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
"Oh," sez I, "they don't call them sloops in France, I s'pose; but I
say, Miss Elssler, have you ever been aboard a regular Yankee craft, say
a Connecticut river sloop or a two mast schooner from down East? them's
the ginuine sea birds for you! Now my Par's got one a lying down to Peck
Slip that'll take the shine off from any of your Bell pulls or Bell
ropes either, I'll bet a cookey. I should raly like to show you the
critter, I'm sartin Captin Doolittle would go off the handle, he'd be so
tickled. Supposing you and I go down some day and git a peep at her, and
take a glass of cider and a cold bite in the cabin. Now what do you
say?"
"Oh, I shall be very happy;" sez she, yet I thought she looked kinder
puzzled, and so to make her feel easy about it sez I--
"Don't be oneasy about the trouble, it won't be no put out to Captin
Doolittle, he's al'rs on hand for a spree. Supposing we set day after
to-morrow, it's best to give the old chap time to slick up a leetle,"
sez I.
"Any time that pleases Mr. Sleeke," sez she, a bowing her head.
I wish to gracious Par, you could hear how the critter talks. She nips
off some words and strings out others, like a baby jest larning. The way
she draws out Mr. Slick is funny enough, you'd think she'd been greasing
her tongue to do it fust rate.
Wal, arter we'd settled about the sloop, there come another dead calm
and I begun to feel awk'ard agin, so I got up and went to a table that
was a'most kivered over with tumblers and chiny cups, stuffed full of
posies, and taking one of 'em up, I stuck my nose into the middle on it
and giv a good snuff. By the time I got through, Miss Elssler she cum
and stood close by me, alooking so tempting that I bust rite out and sez
I--
"I swan, Miss Elssler, its eenamost as sweet as your face."
She looked at me again, sort of wild, as if she wasn't used to have
folks praise her, so I choked in, and sez I--
"Are you fond of posies?"
She chewed up some soft words that I couldn't make out, and then sez I
agin--
"You've got a swad of 'em here, any how. Some of your beaus sent them to
you, now, I'll bet something."
"Oh," sez she, a larfing, "dey were all flung on de stage last night, de
new York gentlemen dey are _so_ gallant."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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