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
I kinder wanted to stop by a stun table, sot off in the back part of the
entry way, and take a swig of punch, but I hadn't time to git a hull
swaller afore John and Mary were half way up stairs, so I pulled foot
and went arter 'em sort of wamblecropped at having to choke off from the
punch, for it was the rale critter, I can tell you.
Mary she went into a great harnsome room, chuck full, and running over
with gals, for I took a sly peak through the door as she went in, jest
to see what was a going on; and then Cousin Beebe and I went into
another room, and walked round till she cum out agin. Down we went
through the entry way till we come to a door at the further eend.
"Why don't you give Mary your arm?" sez John to me, jest as I was
walking along toward the door.
"If I'm to play Injun to-night," sez I, "I'll do it according to my own
notion if you'd jest as livs. I never see an Injun and squaw a hooking
arms yet,--so cousin Mary may jest walk behind me, if she aint too stuck
up."
With that I tucked the woodchuck under my arm, and walked right straight
ahead as stiff as a crowbar. Gracious me! what a smasher of a room we
went into--it was all set off with yaller and blue settees and benches,
and every sich thing, eenamost as slick as my pussey cousin's room, and
the darndest set of critters were a dancing and a sidling about that
ever I did see. There warn't no carpet on the boards, and if they'd a
been a mind tu, they might have shinned it down about right, but instead
of that they went curchying and scooting about, jest like so many tom
tits on the bank of a river. It raly made my grit rise to see a set of
folks come from all the four quarters of the globe, to a party, that
didn't know how to dance an eight reel or munny-muss as it ought to be
done. They didn't seem to mind us when we went in, or else I should a
felt awful streaked a standing up there like a darned Injun, with Mary
by me. I felt sartin of not being known, and so I kept a purty stiff
upper lip, and looked on jest to see how foreign gentry acted when they
were tu hum. There was a swad of tarnal harnsome wimmen in the middle of
the room curchying and twistifying and wriggling about one another, and
making believe dance like all natur. But, oh forever! how they were
dressed out! One on 'em had on a great long black silk cloak, with
sleeves to it, and a sort of white bib hanging down before, for fear
she'd spill the wine and sweet sarce on to her dress when she eat, I
s'pose, and she looked sort a like a nice harnsome chap, and sort a like
a gal, kinder half and half, like a fence politician. There was a gal
close by her dressed out to kill; her shoes were tied on with red
ribbons, over a leetle stuck up foot, that looked good enough to eat;
and she had on three open dresses, one over t'other, made out of white
silk and thin shiny stuff, bound and trimmed off with strips of gold;
the sleeves hung down like a feller's shirt, but there warn't no
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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