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)
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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
Arter going to the Park Theatre t'other night, I begun to feel sort of
dissatisfied with the carryings on in this place, and I eenamost made up
my mind to come back to Weathersfield and stick to the old business for
life. Somehow I couldn't git them naked legs and arms, and so on, of
Marm-sel Celeste out of my head,--and I couldn't help feeling awful
streaked when I thought of them in the day-light. Sich sights aint fit
for any thing but candle-light, and then a feller must be half corned
before he can see them without feeling ashamed of all womankind.
I du think, when a chap begins to have a bad opinion of the wimmin
folks, it's a sign that there is something out of the way in his own
heart; but it comes tough to keep a feller's heart in the right place,
while sich sweet, purty, indecent critters as that Celeste, are a
kicking up their heels and flinging all sorts of queer ideas into his
mind. Arter seeing her flurish her white short gown, without petticoat,
afore all them folks, I begun to hate the gals like pison; it seemed to
me as if they warn't made for men's wives, or tu be mothers and
sister's. It was a hull week afore I could make up my mind to go out of
my office, and the sight of a furbelow raly made me sick. I began to
rale out agin all the feminine gender like all natur.
Wal, one morning I got up, and sat down by the stove, with my legs
stretched out, and my hands fingering the loose coppers in my trousers'
pocket, when Cousin John come in, looking as tickled as a puppy dog.
"See here, Jonathan," sez he, "I've got an invitation, for you to go to
a fancy ball to-night, clear up town, so I've come to see what you'll
wear, and all about it."
"Wal," sez I, kinder melancholy, "I've got eenamost tired of sich
things; it raly don't seem to agree with me frolicking so much, but I
suppose I may as well go."
"Wal," sez cousin, "what do you mean to wear?"
"What du I mean tu wear?" sez I, "why, my new clothes sartinly: I ruther
guess all the shine haint worn off from them yit, by a great sight."
"Yes," sez he, "but you must go in character to this ball."
"Look a here, cousin," sez I, a rilin up a leetle, "I don't know as
you've ever seen me go to any place that was out of character yit, so
you needn't say that."
John, he colored up and larfed a leetle, and sez he, "Don't git wrothy,
Jonathan--I didn't mean nothing, but the fact is, it will be best for
you to dress in something a leetle different to your common clothes.
Supposing you dress like a Turk?"
"What! like one of them chaps that keep a hull caravan of wives shut up
in their housen?" sez I. "I'm much obligated to you for the idee--but
I'd a leetle ruther not. I'd jest as lives go to sleep and dream I was a
gad fly in a black hornet's nest."
"Wal," sez he, "supposin you let me dress you up like an Injun--how
would you like that? I'll dress Mary up like a squaw, and you can walk
in together."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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