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
Now about the price of them are letters when they are all fixed out in a
book. I ain't much acquainted with that sort of trading; but I reckon
you'll have to go a notch higher yit. I never yit heard of a Slick's
taking the fust offer for any thing, and I've cut my eye teeth as well
as the rest on 'em, if I du write. Say ten or fifteen dollars more now,
and mebby it'll du, providing you give in a set of them are stories of
the Revolution with picters, and some of the smashing novels that have
got your names tu them, for my book-shelf in the back-room. Come up tu
the mark on this point, and I'll agree tu sign off any time you want me
tu, and I hope the book'll go off like a flash of lightning down a
forked rod.
But you want me to write something with a pesky new fangled name that
has eenamost upsot me. Write a preface! What on arth is a preface? I can
pull an even yoke with any York chap yet, at writing a letter; but when
you come to talk of prefaces, darn me if I know what the critters are.
Your letter kinder riled me up. The first thing I did was to get down
the old goose quill and ink-bottle and go to work. I was a'most tuckered
out a grinding cider all day, but the thoughts of having my name on the
kiver of a smashing book with picters in it, sot my genius to working
like a yeast pot; but then how tu begin with this new-fangled
consarn--there it was agin. I got the old dictionary and tried to find
out what a preface was; but I might as well have tried to make timber
out of pine shavings. "Something to go before a speech, or a book, or an
essay, to tell what they're about." Now if it had said an old hoss
leading off an ox-team with a cart behind, I could have sent the animal
at once, fresh and chirk from the cider mill; but how to tackle an idea
on a book and make it pull, is more than I am up to, without knowing
more about the sort of literary animal you want to use, and the harness
that fits him. I ain't rusted out yit, by no manner of means; but I
don't mean to make a coot of myself by tackling in with any strange
animal till I know what he is. Now take a pen in hand tu once and let me
know what it is that you want, and you can depend on me, fodder or no
fodder; but keep dark about my having to ask about it. I don't want all
the literary chaps in York a poking fun at me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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