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

by Ann S. Stephens

Afore I could get a chance to stick in a word edgeways, she took my hand, yaller glove and all, between both her'n, and led me along to the fire. Arter I'd sot down, she kept a fingering over one of my hands as if it belonged to her. Think sez I, what on arth can the old critter mean? I'll be darned, if she was fifteen years younger, I should think she had such a notion to the family, that she wasn't particular how many on 'em she made love tu. As soon as I could git her to give up my hand, she jest let her'n drop on my knee as affectionate as a pussy cat, and sez she, a screwing up her mouth, and sticking her face close up to mine—

"Cousin, you can't think how delighted I was to read your letters in the Express. I du like to see such upstarts as the Beebe's taken off; only think of the idee of her giving parties, and her husband not out of business yit! When I read that letter, sez I to Mr. Slick, 'bring the young gentleman here, where he can see something of real high life; it would be a pity to have him throw away his talons in describing such low affairs as Mrs. Beebe's must be.'" With that she looked round her blazing room as proud as could be, as if she wanted me to give her some soft sodder back agin; but I felt sort of wrathy at what she said about cousin, and I wouldn't take the hint; but sez I, "I beg pardon, marm, but Mr. Beebe is my friend and relation, and a chap that'll set still and hear a friend run down, don't deserve one, according to my notion; as for cousin Mary——"

"Oh," sez Mrs. Slick, a twisting round like an eel, "she is a lovely woman, without any doubt. I sartinly should have called on her long ago; but then one has so many acquaintances of that sort to remember, that really I have never found time." Think sez I, if you wont call till Mary wants you, I don't think you'll put yourself out in a hurry; but I didn't say so, for jest that minit she seemed to remember something, and she sung out, "Jemima, my dear."

With that the yaller curtains by one of the winders were rustled and flirted out, and a young gal, finefied off to kill, come from where she'd been standing back on 'em to look at the fellers as they went along the street. I ruther guess there was a flirting of ribbon and a glistening of gold things when she made her appearance. She came a hopping and a dancing across the room, and when she come jest afore me, she stopped short and let off a curchy that seemed more like one of her mother's run crazy, than any thing I could think on. The old woman she spread out her hands, and sez she, "Jemima, my dear, this is your cousin, Mr. Slick, the gentleman whose letters you were so delighted with."

With that the queer critter gave me another curchy and looked as if she'd a been glad if she'd known enough to say something; but the old woman sot in with a stream of talk about her till any body on arth would have sot her down for an angel jest out of heaven, dressed up in pink satin and loaded off with gold, if they'd believed a word her mother said. Think sez I to myself, as I stood a looking at the old woman and the gal, it's enough to make a feller sick of life to see two such stuck up critters. The gal's furbelows didn't look so bad considering she was so young, yet it always seems to me as if heaps of jimcracks and finery piled on to a young critter looked kinder unnat'ral. Wimmen are a good deal like flowers to my notion, and the harnsomest posies that grow in the woods never have but one color besides their leaves. I've seen gals in the country with nothing but pink sun bonnets and calico frocks on, that looked as fresh and sweet as full blown roses—gals that could pull an even yoke with any of your York tippies in the way of beauty, and arter all if I ever get a wife I don't think I shall sarch for her among brick houses and stun side-walks.

The old woman raly had made an etarnal coot of herself in the way of fixing. She had on a lot of satin, and shiny thin stuff twistified round her head kinder like a hornet's nest; in front on it, jest over the leetle curls all rolled and frizzled round her face, a bird—a rale ginuine bird, all feathered off as bright as a rainbow—was stuck with its bill down and its tail flourished up in the air, as if it had jest lit to search for a place to build a nest in. I never see one of the kind afore, for its tail looked like a handful of corn-silk, it was so yaller and bright; but, think sez I, it must be some sort of a new-fashioned woodpecker, for it's the natur of them birds always to light on any thing holler—and if he was once to get a going on that old woman's head, I've an idee there'd be a drumming. She had a leetle short neck, all hung round with chains, and capes, and lots of things—besides, a leetle watch, all sot over with shiny stuns, was hung to her side, and her fat chunked fingers was kivered over with rings, that looked like the spots on a toad's back more than any thing else. She had a great wide ruffle round the bottom of her frock, like the one cousin Mary had on at her party; but she warn't no where nigh so tall as Mary, and it made her look like a bantum hen feathered down to the claws. Wal, think sez I, if you wouldn't make a comical figger-head fur Captin Doolittle's sloop. I wonder what your husband would ask for you, jest as you stand—hump, ruffles and all? I shouldn't a taken so much notice of her, if she hadn't let off such a shower of talk on me about her darter; but when a woman begins to pester me by praising up her family, I always make a pint of thinking of something else as fast as I can. If you only bow a leetle, and throw in a "yes marm, sartingly," and so on, once in a while, you're all right. A woman will generally soft-sodder herself, if you let her alone when she once gits a going, without putting you to the trouble of doing it for her.

Arter she'd talked herself out of breath, she went along up to the table, and spreading her hands, sez she, "Take some refreshments, Mr. Slick?"

"Wal," sez I, "I haint much hungry, but I do feel a leetle dry—so I don't care if I du."

I went up to the table, and took a survey of the decanters and cider-bottles; and arter a while, I made out to find one decanter that looked as if it had something good in it, and poured about a thimble full into two of the wine glasses, and filled up one for myself. Mrs. Slick and her darter took up the glasses, and then I stepped back and made a low bow, and sez I, "The compliments of the season!—or any other interesting thing that you like. A person of your genius——" Here I stuck fast, for somehow I forgot how cousin Beebe told me to top off in the speech. But the old woman puckered up her mouth, and curchyed away as if I'd said it all out; and the gal, she went over the same manœuvre, and laughed so silly, and put back her long curls with her white gloves—for she had gloves on though she was tu hum—and sez she, "Oh, Mr. Slick," and then her marm chimed in, and sez she, "Now that you've mentioned genius, Mr. Slick, I do think my Jemima has a talent for poetry."

Think sez I, it raly is surprising how much genius there is buried up in these York brick houses. I hain't been to see a family since I've been down here that hadn't some darter that could write so beautiful, only she was so proud and diffident and modest, that she could not be coaxed to have any thing printed. Think sez I, if that leetle stuck up varmint has took to poetry, there'll be a blaze in the newspaper world afore long. She's sartin to set the North River on fire, if nobody else ever did.