i
,!.
f
r.
RED CLOUD CHIEF
A. C. HOSMER, Proprietor.
BED CLOUD.
"SEBBASKA,
i. MY FORMER SELP.
X Icot thee net. ay youthf al friend :
And yet I think that I can trace,
. As wistfally I gaze and Dend.
W So-netting familiar in thy f ace
Metimks I've seen thy ruddy cneele.
Thy brow uswrakled. fay and higa.
Thy pleasant smile that seems to spealc
Thy dark aro-xs hair thy sparkling eye 5
"When did I kno thee Thou art fair
And I am frail and fall of woe,
Vy achsn- brow U seaeJ with care
"Twas surely in the long ago!
Eow chanced am I wnile thou rt the same
As when I knew thee fresh and young;
"Lore In thine eyes, a living Same.
And tuneful witcheries on thy tongue!
Thyhr! was strong thy step was light.
Ambition frolicked in thy brain.
And dared to dream of dizzier height
Than mcrtai egort could attain.
Thy fancie- wandered unconnn"l,
Wild as the storms on mountain crest.
And free as gentlest summer wind
That wanton on the ocean breast.
Time seemed before thine eager eyes
To stretch lliimitably Ions;'
For toil, for pl-aure. for empnze.
For conmct of the nrht xith wrong.
Such fate as faJure never loomed
On thy hor.zon" distant scope.
And all thing- po :bie assumed
The linng forms of Love and Hope
K& this thou wert. and more thnn this
When we were comrades stanch and true,
And never dr-am-d that presnt buss
Could cnanr it- texture or iu hue ;
Never, oh never, dreamed that years
Conid put ih-union twin qs twain.
And teacn me am;! groans and tears.
That t&ou and hau "ived in vain
Tim has rod on. and thou art left
A dream a thought and nothing more:
Of a!l thy former force ter-ft.
A broken biliow on the snore:
Wlille L or what in days long past,
Wa- lik" to the face and fcrm,
Floa like a leaf upon the Wast
Of Death's inevitable storm.
V-in ar regret- Al! blooms decav.
That fruits mav follow in tfc-r -tead:
Ad fruit must parish in their -iay.
That sed- may live hen fm"t are dead.
Oar sed-timf may r here .in Karri.
Oar Harve-t '- n K-aven aboie
A coni and :mmort-l birth
In God- ETem.ry or Lev-.
Chzrifi it . tMr m Ymh. t Cvnvpznw.
A 3LVKE-BELIETE STOfiT.
A Clever v Gmar.'s S,ue -crith a
Supposed Detective.
Gerrge Dur.lap was hurr
railroad s-jt;rn at rprinct
ing Through the
"Id to catch the
train for Montreal. He was a little late.
and the Tmw'-Ige of thi- fart s, heigntened
the usf";.t j "..tr of his nerves that, when a
tall woman with her arms full cf iarcel
fell heavily amain-t him. dropping her par
cels, some of which burst and scattered
their contents in every direction, only the
en?e of the p-.Iitene-s duo to her sex kept
him from usinr an ejaculation tha wuld
vat leas have expre ed reat impatience
Sue had cl itched him nervously as she
slipped and he -upported her a moment
while he inquired if she was hurt.
I don't know." she said, muring. "1
turned my ankle I feol terribly jarred."
"When she recovered herself sufficiently to
stand without his help, he could do no less
tnan to oer to rather up her paresis, and
he had the atisfact,on of feeiinz that he
was doing his duty, an i seeing his train
steam out of the station at one and the same
time.
Well, as I hav lost my train " he be-
tran. as he stood holding some of her bundles
in hi arms.
"Was that your train'" she exclaimed.
still visiblv agitated. "It was mine. too. I
I think lam not sure I am a stranger, I
want to tro to Hartford.
"This was not your
: your train then." he an
swered; " urs starts from the other side.'
