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)
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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
I own it eenamost kills me to begin, but the truth will out some time or
other; and a feller that aint ashamed to du wrong, must be a snakin
shote if he can't pick up courage tu own up tu the truth, like a man.
It's a tough job, though, to own that you've been made a darn'd coot,
and a leetle wus than that--but all I've got to du is to grin and bear
it. I was a tellin you that Miss Sneers gin me an invite to supper. I
slicked up and went, nigh about dark, a feelin sort a streaked, I
couldn't tell why, and a thinkin of Judy White all the way; that pesky
harnsome critter had riled up my feelins so desperately that I raly
hadn't known which eend my head was on--but, somehow, as I went along,
Judy seemed close by me, with her hand on my arm, kinder holdin me back;
and once I was eenamost tempted tu turn back, and never think o' this
York gal agin on arth. I swow, I raly believe the tears stood in my eyes
when I went up the steps--for I couldn't keep from thinkin of hum all I
could du, and it seemed jest as if you and marm were a holdin family
prayers, and all for my sake, jest then. I do believe, Par, that the
spirits of live folks that love you are as likely agin to haunt a feller
when he's in danger as them of dead people. Wal, I rung the door-bell
kinder loth, for I hadn't felt very chipper all day, and, somehow,
thinkin of hum and sich things gin me a kind of timersome feelin. The
buff nigger was on hand in no time. He swung open the door, and stood a
bowin and a shakin that etarnal swad of hair till I got clear into the
entry-way. I was a goin right up stairs, but the nigger he opened a
side door, and says he, "walk in."
"Jest so," sez I, and I went through the door inter a room that was sot
off tu kill with all sorts o' notions and foreign fixins. The winders
were shut up close, and kivered from top tu bottom with a hull Niagara
of red silk. The benches and settees and chairs shone and glistened all
around, and overhead was one of them concerns of fire and chink glass, a
blazin and flashing round us till it seemed as if the ruff overhead was
made of solid gold. The wall were kivered all over with picters--them
golden frames was all cirlicued off, and shone out dreadful harnsome, I
can tell you. Right under that heap of swinging glass, and jest where
the fire felt strongest, there was a table about as large round as
marm's cheese tub, and kivered over with a red cloth, all figured off
that fell clear to the carpet, and looked sort o' rich, like a pile of
winter apples heaped afore a cider mill.
Two or three chaps sot afore the table, larfin and a talkin together,
while they kinder tilted back the chairs they sot in, and seemed to make
themselves tu hum all over.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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 — John Shaqi
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