Life, 1883-05-10 · page 3 of 16
Life — May 10, 1883 — page 3: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis The page contains a satirical narrative titled "More from St. Quentin!" rather than a political cartoon. The story describes an impoverished American in France on his birthday, reduced to pawning possessions and receiving charity from relatives. The satire targets genteel poverty and American pretension abroad. The protagonist's encounter with a well-dressed stranger who turns out to be a fellow American serves as the joke's pivot—both men are equally destitute despite maintaining appearances. The final exchange about smoking a Havana cigar appears to mock both men's attempts to preserve dignity and status markers (the expensive cigar) despite their desperate financial circumstances. The humor derives from the gap between appearance and reality, a common theme in 1880s American humor about social class and economic struggle.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
MAY roth, 1883. 1155 Broapway, New York, Published every Thursday, $5 a year in advance, postage free. Single copies, 10 cents. Cg" Subscribers who do not receive their copies will please nolify the office at once. PRING is upon us. Blear-eyed winter has depart- ed with his ulster and bronchitis, his rubbers and buckwheat cakes, chest-protector and chillblains. Now cometh the. bursting bud flashing into emerald, the balmy breeze, the garrulous sparrow, the day of moving, the first straw-hat, the murmurs of Newport and Coney Island, and the opening of the Big Bridge. It is at this season that the young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of Mt. Desert, and the maiden turns over last summer's finery with an eco- nomical eye, and paper grows more eloquent than ever on the subject of bills. It is the season of promise and talk. The Van Dudles will Newport. So will the Ul- sterdams and the Wafflespoons. ‘The De Slapjax are going abroad, and the Von Buckwhetes will remain to tackle Coney Island. There is a hum of moving, preparation and gossip. The Dog Star is slowly ris- ing, which is Sirius matter for dogs. Opera is over and theatre is nearly so, but the livery-stable man’s col- lector is still rampant, and that obdurate tailor’s last year’s experience has made him so vulgarly proud that he wants cash. These are sad reflections. MORE FROM ST. QUENTIN! OUR CORRESPONDENT’S ANACONDA BREAKFAST !! His NoBte PResERVER ! !! St. Quentin, France, March 25th, 1883. It is my birthday to-day. I am 30 years old. “ Aunt Lyman,” in Bangor, Maine, always sends me $50 on my birthday. One gets a keen appetite, having only one meal a day. I was helped three times to omelette, twice to soup, four times to cutlets, washing the whole down with a bowl of coffee, and three bottles of vin ordinaire. I have eaten an enormous breakfast. But it is horrible not having anything to smoke. Until I sold my last shirt, I got tick at a cigar shop, but there is no use asking for “tick” when one wearsa dirty wisp of a handkerchief about his neck. Every one in the hotel knows that I am in pawn and they all avoid me. Thackeray, as we all know, was once in pawn at a hotel, so I am in good company, or rather I should be, if it were forty years ago and I were in Lille instead of being in St. Quentin. That notice which I found on my bed this morning has disquieted me a little. Still, before breakfast, I went out and pawned the dagger, receiving on it one franc. The landlord sent a waiter with me, fearing, I suppose, that I should either commit suicide or escape him altogether. With half the franc, I bought at a new tobacconist’s some chewing tobacco, for I have no passport and wish to be able to prove my American citizenship in case my troubles come toa head. I gave my last half-franc to the waiter, and he gave mea letter. It was in my Aunt Lyman’s handwriting. “Good old soul! I exclaimed as I tore open the letter. It contained a birthday card, on the back of which was written: “Ihave given this year’s $50 to make you a Life Member of the American Board of Foreign Missions. Many Happy Returns of the Day.” I went back to the hotel a wretched man, oh, so wretched ! As I sat looking out of the window of a dreary room atthe rain sullenly pouring into the gray, provincial street, a cab drove up to the hotel door. A tall man, who looked like an American, stepped out of the cab and walked into the hotel. In a few minuteshe came into the room in which I was, and seating himself next to me, said “ good morning ” to me. I nodded at him; he was singularly tall and slim and wore a Newmarket overcoat which came to his heels. His face was boyish, almost childlike, and he had a sweet, simpering smile. But his eyes were black and flashing, and as he smiled I ‘saw that he had no front teeth. “It is raining,” said he pleasantly. I admitted that it was raining. “Do you smoke ?” he asked, at the same time hand- ing me an alligator-skin cigar case. “I do !” cried I, eagerly clutching at a cigar. I had not smoked for ten days. You may imagine that I was “ frozen” for a weed. The stranger then handed me a match saying ; “And you will supply the lung power.” The pleasantry reminded me uncomfortably of the German’s joke at the banquet, but I lighted the. cigar with the proffered match. “ You are an American ?” I inquired, finding that the cigar was a real Havanna. “Yes, I am your fellow countryman,” he answered. comicbooks.co