High Life in New York: A series of letters to Mr. Zephariah Slick, Justice of the Peace, and Deacon of the church over to Weathersfield in the state of ConnecticutStephens, Ann S. (Ann Sophia)
General
High Life in New York: A series of letters to Mr. Zephariah Slick, Justice of the Peace, and Deacon of the church over to Weathersfield in the state of Connecticut
Stephens, Ann S. (Ann Sophia)
New York (N.Y.) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century
By-am-by she got back with the pardon for her brother, and there was
such crying and kissing and shaking hands, as you never heard on. I
bellered right out a crying, I was so allfired glad tu see the poor gal
happy once more.
Wal, by-am-by, a bell tinkled; the picter rolled up agin and the
fiddlers begun to put on elbow grease till the music came out slick
enough. Instead of the garden there was a long ball-room with rows of
great shiney pillars running all through it. It was as light as day, for
there seemed to be candles out of sight among the pillars, besides a row
of lamps that stood along the pen where the musicianers sot. I was
staring with all the eyes I had in my head, when the harnsomest critter
I ever sot eyes on cum flying into the middle of the room, and there she
stood on one foot with her arms held out and her face turned towards us,
looking as bold, and smiling as soft as if she'd never done nothing else
all her life. I was so scared when she fust sprung in, that I raly
didn't know which een my head was on. The darned critter was more than
half naked--she was, by golley! To save my life I couldn't look at her
right straight with that blue-eyed gal a setting close by me. At fust I
was so struck up that I couldn't see nothing but an allfired harnsome
face a smiling from under a wreath of flowers, and naked legs and arms
and neck, a flying round like a live wind-mill. I thought I should go
off the handle at fust--I felt sort of dizzy, and as if I was blushing
all over. I don't think I ever was in such an etarnal twitter in my hull
life. I partly got up tu go out, and then I sot down agin as streaked as
lean pork, and kivered my face with my yaller gloves, but somehow I
couldn't hold my hands still all I could du--the fingers would git
apart, so that I couldn't help but look through them at that plaguey,
darned harnsome, undecent critter, as she jumped and whirled and
stretched her naked arms out toward us, and stood a smiling and coaxing
and looking tu the fellers. It was enough to make a feller cuss his
mother because she was a woman; but I'll be darned if there ever was a
feller on arth that could help looking at the critter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account