University of Virginia Library

LETTER XIV.

To Mr. Thompson:—Dear Sir—To tell you the plain
truth, Mr. Thompson, I'm a altered man sense I cum
to New York, at least so far as appearance goes, though
I blieve my hart is in the same place it used to be. It
was sum time before I could giv in to my frend, Littlehigh's
argyments, but as I'm always willin to accommodate
myself to the wishes of my frends, when it can be
done without sacrificin my principles, I consented to
have sum new clothes made in the latest fashion. Accordinly
the other day he tuck me down to Mr. Lownsberry,
in Pine street, and gave the directions to have a
fust rate broadcloth suit made for me, jest like his own.
Well, in two days afterwards, here cums a bran new
suit to my hotel—coat, vest, and trousers. The boot-maker
in Fulton street had sent me a pair of new
French boots, as he called 'em, and I got a hat from
Leary, the great Broadway hat man. I shucked out
of my old clothes and got into my new ones, and sich
a alteration I don't reckon you ever seed afore. It's a
positive fact, I don't blieve Wise or Smart, my coon-dogs
to home, would be able to know me without
smellin at me for a while. I don't hardly know myself;
and if it hadn't been for my voice which sounded
as familiar as a dinner-horn, I would a-had my dowts.
Mary wouldn't sed the least resemblance to her husband
in me, and I blieve if I had made my appearance
in Pineville, my neighbors would been for puttin me in
jail for a impostor.

My cote ain't so very outlandish, but my trouses and

jacket is the oddest lookin things in the world. The
trouses is “all buttoned down before,” like daddy
Grimes's old blue cote, and makes me so shamed-when
I look at 'em that I don't know what to do with
myself; and my jacket cums almost down to my knees,
and is cut out swaller-tailed in frunt, like General
Washington's regimental jacket, what I seed in Washington
city. They're all made fust rate though, and fit
like they had growd on me. They begin to feel a little
better now than when I fust put 'em on, but it will be
sum time before I git used to 'em, and before I can pass
anybody in the street without feelin like I wanted to
turn round to hide my trouses.

You know I told you I had no very grate opinion
of operys. Well, that's a fact; but the other evenin
when I cum to dinner at my hotel, the clerk handed
me a note from Mr. Littlehigh, statin that himself and
two or three of his frends would be very glad of Major
Jones' company in a private box at the Olympic that
evenin, to see the opery of “The Daughter of the
Regiment.” It wouldn't be perlite to refuse sich a
invitation, and I staid home to meet Mr. Littlehigh,
accordin to his appintment.

“Well, 'bout six o'clock Mr. Littlehigh called for
me, and we went to the Olympic. The house was
packed like a barrel of pork, whar ther ain't room
enuff left to git another foot or jowl, nor so much as a
ear into the barrel, all except my frend's private box,
what was pretty close to the stage, and what had
nobody in it but three or four gentlemen who belonged
to our party. The curtain ris with a everlastin singin
and fiddlin, like it did in Filladelfy. Bimeby the
daughter of the regiment cum out, and then I thought
they would tear the theatre down with ther everlastin
rumpus.

“That's our Mary, Majer,” ses Mr. Littlehigh, “and
now if you want to hear a bird of Paradise, jest buckle
back yer ears.”

She was a monstrous fine-lookin gall, and the way
she could sing was perfectly 'mazin; and then she
handled a musket and marched about the stage like a
regular sargeant of infantry. How the mischief she
ever cum by so many fathers, I couldn't well make out,
for the singin, which, as I told you before, spiles evry
thing in a opery. But it was very plain to be seen
that if the regiment was her daddys, evry feller in the
house was in love with her; and I couldn't help but
think that the feller with the ribbons on his hat, what
kep follerin her about and singin to her how he loved
her, loud enuff to be heard all over the house, stood a
monstrous pore chance among so many. Whenever
she cum on the stage, the peeple all over the house
would rap and clap and holler like they was half out
of ther senses; and whenever she sung a song by herself,
they was certain to make her sing it over agin.

I liked the Daughter of the Regiment myself rather
better than I did the Bohemian Gall, but I'd like 'em
both a good deal better if ther wasn't so much singin
in 'em.

After the opery was over we went down to the Battery,
and after walkin about in the moonlit walks til we
got tired, we sot down on the benches and smoked our
segars, while the waves splashed and roared agin the
rocks, and the wind played with the tops of the trees
behind us. After talkin over matters and things awhile,
we started for home.