"I wa late, I had no time to get
"What tine d.es the next train go
a ticket.
to Hart
ford?" she murmured, brokenly, lifting ap-
pealing e
-I will'
res to ap
find out for you." he said,
feeling
though
cuite compa-sionate towara her.
she was neither youngnor pretty, and there- ;
fore had no legitimate claim to a stranger's
protection.
He conducted her to the waiting room ,
and presentiv returned from the tieketoSice j
wita the information that she would have
o wart r-ver three hours until after dark '
In fact, for the train. j
"Three hours alone !" she exclaimed, with ,
an unconscious naive stress on the "alone"
thr.t Mr. Dunlap found very interesting. t
"I. too. must wait until evening for my '
train." he said smiling, "and as it rains o I
that we shall have to stay "a the depot, if (
you will p-rmit me to sit here. I will do my-s-eif
the pleasure of waiting with you for a ;
lime at least.' j
"You are very kind,"' she answered sim
ply, moving some of her bundles so tnat he
could sit r'osr to her than he had perhaps
c.t first intended, "and that, too, after my
awkwardness made vou miss your train.
You heap coals'of fire which ought not to 1
be the less hot because they are getting
rather trite chestnut coals in fact, if you
will pardon the expression upon my head."
Mr. Dunlap had already made up hLs mind
that she was neither young nor pretty: he
row. as she looked at him with a bright
audacious smile, revised his opinion to the
exte -t of addinzthat she looked interesting.
She was tall, -lender and very thin: with
sharp, old features, but her eyes, he de
cided, were her strong point, they were so
changeful in expression and exhibited the
different phases of her emotions with such
e.n intensity, such a singleness of purpose
from the appealing gaze of a frightened,
helpless child, to the humorous quizzica.
glance she had thus given him.
"Will the delay incommode you very
nucnf she added, seriously.
"I did think it was quite necessary for me
to be one of the passengers on that particu
lar train, but now I am not sure. I think I
shall be happier here."
"I hope j-ou will forgive me," she said,
gravely, ignoring the implication of the last
remark.
"I most certainly shall if you continue to
be as agreeable as vara have already been."
be said, with a boldness which even some (
ordinarily polite men will use toward a .
woman they meet under unconventional cir- j
.umstancos. '
She colored deeply, and he felt that he
tad risked losing ner society by his last re- j
mark. For a moment she looked very grave
and nc -u-ly fumbled with the leaves 01 a
booksrreId in her hand. Then she seemed J a man who prided himself on his convcrsn
to him toswallow her annoyance and take a tional ability, and he dashed boldly into the
eudden resolution. It was as if she said -o
fcerseif : "Life is too short and the periods
epent in waiting for trains too long to waste
the one and prolong the other by servile
deference to useless conventionalities."
"I hate waiting in railroad stations," she
said, presently.
Mr. Dunlap lived bade among tne cer.
biro bills wher tt only 4mimncttiB I
with the outside world wa by means of a
rickety, rumbling, clattering old stage which
connected hj town with the nearest rail
road station.
Ee had never traveled much, bis tempo
rarily deferred journey to Montreal was a
great and unprecedented event in his life.
He was a country farmer of very modtrate
means, but for ai that, he had read, he had
observed, he never doubted but that he was
much more a man of the world than others
who had had much better advantages for
becoming so. The very bulk of his conver
sation wa earned on in the common ver
nacular, but he felt that he could be courtly
and ceremonious to the last decree. When
he read a sentence that seemed to him to
bo the thine in the way of polite repartee 0:
gallaat address, he rerad it until he had
made it his own. That sort of thing was
doubly effective, he thought, from a man
who commonly used the old-fashioned Yan
kee dialect. It gave him the effect of bein
conversant with several language.-.
"I have sometimes found it rather dull
waiting here, but to-day I quite reckon on
it." he replied, with his most polished man
ner. "Did you ever try to make the time pass
away by imagining the pursuits and destina
tions of the various persons you see around
you!"' he added.
