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
There were two other things, kinder like the clock, on both eends of the
mantle shelf, but they warn't nigh so big, and they hadn't no pointers
nor no woman on the top, and instead of the glass kiver there was long
chunks o' glass hanging down all round them, like icicles round the nose
of our pump in the winter time. I give one on 'em a little lift jest to
find out what it was, but the glasses begun to gingle so that it scared
me out of a year's growth, and I sot down agin mighty quick, I can tell
you.
Wal, arter a while I begun to grow fidgety, so I sot down on a settee
all kivered over with shiney cloth like the chairs, but I guess I hopped
up agin spry enough. I never saw anything giv as the seat did, I thought
at first that I was a sinking clear through to the floor, clothes and
all. It makes me fidgety to be shut up in a room alone, so I begun to
fix a little; but all I could du, them new cassimere pantaloons, that
Judy White made for me, would keep a slipping up eenamost to the top of
my boots. I don't see how on arth the chaps in New York keep their
trousers' legs down so slick; one would think they had been dipped into
'em as marm makes her taller candles, they fit so.
Wal, arter I'd worked long enough on the tarnal things, I went up to a
whapper of a looking-glass, that reached eenamost from the top to the
bottom o' the room, and jest took a peep at a chap about my size on
t'other side. I tell you what it is, the feller there warn't to be
sneezed at on a rainy day, if he did cum from the country; though for a
sixfooter he looked mighty small in that big looking-glass. I guess
you'd a larfed to a seen him trying to coax his dickey to curl over the
edge of that plaguey stiff bombazine stock that marm made, and to a seen
him a pulling down them narrer short risbands so as to make them stick
out under his cuff, and a slicking down his hair on each side of his
face with both hands; but it wouldn't stay though. Nothing on arth but
a hog is so contrary as a feller's hair, when it once gits to sticking
up, I du think.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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