As we was gwine along up Broadway we saw a
smoke comin out of a roof of a house down in one of
the cross streets, and turned down to see what it was.
When we got opposite to it, we saw a redish sort of a
light in the winders on the roof, and the smoke pourin
out of evry crack. Mr. Littlehigh run across and
rapped at the dore, and in a minit a old man stuck his
hed out of the lower winder.

“Your house is a fire,” ses Mr. Littlehigh.

The old man grunted out sumthing, but didn't take
in his old red night-cap or make any movement like he
cared whether his house was afire or not.

“Fire,” ses my frend, loud as he could holler,
pintin up to the top of the house.

The old man grunted out sumthing in Dutch, and
stood as still as a post, starin at us on the other side of
the street. Then Mr. Muggins run across and went
close up to the old codger, and hollered to him—

“I say, old hoss, your house is on fire—up in the
garret.”

It was 'bout twelve o'clock, and the street was still
as a grave-yard. Mr. Muggins made a good deal of
noise, and the old man pulled in his hed and cum back
in a minit with a old shot-gun in his hand, and begun
to cus in Dutch as hard as he could. Mr. Muggins
backed out a little ways, and begun lookin for a brickbat.
Mr. Littlehigh seein that the light was gittin
brighter in the winder, stept on the steps and tried the
dore. By this time two or three more of the winders
was raised, and two or three more red night-caps was
stickin out, lookin at us without sayin a word, except
the old feller below, who was flourishin his shot-gun
and makin a terrible racket.

Just then sum winders was raised on tother side of
the street.

“That house is on fire,” ses Mr. Muggins.

“Wake 'em up next dore,” ses sumbody from tother
side. “They can't understand English in that house.”

With that we rapped at the next dore, and told the
man that cum out what was the matter. The feller
sprung into the street and looked up for a second, and
then run to the old chap that was cussin with the gun
in his hand, and sed sumthing to him. Down drapped
the gun, and out of the winder cum the old Dutchman,
with nothing on but his shirt and night-cap. As soon
as he seed the smoke and light, he sot up a yell that
waked the whole neighborhood, and in half a minit

they was cumin out of evry winder in the house like
cat-squirrels from a corn-crib—climbin down the waterspout,
and jumpin out of the winders, men, wimmin,
and children—all of 'em half naked and hollerin and
yellin like five thousand wild-cats.

By this time the alarm was spread—the peeple cum
pourin out of the houses in evry direction, and sich a
scene I never seed before in all my life. All we could
hear in English was “fire! fire!” and in a few minits
here cum the firemen with their ingines, rattlin over
the stones, and shoutin and yellin like half the city was
in flames. The dores and winders was open, and old
trunks and furniture and beds was flyin in evry direction.

And after all what do you think it was? Why
nothing but a smoke raised by the family what lived in
the garret, to drive out the musketers. Ther was sum
ten or a dozen families livin in the house, and all of
'em was frightened almost to deth, and turned out of
ther beds into the street, jest because the family in the
roof had gone to sleep leavin a pile of old rags afire to
drive off the musketers.

The firemen went home cussin the Dutchmen, but
we staid awhile with the crowd what was growin bigger
and bigger, to see the fun—and I would gin almost
any thing if I could jest understood Dutch, so I might
know what the pore peeple was sayin to one another
when they was gettherin up and disputin about ther
plunder. The old chap what had the gun was cumpletely
out of his senses. He didn't git the idee that
his house was afire for sum time, but when he did git
it into his hed, ther was no sich thing as persuadin him
out of it. He never tuck time to put on his clothes,
but jest grabbed hold of his daughter, a butiful gall, and
hollered fire! fire! as loud as he could. The pore gall
tried her best to pacify him, but the more she cried and
talked to him, the more he tuck on.

Our party got scattered in the crowd, and when we
was satisfied that tranquillity was restored in Holland,

Mr. Littlehigh and myself went home, leavin the old
Dutchman hollerin fire, and his wife and daughter tryin
to git him in the house.

It's beginnin to get pretty warm here now, and ther's
a good many Southerners here, and among 'em is sum
of my Georgia frends. Tother day, as I was gwine
along Broadway, who should I meet but Col. Bill
Skimer, of Pineville. You know Col. Bill's one of
the cleverest fellers in the world; and as he was 'bout
the first old acquaintance I had seed for sum time, I
was monstrous glad to meet him. We stopped on the
corner of Park place and Broadway, and shuck hands,
and was chattin 'bout home, when the fust thing we
know'd ther was a crowd of 'bout five hundred peeple
gethered round us.

