The Sedalia weekly bazoo. [volume] (Sedalia, Mo.) 187?-1904, 1884-02-12
SAMPLES OF STYLE.
Dickens, Dumas, Pere, and Charles
Reade Successfully Imita-
ted.


How shall | cultivate a correct lit
ersry style t? wrote youth, just bud
ding into manhood, to a certain col
lege professor.
Read the works of the best writer's
the old masters OF the English lam
! gsage, was the encouraging reply. The
youth read long and ca refulIy and
pondered deeply on the advice of his
old proceptOr. Then he drew some
broad sheets OF paper toward him and
wrote
y STYLE of Dickens Hurrsh for Jog
Jogeins Let every schoolboy's
voice be raised for Jog Joggins I! Let
the little birds pipe peans of praise to
Jog Joggins, the old village sex
ton. who was on his way to the little
stone churcn to ring the Mstin bells
on this wholly Christmas morn. His
long, gray hair was tossed 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 corners. jog
Joggins was as light-hesrted as the
merriest boy who followed mis- feeble
footsteps through the light, dry, fluffy
snow. But Jog WOULD he happier.
There was an aching void ~ MS cpl
ssstrium. So Jog Joggins stopped
snd drew a case bottle from his pistol
6pocket. 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
move away in his straw stack.
Style of Dumas. Pere Monsieur
Golconda. have you the punch-strain-
er concealed about your person s?
Nay.
Then, by the green earth under foot,
and the blue vaults of heaven bending
Ger us, thou shalt die !
Shalt die Hs Ha So must
We all, at times. 1t comes natural for
some people to die. Each day some
Door unfortunate turns up his pulse
toes.
You jest.
O, no, my lord, not seriously. L
never Jest in serious tone. But what
about my dying. You certainly
could have had no reference to any al
fusion. Flowers have their time to
fade and leaves to fall And even
sbose that don't die are generally put
out On first base
Saw no more, said Count Thimblerig
] will try and strain the punch through
nv pocket-book. 1t is certainly thin
epough.
Style of Charles Reade Promptly
at IL o'clock, Far ner Butler came
stamping into the large, old fashioned
English kitchen. There was an aroma
Of roast beef permeating the atmos-
phere not unmixed with the seductive
favor of tap-rOom.
The red face of Farmer Butler shOne
ike fall pippin, and MS honest gray
ewes gazsd earnestly into those OF his
wife.
Where's Nudge he inquired.
She isn't here, answered his patient
eareworn wife.
Isn't here /! said Father Butler,
with surprise, where is she
She's out, answered his wife with
pleading, pathetic look, similar to
that of house dog, waiting for some
dinner scraps.
Oh, she's out, is she? sneered Farm
er Butler, growing white around lis
trembling lips. See here, woman, l
want you to keep that girl at home.
She shall not he gallavantin.
No, said Mrs. Butler, abstractediy,
hot be gallavantin.
No gallavaDtin allowed on the But
Ter manor farm.
No galIavantin, echoed Mrs Butler.
With a sickly smile, keep off the grass |
The girl is, evidently, lOve-struck,
and angling like Dutch fishmonger
after carp. For fur twenty years
have toiled and moiled for that girl,
and NO fair In the neIshbOrhood came
and went but what she cost me a two
pun note for ribbons and gewgaws, and
now she is nothing but,a street walker.
O, Jerry /! expostulated his 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 a black cat with bullying, yellow
ewes from under the stove.
Curious Circumstances.
Chicago Tribune.