Life, 1886-12-09 · page 13 of 36
Life — December 9, 1886 — page 13: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a nostalgic poem by De Witt Sterry about Stuyvesant Square in New York City, accompanied by period illustrations. The piece satirizes romantic sentimentality rather than political targets. The poem describes an elegant Manhattan neighborhood with iron railings and modest green space, mocking the pretensions of its residents (comparing their townhouses to "beefsteaks"). The narrative follows a bachelor's romanticized memory of meeting a woman there years ago—a brief romance that ended when she married a wealthy "million" (a millionaire) in the cough-drop business. The satire lies in the contrast between the speaker's flowery recollection of youthful passion and the banal reality: his beloved chose a rich businessman, and the speaker now inhabits this memory like an actor performing a tired script. The closing suggests even this nostalgic reverie grows tiresome. It's gentle social satire on urban romance and class aspiration rather than hard-hitting political commentary.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Abate Sfemee Y neat iron railings eleven feet high Enclosed are two patches of turf and of sky ; Nor a bust nor a statue is seen anywhere, And yet they have christened it ‘‘ Stuyvesant Square.” There the” houses seem beefsteaks — red flesh and white fat — Save one that's turned into a bachelor’s flat. While the fountains are fine and the flower-beds raré In the pleasant seclusion of Stuyvesant Square. But the air is delightful and coy as a nun, And even the benches delight in the sun. As for salt-ladened breezes, what breezes compare With those you encounter on Stuyvesant Square? Years ago, years ago, ere my brow had grown scarred, With feelings of pleasure I read on a card: “At home, Thursday morning ;” the date? I declare I only remember ’twas Stuyvesant Square, ‘Well, I went there ; I met her — was wholly entranced As much by her smiles as the way her eyes danced ; We'd the jolliest time in a téte-d-téte chair Of any that morning on Stuyvesant Square. No longer I chuckled the coffee-maid’s chin ; Resigned from the club at the ‘‘ Admiral Lynn ;” Sent myself 5i//ets-doux, that exhorted ‘‘ Beware!” Supposed to be posted in Stuyvesant Square. How at midnight I paced on the sidewalk below Her little chintz curtain, not minding the snow ; While the watch, with his staff and his lantern, would stare And then bid me hurry from Stuyvesant Square ! How I dreamt that one night as we dallied at chess, The world had seemed larger for one little “yes 5” I had won and we'd fled to the candle-light’s glare At the rail of St. George’s on Stuyvesant Square! Well, she married a ‘‘ million,” who dealt in cough-drops, Some patent concoction of squills and of hops. But I knew in her heart she desired to spare The fellow she jilted on Stuyvesant Square. But the prompter’s bell jingles ; the actor his say Has said in his stilted and ignorant way ; Forgive him : of course, ev'ry stranger don’t care To revel as he does in Stuyvesant Square. De Witt Sterry. comicbooks.com