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H. C. (Henry Cuyler) Bunner
Henry Cuyler Bunner (1855–1896) was an American writer and editor known for his light, humorous verse, short stories, and plays. He was the editor of the humor magazine "Puck" and became influential in shaping American literary comedy during the late 19th century. His notable works include "The Midge" and "The Story of a New York House," both of which capture the essence of New York life during his time. Bunner's writing combined wit and sentimentality, often portraying the quirks of urban and middle-class life with keen observation and gentle humor.
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JERSEY AND MULBERRY I found this letter and comment in an evening paper, some time ago, and I cut the slip out and kept it for its cruelty: To the Editor of the Evening ——. Sir: In yesterday's issue you took occasion to speak of the organ-grinding nuisance, about which I hope you will let me ask you the following questions: Why must decent people all over town suffer these pestilential beggars...
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"A conceited fool" is a not uncommon expression. Now, I know that I am not a fool, but I also know that I am conceited. But, candidly, can it be helped if one happens to be young, well and strong, passably good-looking, with some money that one has inherited and more that one has earned—in all, enough to make life comfortable—and if upon this foundation rests also the pleasant...
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I. "I hear," said Mrs. Abram Van Riper, seated at her breakfast-table, and watching the morning sunlight dance on the front of the great Burrell house on the opposite side of Pine Street, "that the Dolphs are going to build a prodigious fine house out of town—somewhere up near the Rynders's place." "And I hear," said Abram Van Riper, laying down last night's Evening...
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WHO WAS SHE? Come, now, there may as well be an end of this! Every time I meet your eyes squarely I detect the question just slipping out of them. If you had spoken it, or even boldly looked it; if you had shown in your motions the least sign of a fussy or fidgety concern on my account; if this were not the evening of my birthday, and you the only friend who remembered it; if confession were not good...
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