturesque little village of Bandybeach towards the close of a beautiful July day. ‘ Yes,’ he replied, ‘ this air will fix you up soon enough, I think, or I calkerlate, I should say. To-morrow you c»n find yonr relations, while I explore, and then we will all be comfortable together.’ I may explain that the reason why Barton and I came to Sandybeach was this : I had been overwork! og myself, at least the doctor said so, and consequently, at the earnest invitation of my aunt, Mrs Wallace, had come to Sandbeach to recruit. On the morning of my departure, on coming down to my chambers in the City, I was told that a gentleman wished to see me, and on going into the room found my old college friend, George Barton, just arrived from ‘seeing life ’in America, Of course, I could not go away, and, indeed, the joy of meeting my friend amply compensated for any disappointment I had felt in being obliged to forego my visit. We had a long confab together, and I casually mentioned that 1 was just going on a visit when he arrived.

* Why, my dear fellow,’ he exclaimed, ‘ I will accompany you ; surely there must bo room for me at some Inn in the village, and you will be awfully dull up there by yourself with no company but your uncle and aunt.’ _lt was agreed then. 1 did not mention to him that I bad a cousin there, a Miss Lucy Wallace ; I don’t know why, but still I did not mention that interesting fact. I wrote to my aunt Wallace, and told her I was bringing a friend with me, ‘a regular Yankee,’ who would stay at one of the inns.

We arrived in the evening, as I have already stated, and after a friendly cigar with oar landlord, it being then too late to go to my aunt’s bouse, we went to bed. The next mornlog I proposed to Barton to accompany mo to my aunt’s, but ho refused, saying that ha would go when the * first paroxysm of joy was over.’ Accordingly I went to ‘ The Laurels ’ alone, and was duly welcomed by my affectionate relatives, more especially by little Lucy, from whom, of coarse, I claimed a cousin’s privilege. After various inquiries about my health, the conversation turned upon my friend Barton. ‘ I suppose, ’ said my charming cousin, ’ he is a great vulgar American, who speaks through his nose, and ‘ guesses ’ and ‘ calulates’ everything ? ’ Now, Barton was a University man, and a most gentlemanly fellow ; therefore 1 knew a little of the * long bow ’ basinets would do harm, so I answered that he was a goodhearted fellow and a charming companion, but with a very pronounced and sometimes objectionable American accent and manner, for though a native of England he had been so long away that he had become corrupted. My pretty cousin’s nose took a slightly higher elevation, as I recounted Barton’s various supposed peculiarities, and finally she expressed her opinion that it was a pity I should associate with such men, and she was sure she would treat him with great contempt. 4 But, my dear Lucy,’ I said, ‘he is a very good-looking man, and will win his way into yonr confidence almost in spite of yourself.’ Lucy's reply was an expressive movement of her nose and mouth, indicating, 1 presume, profound contempt. Well, on arriving back again at the inn, I found Barton had become a decided ‘ lion,’ and was telling the landlord long yarns about the prairies and field sports peculiar to America. After a ramble on the shore and another cigar with our hospitable landlord, we turned in again, it being arranged that Barton should stay at the inn, and 1 should go next morning with my luggage and stay at my aunt’s, there not being room for both of us, and my nnole having some extraordinary notion that two persons sleeping in one room was a sure way of being poisoned. 'i he next morning I was dreadfully sleepy, and did not get np till very late, and then found that the amiable George, a'ter throwing everything movable in my bedroom ut me, had gone out for a walk. I superintended the removal of my luggage, and then went over to my annt’s house with the hope (I may as well confess) of taking Lucy for a walk over the sandhills. To my disappointment, however, sbe bad gone a walk on the > hore by herself, and as I did not know which way she had gone I stayed at home and regaled my nnole and aunt with stories of town life.

The time wore on, and at teatime, to my pleasant satisfaction, Lncy came. ‘ Mamma dear, the wind carried my hat away into the water, and but for the kindness of a strange gentleman it would have been lost,’ said she.

A strange gentleman, thought I, Barton, I have no doubt.

* What was the obliging gentleman like ?’ 1 asked.

‘Oh ! ho was a dark, good-looking man. No, not your Yankee friend, so don’t be jealous.’ was the reply. • But,’ she went on, ‘ he knows Mr Barton, he said, and told me he was a very vulgar fell;.w, a ‘thorough-paced Yankee,’ he called him ’

‘ Bear me,’ said Aunt Wallace, ‘you must have been very intimate with this stranger, Lucy, to get so confidential with him ?’ ‘No, mamma, but he waded into the sea up to his knees to get my poor hat, and 1 couldn’t say ‘No ’ when he asked mo to allow him him to walk back with me ; besides, he was such an evident gentleman, and a scholar too; he knew all my favorite poems ‘ off by heart,’ and told me the his tories of our great men.’ Lucy's face was crimson by the time she had finished, and the smiles with which we all regarded her did not lessen her confusion. After a very pleasant evening and a game of chess with my uncle we retired for the night. The next morning I started early to get Barton np, and found him in bed. • Hallo, Stephens, my boy, how are yon t ’ said he; ‘ I was just thinking of you. If you will wait a few minutes while I dress, I will accompany yon with pleasure to your aunt’s.’

