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 was one thing more a standin up in the corner that beat all I ever
did see. It was an allfired overgrown candlestick a standin on legs, and
eenamost as tall as I be. That tu, seemed to be of solid gold, curlecued
off with little picters. On the top was a great golden sarser, and what
chawed me up was a stream o' smoke that ris from the sarser, and kinder
spread all over the room, jest enough to let a chap know that there was
a fire somewhere about. Jest behind the whoppin candlestick was the
figger of a critter, sort o' half bird and t'other half baby, the
cunninest varmint that I ever did see. The wings grew out of his chubby
shoulders, and the pesky little scamp seemed tu be a larfin at me
through the smoke all the while that he made believe that he was a
droppin somethin down intu the gold sarser. The critter was as white as
a tomb stun; but if it hadn't kept still, I should eenamost thought it
was alive. There I stood bendin for'ard, with my mouth kinder opened and
old bell crown between both hands, a lookin at that little varmint, and
there he was a'most winken at me, when somebody said,--
"Walk in Mr. Slick,--pray walk in!"
I gin a jump and dropped old bell crown, for it seemed tu me as if the
flyin baby had spoke; but in stoopin tu pick up old bell crown agin, I
kinder turned round; and there, on a bench cushioned off with silk, like
the one I've told you on, sot the gal I'd seen at the theatre last
night; but oh, get out! more than as harnsome agin. She was all dressed
out in a white gown, that hung kinder slimsy from that purty neck, till
it eenajest kivered the pesky leetle feet that lay on a footstool like
two black squirrels asleep together. The cloth that her dress was made
on, was so thin that I could a seen her arms through clean tu the wrist,
if the sleeves hadn't been made so full, that every time she moved the
hull arm got more than half unkivered. I swan, it made me ketch my
breath, when she kinder half ris and reached out that are soft hand, a
smilin all the time as if she was tickled eenajest tu death tu see me.
I gin her hand a leetle mechin shake, and turned round tu set down in
one of the chairs, for I couldn't help but feel a trifle streaked
amongst all that heap o' silk and gold. But before I was quite sot down
she settled back aginst the pillar, and whilst she let one foot drop
from the stool, she fixed t'other pillar agin the wall; and while she
was a pattin the posies on it with her hand, she lifted them tarnal
black eyes and gin me a smile that had more than the sweetness of a hull
bilin of sugar in it; and there she sot with that hand kinder stuck
intu the pillar yet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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