Odd Sights Of A Suburb. The Sun, August 4, 1882.

ODD SIGHTS OF A SUBURB
The Sun. August 4, 1882.

Odd Sights of a Suburb. The Sun. August 4, 1882.

An Entertaining Description of Astoria Heard in a Street Car.

A description of Astoria overheard on a streetcar. If the story is true then I wonder if there is any way to identify the “protographer” mentioned near the end. “His pictures of dogs are masterpieces.” -contact

A Sun reporter, riding In a Third avenue car, overheard this entertaining dialogue between a ruddy-faced man, wearing a clover blossom stuck in his head band, and Major Bonaparte Able of the Stock Exchange sidewalk:

“Astoria? Never heard of it before.” said the Major.

“What? A New Yorker who never heard of Astoria? How you lose by not knowing Astoria, the queen of New York’s suburbs.”

“What is there about your queen worth seeing, Mr. Astorian.”

“One must be a poet or an artist to describe Astoria’s beauties. Astoria’s situation is unusually fortunate. Standing by the shore, you see Hell Gate, the lunatic asylum, the penitentiary, and other institutions of Blackwell’s and Ward’s Islands; and over the East River you see the huge buildings of the metropolis. What associations arise at such a view! Turning your face toward Astoria, you notice here and there houses and churches half hidden beneath green foliage. When you reach the centre of Astoria, behold! what a unique scene. There you find, as nowhere else, the blending of modern civilization with the ways of Arcadia. Here is an excellent stone house, the embodiment of modern industry and art, and its inhabitants keep pace with the world. Almost by its side stands a hut, giving shelter alike to man and domestic animals, happy and self-contented, not caring what takes place outside of their fence. Astoria enjoys a chorus heard nowhere else. The whistling of steamers, the ringing of factory bells, and the puffing railroad locomotives are harmoniously blended with the bellowing of cows, the bleating of goats, the crowing of roosters, the squealing of pigs, the barking of dogs, and the quacking of ducks and geese.”

Here the man with the clover blossom fell to meditating, as if reproducing in his memory the charming chorus he had just heard described.

“There are many other odd features of life in Astoria,” he added pleasantly. “I know a German woman, the mother of 19 children, who has lived in Astoria for 40 years, and yet never saw New York city but once, when she went through it from the steamer that brought her from Hamburg. She is perfectly happy in Astoria. Yet civilization with its improvements and comforts is fast taking hold of the place. Already we have one telegraph wire, a Post Office, three horse railroads, which run every half hour, an aqueduct, and in some places gaslight. We are even paving a principal street leading from the ferry. A traveling protographer (sic) is at present living in Astoria. He came to stay but a fortnight, but he got lots of work, and so decided to stay a couple of weeks more. His pictures of dogs are masterpieces. Once in a while a traveling circus visits are charming town, and then we have fun. Lately a traveling rope performer visited us. He stretched his rope over a street, and I tell you that street was black with people. I am told the rope artist collected $2.43 from the crowd.”