“Look here, Majer,” ses he, “I can't stand this. I
don't think ther's any danger of ther swallerin me alive,
but I don't like to be gaped at like I was a wild animal.”
So off he started for his hotel, makin a wake among
the crowd like a seventy-four in a mill-pond. The fact
is, Col. Bill is considered a full-grown Georgian at
home, but among us he don't look more'n half so big
as he does here, whar the average size of the men is
much less than it is in our genial soil, whar men's
bodys as well as ther harts git to be as large as ther
Maker ever intended 'em to be. The Colonel ain't so
sensitive as sum peeple about sich things, and takes a
good joke as well as the next man; but when he found
they had been puttin him in the Herald, callin him the
Georgia giant, and makin him out a heap bigger than
he is, he didn't like it a bit.

My old frend, John Hooper, is here, too, from Savannah,
and I don't know how many of the Pelegs
from Augusta. Col. Shoestring, from the wiregrass
settlement, is shinin here in his own peculiar way.
The Colonel is one of the oddest specimens of human
natur I ever seed in my life, and takes jest as much
pride in a ragged cote, a dirty shirt-collar, and a long

beard, as the greatest dandy does in his finery. His
notions of notoriety, however, doesn't suit this meridean
at all. In a small town whar it would be possible
for him to be known by most of the inhabitants,
perhaps he mought becum distinguished in his line;
but here, whar ther is abundance of all kinds of loafers,
and whar a person who is a man at home is nothing
but a individual, it is no use to try to git notoriety for
sich peculiarities as he indulges in. The Colonel cusses
the omminybuses, and turns up his nose at the dandies
and free niggers from mornin til night, and drinks sassyparilly
sody water, and smokes the worst segars he can
find. He uses about the Bowery, and goes to Chatham
street theatre. He can't bear Niblo's or the Park, and
ses that Broadway is worse than a menagery of wild
varmints.

I haven't sed any thing to you about the New York
ladies, and, as I told you my opinion about the Baltimore
galls, I ought to say sumthing of the ladys of this
city. Well, so far as dressin is concerned, they beat
Baltimore and Filladelfy all holler. But in pint of buty
they ain't to compare to the wimmin of the other cities.
The fact is, I find the further North I go the more fine
clothes and the less handsum faces I see. It would
take enuff money to buy a plantation to dress one of
these Broadway bells as they call 'em, and after all a
man of taste couldn't see much in 'em to fall in love
with. They're generally taller than our Southern galls,
and with the help of the milliners they is pretty good
forms, when they is walkin along before you. But, Mr.
Thompson, all ain't flesh and blood that walks, any
more'n all ain't gold that shines in Peter Funk's
winder; and when you cum to ketch up with 'em and
see ther faces, whatever notions of buty you mought
had before is soon gone. And even if you do now and
then cum across a handsum face ther's sumthing wrong
about 'em, that I can't exactly understand. Sumhow
ther ain't enuff difference between the expression of the

countenances of the wimmin and the men. The prettiest
blue eyes you meet has a kind of a hard, cast-steel
expression, so different from the soft, meltin looks of
our modest, blue-eyed Georgia galls. Sumtimes you
may see a pair of dark, bright eyes, but ther ain't no
depth in 'em. Ther's the same difference between the
eyes of the Northern wimmin and the eyes of our galls
at home, that ther is between a lookin-glass and a deep
pool of pure, crystal water. You can look into 'em both,
and both reflects your own face; but the glass is all cold,
shallow surface, while you see down deep into the fountain
and understand the source from whar its pure waters
flow. The Northern ladys' eyes seems like they was
only made to look with, while our Southern galls, you
know, can speak so eloquently with their's. No doubt
livin in sich a grate city, whar they is all the time exposed
to the gaze of strangers, has sum effect on the
ladys to make 'em less bashful and shrinkin than our
Southern galls is, and perhaps ther is other causes of
education and habits to make 'em less feminine in the
style of ther buty. But certain it is ther is the greatest
difference in the world between them and the wimmin
of the South, and in my opinion the advantage is all on
the side of our Southern galls.

Mr. Hooper and me is gwine to take a trip to Yankee-doodledum
in a few days, to see Boston and Lowell.
I want to see the great Yankee city, and the factory
galls what I've heard so much about. I will tell you
all about the trip in my next. So no more from