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
I ruther guess the people stared a few when the leetle 'pothecary walked
along the Tammany ball-room with Miss Josephine Burgess, in her red
velvet and golden chains, a hanging on his arm. Sich dashers didn't show
themselves at every ball by a great sight. There was a ginuine touch of
the aristocracy in the way the leetle 'pothecary turned up his nose, and
flourished his white gloves; and when they stood up to dance, Miss
Josephine held out her red velvet, and stuck out her foot, and curcheyed
away as slick as any of the Broadway gals could a done it. But jest as
she was a going to dance, who should stand afore her in the same reel
but the very young gal that took charge of her work-room. The milliner
had jest took a fold of the red velvet between her thumb and finger, and
was flourishing out her foot to balance up as genteel as could be, but
the minit she ketched sight of the working gal, she gin her head a toss
and reaching out her hand to the 'pothecary, walked off to a seat in a
fit of outraged dignity that was raly beautiful to look at. Arter this
Miss Josephine Burgess said she wouldn't try to dance among sich low
critters; and so she and the 'pothecary sidled about, eat peppermint
drops and talked soft sodder to one another--alers taking care to turn
up their noses when the harnsome working gal cum within gun-shot of 'em.
"Who _can_ that gentleman be, that's a eyeing me through his glass," sez
Miss Josephine Burgess to the 'pothecary, "what harnsome whiskers he's
got, did you ever?"
"I don't see anything over genteel in him, any how," sez the 'pothecary
a looking sort of oneasy. "I really can't see how you ladies can take a
fancy to so much hair."
"But how nicely he's dressed," sez she.
"I aint over fond of shaggy vests and checkered trousers," says the
'pothecary.
"Dear me he's coming this way," sez the milliner all in a twitter,--"I
hope he wont think of speaking."
"I hope so too," sez the 'pothecary, a looking as if he'd jest eat a
sour lemon, without any sweetening.
The chap come along sort of easy and independent, and stood close by
'em.
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