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
But first I want tu tell you something about all the trials and troubles
that I've had tu go through since I wrote my last letter--I don't
believe there ever was a human critter so chased arter as I've been.
They talk about Cherry street not being fashionable, but I'll be darned
if I believe there's a more genteel street in the city. It's the folks
that live in a place that make it genteel or not, and if Cherry street
aint at the top of the mark afore many more weeks, it'll be because I
move my office out on it, for there's no eend to the great shiny
carriages that come down and stop afore my door, eenamost every hour in
the day. It raly does look funny enough to see great pussey fellers, as
big as the side of the house, a sitting in them things all bolstered up
with cushions and kivered over with skins, like a baby shut up in a
go-cart afore it begins tu run alone.
T'other day there was one of these fat chaps come into my office, and
sot out tu make me believe that he was a sort of a relation of mine. I
didn't feel jest right, for since I begun to print my letters in the
Express it beats all natur how many relations, that I never heard on
afore, have been a trying tu scrape an acquaintance with me. Wal, after
a good deal of beating about the bush, this chap at last made out purty
tolerably clear that he was a kind of a great toe cousin of our'n, and
that he was born and brought up in Weathersfield. He come his soft
sodder over me mighty smooth, and had a good deal to say about how much
he thought of us all, and how fond he'd been of Sam and me. I wish you
could a seen how he pussed out his mouth and breathed through his nose,
and what a heap of pomposity he put on when he was a talking. He acted
jest like our old turkey gobler, when he goes training the young turkeys
round the barnyard, with his wings feathered out and his tail spread.
Wal, arter talking all kinds of rigmarole for about an hour, he begun to
tell how hard it was for a young man tu start in the world, and git
along without somebody tu give him a push up the hill, and that it
didn't make much odds how much genius a man had, or how smart he was, if
he hadn't some rich and influential friend tu back him up.
"Now," sez he, "cousin Slick," and you can't think how easy he seemed tu
call me cousin; "you've done purty well since you come to York,
considering that you hadn't nobody to help you along but Mr. Beebe; but
you must git a peg higher yit; we must introduce you among the
aristocracy."
"The what?" sez I.
"The aristocracy," sez he agin, strutting back, and poking one hand down
into his trousers' pocket, as if he was a going tu take something out.
Wal, think sez I, I s'pose arter he's fumbled about long enough, he'll
show me what aristocracy is, if he carries it about in his pocket like
the rest on 'em; but he only took out a piece of pinted gold, and begun
to poke it between his teeth; and arter he'd got through, he made out tu
finish what he was a saying.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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