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
"Mr. Slick, we are glad to see you at the Astor House, and we hope
you'll stay with us as long as you remain in the city!"
I made him a snubbed sort of a bow, for I didn't want him to think I was
over anxious to stay till we'd clinched the bargain about the board, and
sez I,--
"Wal, now about the price of your fodder; I s'pose you'll dock a leetle
on that offer of mine. It's an allfired hard price, now ain't it?"
"O," sez he, "never mind the board, Mr. Slick, we shan't be hard with
you on that score. The man will show you a room, and I hope you'll feel
yourself quite to hum with us."
With that a feller cum up to look at the big book, and then he whispered
to another, and it wasn't two minits afore a hul squad of fellers cum
around, as if I'd been a bear set up for a show, at a copper a head.
One of the chaps he cut up stairs like all possessed, as if he was a
going tu bring up somebody else, so I begun to think it about time for
me to cut stick; so I hollered arter a waiter, and told him to take me
up where he'd put my trunk. The chap went ahead, and I follered arter.
I tell you what, it wants a steady head to navigate through all them
long entry ways, and up them stairs, around and across every which way,
as I did, till I came to a room door up at the tip top of the house. My
head went around like a fly-trap. When the door was shut I was so dizzy,
I opened the winder, and looked out tu see if the cold air wouldn't du
me good. O gracious me! didn't it make me ketch my breath tu see how
high up they'd stuck me. The clouds seemed to be purty close neighbors.
I looked right straight over the biggest trees in the park, as if
they'd been black alder bushes, and my nose cum jest about on a line
with the City Hall clock. It sartinly did make me feel a leetle skittish
to look down into Broadway. The men went streaking along like a crowd of
good-sized rats a going out a visiting, and the gals that went sidling
along under their parasols, were the darndest harnsome little finefied
things I ever dreamed of. It seemed as if all the wax dolls had broke
loose from the store winders, and was a walkin out to take the air with
each on 'em a toad-stool to keep the sun of. Taking the hul together,
men and gals, coaches, cabs, trees, and horses, it was about the
funniest sight I ever sot eyes on.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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