  Henry Cuyler Bunner, one of our most delightful writers of light verse, was born at Oswego, New York, in 1855. At twenty-two he was appointed editor of Puck (then the most prominent of comic weeklies), a position which he held until his death. For more than ten years he wrote almost all the rhymed contributions to that journal—to say nothing of quantities of short stories (his Short Sixes, first published in 1890, are still well-known), prose paragraphs, topical parodies, editorials, “Behold the Deeds!” is a splendid example of Bunner’s wit and technical ingenuity. It is a burlesque of the old ballads in the guise of a Chant-Royal, one of the strictest and most difficult of the French forms. Another of his uncollected comic pieces (“Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe”) owes its origin to the fact that a certain Western poet (Joaquin Miller) had composed a poem in which the name of the author of “Faust” was made to rhyme with “teeth.” Bunner not only adopted this rhyme, but carried the broad satire further by mispronouncing MoliÈre, achieving one of his happiest compositions. Bunner’s was, at best, an artificial world, a world of graceful compliments, polite evasions, rhymed billets doux, with light sighs and lighter laughter tinkling among the tea-cups. Bunner died, in New Jersey, in 1896. (Being the Plaint of Adolphe Culpepper Ferguson, Salesman of Fancy Notions, held in durance of his Landlady for a “failure to connect” on Saturday night.) I would that all men my hard case would know, How grievously I suffer for no sin: I, Adolphe Culpepper Ferguson, for lo! I of my landlady am lockÈd in For being short on this sad Saturday, Nor having shekels of silver wherewith to pay: She turned and is departed with my key; Wherefore, not even as other boarders free, I sing, (as prisoners to their dungeon-stones When for ten days they expiate a spree): Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones! One night and one day have I wept my woe; Nor wot I, when the morrow doth begin, If I shall have to write to Briggs & Co., To pray them to advance the requisite tin For ransom of their salesman, that he may Go forth as other boarders go alway— As those I hear now flocking from their tea, Piano-ward. This day, for all my moans, Dry-bread and water have been servÈd me. Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones! Miss Amabel Jones is musical, and so The heart of the young he-boarder doth win, Playing “The Maiden’s Prayer” adagio— That fetcheth him, as fetcheth the “bunko skin” The innocent rustic. For my part, I pray That Badarjewska maid may wait for aye Ere sits she with a lover, as did we Once sit together, Amabel! Can it be That all that arduous wooing not atones For Saturday’s shortness of trade dollars three? Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones! Yea! She forgets the arm that was wont to go Around her waist. She wears a buckle whose pin Galleth the crook of her young man’s elbow. I forget not, for I that youth have been! Smith was aforetime the Lothario gay. Yet once, I mind me, Smith was forced to stay Close in his room. Not calm as I was he; But his noise brought no pleasaunce, verily. Small ease he got of playing on the bones Or hammering on the stove-pipe, that I see. Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones! I eat, accursed be thou and all thy kin! Thee I will show up—yea, up I will show Thy too-thick buckwheats and thy tea too thin. Ay! here I dare thee, ready for the fray: Thou dost not “keep a first-class house” I say! It does not with the advertisements agree. Thou lodgest a Briton with a puggaree, And thou hast harbored Jacobses and Cohns, Also a Mulligan. Thus denounce I thee! Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones! Envoy Boarders! the worst I have not told to ye: She hath stolen my trousers, that I may not flee Privily by the window. Hence these groans. There is no fleeing in a robe de nuit. Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones! |
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