The Sedalia weekly bazoo. [volume] (Sedalia, Mo.) 187?-1904, 1882-10-24

The Boomerang Man, Bill
Nye. skins the Chicago
Inter Ocean.
A Short Haired Poetess the Cause
of the Wyoming Cyclone.

A Short Haired Poetess the Cause
Of the Wyoming Cyclone.
1t is rarely the case ulat We read the
Chicago Inter Zee, m, because We dislike a
humorous pal :, :i'.'i, as rule. read those
publications that .irich the mind, and add
to the strength of the intellectual facnl-
ties. We just happened, however, to catch
the following under the head of Trade
Towers" and referring 10 the new board of
trade building. "Be not alarmed, gentle
or gallant reader. 4 great stretch OF col.
umns does not mean, of necessity, either
prOlixity or ponderOsity, ard, therefore.
skip it not in this inst ance, for To- YOU in
dividually and afiectionately il is ded,-
Gated. How in q paragraph-pr tell a
fellow that can any adequate mention
ne made of the Chicago board of trade
and It's current efilorescence, architecture
~, in the cOnsummate pink that, nov
springing majestically from bed of gran
tie, marble and sculpture, will soon have
lifted its sun-k;ssed petals 800 feet into the
air. Loft mess, substantially. and grace
worthy of its builders. and of the imperi-
al city they have SO largely reared, and
glOriOusly."' This explains where the
people thought she was kidnapped. When
people told us that she had been gar
rOted anu thrown into Lake Huron, We
said to ourself: No, she is not dead.
Julia cannot possibly be dead. Some
more horrible fate has befallen her.
She is Oh the Inter Ocean staff,
eating sour paste and jerking poetry
out OF her system for her board. Yes mu-
steal gobs OF high priced poetry came from
Julia. We know Julia's style the moment
We see it. 1t is the polonaise style of tree,
unfettered Michigan gurgle. Current
eifiorescence INTELLECTUALLY into the con-
suDmate pink that now springing majesti-
cally from bed of granite, lifting its sun
kissed petals" and some more things like
that, are Julia's. Julia is poet even in
prose. She can't help it. She was born
that way, and then while still little girl,
got blow on the head from a fire and
burglar proof SAT. that fell out of third
story window on her bump of ideality.
Since that time she has been unable To
recognize the faces of friends, and all she
can do is TO write blank verse for the Inter
Ocean The managing editor just ties her
10 the city editors desk SO that she cannot
get out into the street and run away, and
then he tells her to write up kind If
Walt Whitman wad o: stuff that don't
mean anything, and which is therefore
regarded a. word painting. Think of fling
ing whole dictionary II the people of
Chicago. without a single sentence in
over eighteen c"irm1s that means any
thing at all except That the wappy jawed
pelican that wrOae ii ought 10 be taken
away quietly and led to the hogs.
Later on the poet CRASHES her teeth and
comes at Us again i'm this style: "Th,
tabuls,ed figures Of business transacted,
rise mp, story upon story, cupoia upon
mansard, flag pole upon tower, a not less
massive memorial to The board than the
vast new chamber of commerce now about
to OvertOp and dwarf its tete-a -tete
neighbors, the Grand Pacific hotel and the
Union depot. The cattle upon thousond
hills, the grain of q continent, the bristle-
shouted beauties of hemisphere the
multitudinous enumeration Is denied"
Now how do you like that? Did old Sir
Walter Scott, in his paimiest days ever
triIl anything like that? If we had been
boarding at the Grand Pacific when that
article was published, We should have gone
over To the inter-Ocean wooished and Sc
cured a stick of wood, and then we should
have gone up the elevator, leaving death
and human fragments upon every floor
DO YOU suppose We would hoard at the
Grand Pacific and psy S4 day, and then
he called a ''te,e-a-tete neighbor" and
''brisile- shouted beauty of a hemisphere"
Not exactly. Wheh We paw our bills il
ho, Aov lato
or any other objec: Of charity call us the
Fui Their on, the poet tunes her Tyre to a
large beer concern, and says some very
touching things, at seventy-tive cents line
and board. The true poet loves to write
about her beer and other be antics of
nature. Illinois hogs and Milwaukee
lager beer are the nest things In
the world to write a sonnet on.
They say you can 60 TO the lnter-Ocean
any day and get COED two column poem
ON the bog, by giving the poet link of
pork sausage as a guarantee of good faith.
Why, poetry i'm Chicago is as plenty this
year as pumpkins and politicians. Ii yon
want an ode To car load of Wyoming
3-year old steers. you can go over on 10 the
west side and get long haired man, be-
giving him Il fresh liver, to write some
thing that will make YOU get mp aud howl.
The board of trade ought To he proud of
those eighteen columns of coiic inspired
verse, descriptive of nothing and meaning
nothing under heaven but so much per line
When the Inter Oceans sweet singer gets
an order for poem, she just asks wha, il
is about, and how long it is 10 be, and
then she lets her hair down and loosens
her corset laces little, so she won't be
hamperei any, and then she sails in.
Again she says: In a review like the
present, the skeleton of facts becomes en-
dowed with plumpness and flesh ,ints
through the diet of "reminiscences" How
would the gentle reader like to live two or
three weeks on "diet of "reminiscences ?"
How vor La he Like To. SIT doxn f., n l.i..El.A