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 the carriage stood right in Broadway, about the dashingest consarn
that ever I sot eyes on. The wheels were a good ways apart and black as
a minister's coat, and a great harnsome box swung over 'em, shut up
tight, and a glistening in the sun till it a'most blinded a feller's
eye-sight to look on it. There was a door on each side as big as them in
the pulpit of our meeting house, with a whopping square of glass in the
top and bottom all figgered off with gold, and then crouchonts, and
lions, and roosters all pictered out in gold tu, and looking as nat'ral
as life, for all they were so yaller and jammed down in a heap till it
seemed as if the lions would roar right out, and the rooster give a
coo-co-doo-dle-do if any body went tu tuch them.
Behind the hull consarn, was a great wide flat stair, with two pussy
fellers a standing on it,--each on 'em holding to a yaller tossel fixed
tight to the coach and dressed out like folks in the theatre, with great
high boots, and topped off with a wide rim of white, wide white cuffs to
their coats, and white ribbons and beaus twisted round their hats.
Right in front was a seat with a great square cushion on it, and all
hung off with the finest kind of boughten cloth and piles of heavy
yaller fringe, with the golden lions, and crouchants, and roosters
pictered out and a glistening among the folds, till it a'most outshined
the sun--and that was purty bright for November.
A tall feller dressed out like the chaps behind, sot on this heap of
gimcracks with a great long whip stuck up by his elbow, and a holding in
two tremendous harnsome black horses that stood hitched to the carriage,
under a hull net of black shiney leather, golden buckles, and deers'
heads cut out in chunks of gold, and sot on to the blinder, and
saddle-trees, and every place an inch square that they could be poked
in.
If there is a critter on arth that I take tu, it's a good horse, and I
couldn't help but be proud of them smashing arnimals as they shook their
heads up so sarsy, as if the sun hadn't no business in their great eyes
that had fire enough in 'em without its help, and pawed on the ground
with their fore-feet--the mettlesome varmints!--like a couple of
harnsome women, chuck full of music and crazy to dance it off.
When the chaps saw me a coming down the Astor House steps, one of 'em
jumped down and opened the door and let out a hull grist of steps down
to the ground, all kivered over with the brightest kind of carpet, till
it looked as if somebody had been a flinging hull baskets full of posies
all over 'em for me to stomp down with my shiney boots, if I wanted tu.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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