The wedding was the talk of the town, and Stedman, then a young man of twenty-six, satirized the ill-mating in a poem that appeared first in the New York "Tribune." The poem began: "I need not tell, How it befell; (Since Jenkins has told the story Over and over and over again, And covered himself with glory!) How it befell, one summer's day, The King of the Cubans passed that way, King January's his name, they say, And fell in love with the Princess May, The reigning belle of Manhattan.
Nor how he began to smirk and sue, And dress as lovers who come to woo, Or as Max Maretzek or Jullien do, When they sit, full bloomed, in the ladies' view, And flourish the wondrous baton.
* * * * * "He wasn't one of your Polish nobles, Whose presence their country somehow troubles, And so our cities receive them; Nor one of your make-believe Spanish grandees, Who ply our daughters with lies and candies, Until the poor girls believe them.
No, he was no such charlatan, Count de Hoboken Flash-in-the-pan.
Full of Gasconade and bravado, But a regular, rich Don Rataplan, Santa Claus de la Muscavado, Senor Grandissimo Bastinado.
His was the rental of half Havana, And all Matanzas; and Santa Anna--" Famous as the wedding had been, the verses became more so.

They were copied into the weekly and tri-weekly issues of the "Tribune," and into the evening papers.

Stedman, in later years, told of being startled by a huge signboard in front of the then young Brentano's, opposite the New York Hotel, at the corner of Broadway and Waverly Place, reading: "Read Stedman's great poem on the Diamond Wedding in this evening's 'Express'!" The father of the bride, infuriated by the unpleasant publicity, challenged the poet to a duel, which never took place.

Years later Stedman and the woman he had lampooned met and became the best of friends..