The Philadelphienne dressyth not in garments like unto Joseph, his cote of manie colors, nethir dothe shee put on clothes whych look from afar off like geographie-mapps, where the hues are as well assortyd as iff a paint-mill had bursten and scattered the piggments all pele-mele into everlastynge miscellayneous scatteratioun.  For shee doth greately go inn for subdued ratt-color, milde mouse-tints, temperate tea-caddy tones, moderate mode—­dyes, gentyll gray—­shades, tranquill drabb—­tinges, temperate tawny, calm graye, sober ashie, pacifyed slate, mitigated dun, lenientlie dingie, and blandlie cinereous chromattics, since shee hadd a Quakir grandmother on the one syde, ande is too superblie proude on the other, ‘to make a pecocke of hirselfe,’ as shee wyll telle you whann thatt yee be spattered with the water whych is jetted from hose over ye pavementes.  Hee thatt woulde see manye of these swete beeings, shoulde walke in Chestnutt strete whyles thatt shee goeth to shopp, or promenade in Walnutt strete, on Sundaye.  And if he can telle mee of a citie on earthe where one can see more prettye, tiny feete, in neater shoos or gaytered bootes, thann hee may then beholde, I wolde fayne knowe where itt is, thatt I maye go there too.

Muche loveth shee little tea-parties where onlie girles bee; and to have ye gentylmen come, aske:  ’Damsylle, wherefore walke ye nott in gayer garmentes?’ Soe thatt itt often comes to passe thatt whenn walkyng in ye Broade Waye of New-Yorke, yee can tell a Philadelphienne by hir sober yet rich garbe, so that ye Cosmopolite sayth:  ’Per ma fe! thatt is a ladye, I know shee is, by the waye shee lookes.’  And trulie, as Dan Chaucer sayeth, shee is one: 

    ’Well seemed by her apparaile,
    She is not wont to great travaile,
    And whan she kempt is fetously,
      And well arraied and richely. 
    Then hath shee done all her journee,
    Gentyll and faire indede is shee!’

Ye Philadelphia younge ladye loveth to ryde of pleasaunte afternoones out untoe Pointe Breeze, adown ye Necke, in ye Parke, or along ye wynding Wissahickon.  Peradventure shee goeth whyles with a beau who speaketh unto hir of love, to whych shee listeneth wyth tendir grace, and replyeth with art, untill thatt they have builded upp betwene them a flirtacioun.  From tyme to tyme hee makyth a punn, and shee cryeth, ‘Shame!’ but itt shames him never a whitt or jott—­nay, hee goeth on and maketh yett anothir—­ofttimes untill ye horse takyth frighte and runneth awaie.  Yett for all this she liketh hym still, so grete is ye love of woman and so enduring hir constancye.

Att other tymes shee ridoth farr and wyde in ye hors-carrs, since in her natyve towne shee can go manye miles for five cents, and two pence whenn shee takes ye other carr.  Specially doth shee do this on Saturday forenoons, else weare her neat clothes all in ye evenyng.  Then they speke of the newes of ye daye, and praise General!  Mac Lellan, and gossipp of ye laste greate partie, where Dorsey dyd serve so well ye terrapines and steamed oysters, and howe thatt itt is verament and trewe thatt Miss Porridge is to live, after hir marriage, in a howse in Locust strete, or peradventure in Spruce, or in Pyne, for in this towne all the stretes are of woode, albeit ye houses are all of bricke.