A Jayhawker in Europe
William Yoast Morgan
9781465657534
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
The last day on American soil before starting on a trip to other lands should be marked with a proper spirit of seriousness, and I would certainly live up to the propriety of the occasion if it were not for two things,—the baggage and the weather. But how can a man heave a sigh of regret at departing from home, when he is chasing over Jersey City and Hoboken after a stray trunk, and the thermometer is breaking records for highness and the barometer for humidity? I have known some tolerably warm zephyrs from the south which were excitedly called “hot winds,” but they were balmy and pleasant to the touch in comparison with the New York hot wave which wilts collar, shirt and backbone into one mass. The prospect of tomorrow being out on the big water with a sea breeze and a northeast course does not seem bad, even if you are leaving the Stars and Stripes and home and friends. There is nothing like hot, humid weather to destroy patriotism, love, affection, and common civility. I speak in mild terms, but I have returned from Hoboken, the station just the other side of the place whose existence is denied by the Universalists. This is the place the ship starts from, and not from New York, as it is advertised to do. Speaking of weather reminds me that the West is far ahead of New York in the emancipation of men. The custom here is for men to wear coats regardless of the temperature, whereas in the more intelligent West a man is considered dressed up in the evening if he takes off his gallusses along with his coat. Last night we went to a “roof garden” and expected that it would be a jolly Bohemian affair, but every man sat with his coat on and perspired until he couldn’t tell whether the young ladies of the stage were kicking high or not, and worse than that, he did not care. I have been again impressed with the fact that there are no flies in New York City. There are no screens on the windows, not even of the dining-rooms, and yet I have not seen a fly. I wish Dr. Crumbine would tell us why it is that flies swarm out in Kansas and leave without a friendly visit such a rich pasture-ground as they would find on the millions of humans on Manhattan island. If I were a fly I would leave the swatters and the hostile board of health of Kansas, and take the limited train for New York and one perpetual picnic for myself and family.
