Morris tribune. [volume] (Morris, Minn.) 1880-2000, 1884-03-12
SAMPLES OF STYLE.
Dickens, Dumas Pore, and Charles
Reade Successfully Initiated.
Texas Siftings.

"How shall cultivate correct literary
| styles" wrote youth, just budding into
manhood, to certain college professor.
"Read the works of the best writers-the
old masters of the English language" was
the encouraging reply. The youth read long
and carefully and pondered deeply on the
advice of his old preceptor. Then he drew
some broad sheets of paper toward him and
wrote:
Style of Dickens: Hurrah for Jog jog
gins Let every schoolboy's voice be raised
for Jog Joggins! Let the little birds pipe
pmans of praise to jog Joggins, the old vii
lage sexton, who was on his way to the lit
tie stone church to ring the Matin bells on
this holy Christmas morn His long, grey
hair was tossed and tumbled around his
wrinkled face by the same frolicsome wind
that chased the dead leaves across the lea,
and drove them in heaps into the fence cor
ners jog Joggins was as ight-hearted as
the merriest boy who followed his feeble foot
steps through the light, dry, fluffy snow.
But Jog would be happier. There was an
aching void in his epigastrium. So jog jog
gins stopped and drew case bottle from his
pistol pocket. He took generous snifter,
wiped his frosty beard, and again plodded
his weary way onward to ring the Matin
bells, like old Father Time, rustling for
fresh victim to NOW away in his straw stack.
Style of Dumas, pere: Monsieur Golconda,
have you the punch-strainer concealed about
your persona"
"Nay"
"Then, blythe green earth under foot, and
the blue vaults of heaven bending DER us,
thou shalt die!'
"Shalt die! Ha! ha! So must we all, at
times. 1t comes natural for some people to
die. Each day some poor unfortunate turns
up his pulseless toes"
"You jest"
80, no, my lord, not seriously. Inever jest
in serious tone. But what about my dying.
You certainly could have had no reference to
any allusion Flowers have their time to fade
and leaves to fall And even those that don't
die are generally put out on first base"
Say no more" said Count Thimblerig, 81
will try and strain the punch through my
pocket-boolz. 1t is certainly thin enough"
Style of Charles Reade: Promptly at -
o'clock, Farmer Butler came stamping into
the large, old-fashioned English kitchen.
There was an aroma of roast beef permeat-
ing the atmosphere not unmixed with the Sc
ductive flavor of a tap-room
The red face of Farmer Butler shone like a
fall pippin, and his honest gray eyes graed
earnestly into those of his wife.
"Where's Madge" he inquired.
"She isn't here" answered his patient,
careworn wife.
"Isn't here" said Farmer Butler, with sur
prise, "where is shea'
''She's out" answered his wife with a plead
ing, pathetic look, similar to that of house
dog, waiting for some dinner scraps.
"Oh, she's out, is shea" sneered Farmer
Butler, growing white around his trembling
lips "See here, woman, want you to keep
that girl at home. She shall not be gala
vantin'."
"No," said Mrs. Butler, abstractedly, mot
be gallavantin'."
"No gallavantin' allowed on the Butler
manor farm"
''No gallavantin'," echoed Mrs. Butler,
with sickly smile, "keep off the grass"
"The girl is, evidently, love-struck, and ang-
ling like Dutch tishmonger after carp. For
full twenty years have toiled and moiled
for that girl, and no fair in the neighborhood
came and went but what she cost me a two
pun note for ribbons and gewgaws, and now
she is nothing but street walker"
20, Jerry" expostulated wife,
"She's "a"
"Hush!' said Mrs. Butler, warningly. "Say
not the word. Above all things, Madge Is
pure"
"Pure!" echoed Farmer Butler. "By -
bring me my beer"
A yellow fox hound slouched into the
room at this moment and rooted out black
cat with bullying, yellow eyes from under the
stove.