I waited, and in a few minutes he told me the following extraordinary ’tale. He said : * When I left yoa yesterday morning, my boy, I went down to the beach for a walk. After walking a mile or two, and ‘ loafing,’ I started to come back, and presently noticed a girl waiting on before me. Suddenly the wind caught her hat, and away it went into the sea, She looked at mo; and, of course, I immediately went for the hat, and had a pleasant wade for it, too, I may add. The charming young lady thanked me, and allowed mo to go back with her. She was very aby at first, and would not say much; but gradually she thawed, and asked me if I was a stranger here. I said I was, and, as I did not know who the girl might be, I said 1 only came from London that morning, and was staying at the inn. She asked me whether I knew you. I said I did not. It, of course, immediately occurred to me that the girl was some neighbor cf yours. She said you often went to the Inn to see a man named Mr Barton, who, she added (the penalty of deceiving people, you sec) waa a low American. I thought I’d continue the hoax, and said I know Barton, who was a very vulgar specimen of the • American-Englishman.’ To my astonishment, she said she knew all about him. He waa a ‘ Yankee,' who carried a revolver about with him, and who said, ‘Snakes alive,’ ‘By thunder,’ ‘lguess,’ and ‘I calkerlate,’ fco. 1 answered she was perfectly right, and I hoped she would never have the misfortune to bear much of his company. Well, by this time she said I must not come any further, and would not tell me her name ; but said she was much obliged to me, and all that sort of thing, and then she loft me I Have you any idea who she is ? ’

•Ho 1’ I answered, in the most cool manner. * I can’t imagine.' Well, after the ‘ Yankee ’ had finished breakfast, we started cff to my aunt’s, snd found aunt and uncle at home snd Lucy out.

‘Barton, this is my aunt and undo —Mr Barton, ’

I oonld see my uncle was delighted with Barton, and conversed with him almost to boring. My aunt, too, was equally well pleased, * Harry, I thought you said he was a very vnlgar and unpleasant man!’ said aunt, atide, to mo. * Oh, I was only in fun. Ho is tho best fellow living,’ I replied.

I was anxiously waiting for Lucy ; beoaaM I knew, ef course, what the denouement wouH be, and could hardly contain myself. We were just sitting down to tea when I heard Lucy arrive, and presently she oaaoe in. I cannot describe the unutterable expression which came over her face on being introduced to Barton. It was a mingled look of intense shame and mental distress, and during the whole of the meal she hardly spoke a word. Barton himself was all coolness, and I thought he had not perhaps recognised Lucy as the same girl he had met on the shore. After taa was over wo all adjourned to the auioko-room; and try une’e was so fascinated with Barton’s conversation that ho actually proposed to let him share my bed. Of course I was only too glad. George’* tales made my aunt tremble, and poor Lucy begged to be excused, and retired altogether.

In a few minutes both my undo and aunt went to bed, and left George and I alone, with the warning not to stay up too late. ‘Stephens,’ said Barton, ‘your cousin recognises me, I am afraid, and consequently fee’s rather awkward ’ ‘ More than you look ! ' I said. * Well, my boy, I mast explain all to her in the morning, and no doubt we shall become friends.’

I was lying on the sofa, and we had turned the gas out, when I heard one of the doors open upstairs, and footsteps coming down. Presently smoke room do ir slightly opened, and Lucy’s head appeared, as I could see by the firelight. * Are you there, Harry ? ’ ‘Yes, I am,’ I said. ‘ By yourself ? ’ The spirit of mischief entered into me again, and as George was standing with hi* back to the fire, , consequently his faoo could not be seen by Lucy, I answered ‘ Ves !' again. ‘Oh, Harry,’ cried poor X uoy, entering the room and advancing up to George, who she mistook for me, ‘ wtiy didn’t you tell me Mr Barton was a gent’eman ? It was he I was speaking to on the shore yesterday, and what will he think of me ?’

‘ Miss Wallace, I assure yon I must offer you_ my most humble apology for my behaviour yesterday.’ said Barton, Lucy gave a little scream. ‘ Oh, Mr Barton, I beg your pardo thought Harry said he was alone.’ I could not help it, and commenced to laugh. Boor Lucy nearly cried. We lighted the gas, and then, by Jove, I did get the moat confounded talking to from the blushing Lucy. However, it was all settled to everyone’* satisfaction, I suppose ; because, a few months later, the amiable Barton paid a, visit to Sandybeach (which was now nothing new), and returned with my charming cousin Lucy as Mrs George Barton. Did I say to everyone’s satisfaction! Yes 1 Although, perhaps, once I had dared to hope for Lacy in a dearer relationship than that of cousin, of coarse I soon, saw how matters were ; and can therefore say, philosophically, to ‘ everyone’s satisfaction.’