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
Wal, she squinched a trifle and gin a leetle start, and then gin me a
look with them etarnal long big eyes that made me a'most jump on eend,
and yit I sot like a great gawk a staring right intu her face, jest as
if I hadn't no marners. Quill wheels and cheese presses! wasn't that
critter something worth while! sich lips--red as a blood beet, and shiny
as a harnful of wintergreen berries! Consarn it, if ther'd been a honey
bee in the theatre, he couldn't a kept from lighting right between 'em;
and if he didn't find the breath as sweet agin as all the honey he ever
stole from a clover top, I must a been darndly cheated by the looks on
'em--that's jest it. Her neck, and that great broad forred of her'n,
looked sort brown and slick, alike a hazlenut jest afore it rattles from
the shuck; and I never see a crow a flying in the hot sun so black and
shiny, as the thick swad of hair that hung braided and twistified up
with gold chains, rale ginuine gold, all round that harnsome head of
her'n. I swan tu man, she was the fust gal that ever made Jonathan Slick
feel as if he wasn't tu hum in good company. Our black colt, with his
taperin limbs, that soft shiny mane, and them eyes that seemed to ketch
fire when the sun strikes 'em--is about as much like a common cider mill
horse, as she is like the generality of wimmin folks. She was eenajest
as tall as I be, and big enough every way to match--a rale downright
sneezer of a gal, that a'most took away my breath every time my eye
ketched her'n: and consarn me, if that wasn't every two seconds while I
sot there.
Wal, there we sot and sot, till the curtin right afore us came down
ca-chunk agin the floor, and all the folks riz up as if it was time tu
be a goin. The gal got up, took the bottle and hankercher in one hand,
and seemed tu be kinder lookin around for something. I was jest a
crookin my elbow, and had eenamost said, "Shall I have the pleasure to
see you hum marm?" as we do at singin school, when a feller that had
been settin right behind us riz up and stuck out his hand as nat'ral as
git out.
The gal kinder gin a turn, and while she made bleeve pin her shawl,
chucked a piece o' paper into my hand, and put the consarned little hand
that I'd been a nussing in mine, right through that tall chap's arm, and
went off as if nothing was the matter. I turned round like a great gawk,
and took arter em. I jest ketched one squint at them tarnal black eyes
and at a swad o' hair that stuck out on his upper lip, like a gray cat's
whiskers, and then I found myself standing, like any other darned coot,
all alone under a street lamp, a tryin to cypher out the leetle finefied
words writ out on that piece o' paper. Arter a good deal of extra
spellin I found out the meanin, and that was an invite to come and see
that gal in the morning, at a house in ----.
Wal, I did the paper up, put both hands in my trousers pockets, and
arter lookin at myself from top to toe, sez I--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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