COLONEL BANGS, EDITOR OF “THE ARGUS."

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1745, 16 August 1905, Page 16

COLONEL BANGS, EDITOR OF “THE ARGUS."

Probably the funniest thing which Max Adder ever wrote is the story of Colonel Bangs, editor of “The Argus,” and his obituary verses. Colonel Bangs, of the “Argus,” had observed the disposition of bereaved families to give expression to their feelings in verse, and it occurred to him that special provision might be made for this, with the effect of not- only gratifying the bereaved, but at the same time bringing profit to the “Argus ’ by making it the popular vehicle for conveying notices of deaths to- the public. Moreover, he had a country contributor who had frequently sent him for publication poems of a distressing character; and he thought he might, .by bringing this man to t-he town and adding him to the staff of the “Argus,” profitably employ his peculiar and melancholy gift. This accordingly was done. When Mr Slimmer arrived —-Slimmer was the doleful poet’s name-—Colonel Bangs explained his theory, and suggested that whenever a death-notice reached the office-, Slimmer should immediately write a rhyme or two which should express the sentiments most suitable to the occasion. “You understand, Mr Slimmer,” said the Colonel, “that I want you in -this way to cheer the members of the afflicted family with the resources of your noble art.” %. “1 quite understand,” said Mr Slimmer ; “and it will be a labour of love.” • “Touch the heartstrings of the bereaved with a tender han-d, Mr Slimmer, and seek to divert their minds from the mere horrors of the tomb.” “Seeking rather,” responded Mr Slimmer, “to lift- their thoughts to——” “Just so ! And you can combine this elevating sentiment with such practical information as you can obtain from the advertisement. Throw the glamour of poetry over the commonplace details of the deceased’s everyday life, Mr Slimmer. People are fon-d of particulars—very fond, I observe, of minute description. You will not forget this. Some facts useful for this p-urpose may be obtained from the man who- brings the notice, others you will, no doubt, be able to supply from your imagination.” “There should be no difficulty there,” said Mr Slimmer. It was unfortunate, however, that Colonel Bangs didi not warn Mr Slimmer to make sure in all oases of the facts, that his imagination might have the right material to work with. It was also unfortunate that the Colonel was unexpectedly called away on important business on the day on which Mr Slimmer began his work, and was not, t-henefore, available for reference. Returning on the following morning, he was surprised to see a crowd of excited people at the door of the “Argus” office; and he had no ..sooner got into his sanctum by the back door than the roam was invaded by several persons, each one looking more furious than the other. “My name, sir,” said one of them, stepping forward with a brow of thunder, “my name is M'Glue—William M'Glue! I am a brother of the late Alexander M'Glue. I picked up your paper this morning, and found in it an outrageous insult to my deceased relative; and I have come around to de-

mand, sir, what you mean by the following infamous language: — The death-angel smote Alexander M7Glu®, And gave him protracted repose; He wore a checked shirt and a number nine shoe, And he had a pink wart on his nose. No doubt he is happier dwelling in space, Over there on the evergreen shore; His friends are informed that his funeral takes place. Precisely at quarter-past four. “This is simply diabolical! An insult! —yes, sir, a gratuitous insult!—to- ouK family, and I demand, sir, to know who is responsible.” “Really, sir,” said Colonel Bangs, “it is a mistake. This is the horrible work of a miscreant in whom I reposed perfect confidence. But he shall he punished.” “And who-, sir,” shouted another man, as he stepped forward, “who authorised you to print this hideous stuff about my deceased son?”: — Willie had a purple monkey, climbing on a yellow stick, And when he sucked the paint off, it made him deathly sick; And in his latest hours he clasped that , monkey in his hand, And bade good-bye to earth and went unto a better land. No more he’ll shoot his sister with his little wooden gun; And no more he’ll twist the pussy’s tail and make her yowl for fun; The pussy’s tail now stands out straight, the gun is laid aside; The monkey doesn’t jump around since , little Willie died. “The atrocious character of this libel, sir, .will appear when I tell you that my sio-n William was 20 years old, and that he died of liver complaint.” “Really,” said Colonel Bangs, “this is horrible—infamous!” At this moment the people crowding the doorway moved aside to allow & woman to enter, who, ad-dressing Colonel Bangs, exclaimed hysterically, “Are you the editor?” Bangs said he was. “Then what do you mean,” she exclaimed, “publishing this kind of poetry about my child? My name is Smith, and when I looked this morning for the notice of my Johnny’s death in youT paper, I found this scandalous verse:— Pour doctors tackled Johnny Smith, They blistered and they bled him; With squills and antibili-ous pills And ipecac they fed himj They stirred him up with calomel And tried to move his liver; But all in vain—his little soul Was wafted o’er the river. “It’s false!” exclaimed the woman, excitedly, “false and mean! And you’re a hard-hearted brute for printing it.” “Madam, I shall go crazy !” exclaimed Colonel Bangs. “This is not my work. It is the work of a villain who will get stiired up with something stronger than calomel!” She had scarcely turned indignantly to leave, when another infuriated man entered. “Look here, you disgraceful reprobate,” he cried, holding out a copy of the “Argus,” “what do yo-u mean by putting in such stuff as this about my deceased son ?” : ! O bury Bartholomew out in the woods, In a beautiful hole in the ground, Where the bumble-bees buzz and the woodpeckers sing, And the straddle-bugs tumble around; So that in winter, when the snow and the slush Have covered his last little bed, His brother Artemus can go out with Jane, And visit the place with his sled! “You dissolute old ink-slinger, I’ll teach you to talk about straddle-bugs! ‘Go out with a sled!’ I’ll carry you out- on a hearse before .I’ve done with you, you hoary-headed old ghoul!” “This is too much!” cried Colonel Bangs, distractedly. “It is outrageous! It is the work of a scoundrel who is not here. But, take my word for it, he will suffer for it! Yes, sir, the lunatic shall die!” Mr Slimmer did not die; but his services for obituary verses were not required for the “Argus” again.