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
"Why," sez I, sort of puzzled to find out what he was at, "I'd ruther be
an Injun any day than be one of them tarnal Turky fellers; but what will
the folks think of us if we come fixed out so? I should feel as streaked
as a piece of ribbongrass, I'm sartin."
"Oh, never mind that, they'll be glad to have you come like an Injun;
you don't know what a sight of folks are a going. There'll be Kings and
Queens, nuns, Scotch ladies, Englishmen, and women born two hundred
years ago, and all sorts of people."
"Gracious gaully how you talk!" sez I, all in amaze, for he seemed as
arnest as an ox team.--"Why, they haint sent invites over the water,
have they?"
"You'll see," sez John, a larfin a leetle easy, and rubbing his hands.
"But I want a favor,--wont you lend me them old clothes of yours to go
in?"
"What, old blue, with the shiney buttons, and the pepper and salt
trousers!" sez I. "Wal now, I'd jest as lives you had 'em as not? but
raly if you want to slick up, hadn't you better take the new fix, it'll
look a good deal more scrumptious?"
"No," sez he, "I want them that your picter was took in, they're jest
the thing."
"They'll fit you to a notch," sez I. "The trousers may be a leetle too
short, but I can get the gallus buttons sot on strong, and the pockets
are nation handy."
"Do," sez he, "and I'll git your dress. Come up to our house, and, we'll
all start together."
With that John he went away, and I sot down all in a flustration to try
and make out what he wanted me to fix up like a born Injun for; but the
more I tho't the more I got in a pucker about it, so I jest give it up,
and stopped thinking about it as much as I could.
Your loving son,
JONATHAN SLICK.
* * * * *
LETTER XIII.
Jonathan Slick and the Grand Fancy Ball--Jonathan in the character of an
Injun, and Cousin Beebe in the character of Jonathan--Cousin Mary as
Jonathan's Squaw--Jonathan among Kings and Queens, Spaniards, Turks and
Jews--Jonathan meets his pussey Cousin in the character of a
Turk--Jonathan cuts his pussey Cousin.
DEAR PAR:
Wal, Thursday, jest afore dark, I bundled up old blue, and the pepper
and salt trousers, and pulled foot for Cousin Beebe's as chirk as a
grass-hopper. The nigger set me in and took me up stairs to a little
room, where John was sittin in a great chair, with the tarnationest heap
of feathers and things about him that ever you did see. He jumped up as
soon as he saw me with the bundle under my arm, and sez he--
"Come, hurry now and get off your things, I want to paint you." With
that he come along with a saucer of red stuff, and begun to stir it up
mighty savage.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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