University of Virginia Library

The approach to New York, either through the Narrows,
or the Kills as they are called, is conspicuously
beautiful, and worthy of the excellent fare to which the
fortunate traveller is destined, who visits the city at a
proper season. And here we must caution our readers
to beware of all those unlucky months, that are without
the fortunate letter R, which may be called the tutelary
genius of oysters, inasmuch as no oyster can enjoy the
pleasure of being eaten in New York, during any of the
barren months, which are without this delightful consonant.
It is against the law, experience having demonstrated
the ill effects of indulging in these delicious
dainties in hot weather, in the sudden deaths of divers
common councilmen after supper. For this reason
most of the fashionable people go out of town, during
those infamous months that intervene between May and
August, not one of which contains the fortunate R,
there being nothing left worth staying for. This period
may justly be called the season of Lent. No canvass
backs—no venison—no grouse—no lobsters—no oysters;—nothing
but lamb and chicken, and green peas!
No wonder all people of taste go out of town, for as
a famous prize poet writes:

New York is not only beautiful in its approach, beautiful
in itself, and consummate in eating; its liquors are
inimitable—divine. Who has not tasted the “Bingham”—the
“Marston”—the “Nabob”—and the “Billy
Ludlow!” Above all, who has not tasted of the unparalleled
“Resurrection” wine—so called from its having
once actually brought a man to life, after he was stone
dead under the table. Nobody ever died until they had
no more of this wine left; and a famous physician once
affirmed in our presence, that every drop was as good
as a drop of buoyant, frisky youthful blood added to the
body corporate. No wonder then that eating and drinking
is the great business of life in New York, among
people that can or cannot afford these exquisite dainties,
and that they talk of nothing else at dinner; for as
the same illustrious prize poet has it,—

Of the manner in which the various manœuvres of
gastronomy are got through in New York, at dinners,

and evening parties, the following, which we have politely
been permitted to copy from the unpublished letters
we spoke of, will sufficiently apprize the courteous
reader. It is high ton throughout we assure him,
though there are at present some symptomatic indications
of a change for the better—at least according to
the notions of Colonel Culpeper—in the evening parties,
from whence it is we understand, contemplated to banish
late hours, oysters, and champagne. Against this
last innovation we protest in the name of posterity and
the immortal gods. Banish beauty—banish grace—banish
music, dancing, flirtation, ogling, and making love
—but spare, O spare us the oysters and champagne!
What will become of the brisk gallantry of the beaux,
the elegant vivacity of the belles, the pleasures of anticipation,
and the ineffable delights of fruition, if you banish
oysters and champagne?

The fashionable reader will be tempted to smile at
the colonel's antediluvian notions, of style and good
breeding; but what can you expect from a man born
and brought up among the high hills of Santee? His
strictures on waltzing are especially laughable. What
do women—we mean fashionable women—dress and
undress, wear bishops, and wind themselves into the elegantly
lascivious motions of the waltz for, but to excite
sensation in the gentlemen, who ought to be eternally
grateful for the pains they take.