AT THE MASQUE BALL.--FRIVERLUS FIXINS.--A PARISIEN
GREASETTE, WOT MASHED THE MASKULINE CHARACKTERS.--MR. GILLEY
COT IN HER TOILS.--THE DEVIL IT IS.
Last nite Mr. Gilley giv me a invyta-shun to the fancy masque ball, wot
all New York's ben torkin bout for the last six weaks. It was to be a
toney affaire, so wen I got hum I went all thru my wardrobe, but culdn't
find nothin fancyer than the cloes I wore wen I painted the back
fense at our house red with green trimmins. I seen they was hardly
prackterkel, cos there was a feint oder of cows & horses clingin to
them wot the heet of the ball room mite develop in a way wot wuldn't
be satisfacktorie to myself or the delercate knoeses of the other
aristocrazey present.
[Illustration: IT WAS ONY THE WURK OF A MINNIT TO PRY OPEN THE LID ]
So I put em away with a sy, and had jest bout maid up my mind that the
other ballers wuldn't be treeted to my distingushed presense, wen I
remembered the box of cloes wot our dinin room gal, wot was purty fly,
left, wen she loped with the buggler, & all ma's silver spoons. It was
ony the wurk of a minnit to pry open the lid, and a dazzlin array
of butyful & fancy does met my vishun. Then I shed all my things
and commensed the arduus wurk of dressin. I say arduus, cos it was
parrylisin, discom-fertin, & puzzlin. I useter wonder y ma tuk so long
to dress, wen she was goin eny-where, and pa was swarin and hurryin her
up. Now, I wunder no longer cos I kno how tis myself, and after my own
xperiense in pins, buttins, strings, laces, garters, and things, I shall
ever look upon wimmin as martirs. The dress was jest short enuf to show
my blu striped silk stockins, and bout two inshes of mbroidery.
The stock-ins was a littel too big, so I had to fill em up with
hankercheefs. The waste jest but-tened up on me, at the waste line, but
it tuk half a dozen piller cases, and a cuppel of sheets, to stuff the
upper part of the front. I had to put a reef in crinny line, cos it
showd, and it tuk ma's pach-wurk quilt to mak my bussel big enuf for
stile.
Wen I was all thru dressin, I looked like a Fifth avenue daysy,
every particle of my dress was complete, only I culdnt set down very
maudestly, cos my hoops was too wide. Then ma she fixed up my hare, and
maid a masque for me, and sed I was a true-ter-life Parisien greassette.
Soon as I got in the ball-room, every maskerline carackter got mashed on
me, and warnted me for a partner. Every one I dansed with treeted me to
ice creme and carrymels, and I guess, I ete supper bout seventeen times,
in fact I ete so much, that a terrebel strane round my waste, warned
that if I indulged my appytite eny more, a feerful catastrofy, was
lierbel to take place.
Bout two o'clock I begun to get tired, & warnted to go home, but my
partner, wot was Mr. Gilley, drest in the costum wot he sent me down to
Ike Israel's on Chattam Strete, to hire for him, and wot the Jue sed,
reprysented Tom Okiltree a Texas Briggand, promissed to get a carrage,
and driv me home, if I'd stay till three. I was 'greed, so I dansed
three or four more sets with him, and ete sum more creme. Then he got a
close carrage, & told the driver to drive orful slow, cos he was frade
the moshun of the carrage'd have a bad effect on my nerves.
Soon as we got started he tuk me on his knee, & got to huggin me round
the piller slips & sheets and kissin my left eer, and gettin otherwise
fermillyer, so I seen the moment had cum for me to be myself, so I
lifted up my masque. Soon as he cot site of my face he xclaimed: “Oh!
the Devil!”
“Yes, Sir,” sez I, “tis the Devil.”
Then, tellin the driver to stop the horses, he lifted up his foot and
gin me a kick wot landed rite on ma's pachwurk quilt, and sed: “Go to
the devil.”
I guess he's mad at me, only he purtends not to be, but that's put
on, cos he's frade I'll gin the hull thing away, and then the religus
edittur and Mr. Wilson'll hav the laff on him.
The sosighety edittur's report in this mornins _Buster_ says:
“The Parisien Greasette was conseeded by everybodie present to take
the onhers of belle of the ball. The knowin ones claim that it was Miss
Ellen Terrier, the latest artistick importashun from England, and that
Mr. Vandybilt, as the Texas brig-gand, seen her home. If this is a
fact, there'll likely be sum domestick thunder flyin round in a uptown
manshun.”