No." she added, quickly. She still seemed
nervous from her shock. I should think it
would be Tery interesting. Let's begin
now."
Mr. Dunlap looked helplessly around the
room.
Their few fellow travelers seemed of a
hopelessly neutral, non-committal cast of
countenance.
"Nobody here looks ez ef they'd ever done
any thing of much account an' couldn't ef
tney -et out to, he said, after a pause. "1 ,
tell yon what less do," he added, brighten
ing. 'les- put our-elves inter a story. To '
begin with, we met by chance, the usual I
way. an while sttin" here I take an awful
shine to you. "What d yer -ay ?" and he !
nudge-I ner in what ne considered a jocose
but not indelicate manner.
She had looked at him sharply as he
dropped into hLs ordinary habit of speakicr.
and then apparently made up her mind that
he was acting some part.
"Don't you think that the beginning would
larlc criminality just a trifle ?" she suggested.
- i cere are o many stones that begin .just
that way. Now, pernaps. if I fell in love
with yon it w.'Uld be ies obvious."
Mr. Duuiau had an idea tuat sne was
laughing at him.
"Such things ez that he: ben known to
hapten." he -iid rather sulkily.
0. ceriinly'" she a-ented. "I t'ave
heard of such instances, but we must im
agine some rather unusual causes and ir-
S
cumstanees for instance, suppose that 1 am
t - & 1 " "
, "Be you" he asked abruptly : "I took you
for a sinzle woman."
1 "Thi i a mase-believe story," she an-
swered with a bricht. mischievous smile.
I "It cittm rather common for ma
led
women to fall in love with other men. now-a-days,"
he observed, rather revengefully
"I accept your ebjee tion." she said : "but
of conr-e there mu-t be "attenuating cir
cumstances. as some one ays. My hus
band, for instance." she added, with a far
away, inscrutable look, -we'll suppose, for
sake of argument, is cross brutal to me.
Ee strikes me on the slightest provocation."
"Git out." murmrred
sympathetic incredulity.
"He takes delizht in
Mr. Dunlap, ;ith
thwarting all my
wishes, he mases my life wretched. I meet
you you are kind and dos't swear at me
when I tumble asrainst you. and vou pick
un zzy bundles, which is something so for
eign to all my experience that I fall in love
with vou at once. But of course I don't
know it. people are not apt to know those
tones sol don't dream of it.
series of coincidences which '
Then by a
couldn't happen anywhere except in stories
we'll fill in the details after we've sketched
out the plot we met accidentally several
times, and all the time out of deference to
the opinions and prejudices of the reader I
still don't suspect the state of my feelings,
and you of course are equally in the dark.
WelL now. about that time, something
must happen to reveal to us as by a lightning '
strode that we love one another, tor by this
time you, moved by the spectacle of. not
beauty in distress, but bv more distressing
exhibition of ugliness suffering a trifie more
than her just deserts, are feeling that pity
that is said to be akin to a commoner sen
timent. "Now we must find some situations that
will reveal all this to us without shocking
the deiicacy of the most rizidly conven
tional reader, xvho must be made to see and
admit that we couldn't have done differ
ently. "It me see, the presence ot death gen
erally comes in to countenance people in
similar situations."
We might be drowning." suggested Mr.
Dunlap. "You fall in, I rush to save you.
you know, an' jist ez we was siakin' for the
la-t tim-, while every thing in our past lives
waaeomin' np before u. xve both re
member the time when I rescued your
bundles and then it comes to us both that
we love each other. Folks couldn't find no
fault with that, couldn't they!"
"WelL no.' said the lady, thoughtfully.
,.T .3...'. ,u;ni. u.. .- wl ,;.J . ..?:. ....1.J f
X uuu t iuiua tut; iiusi. ii.iu u;u.tui3l. liJULU
object to two eople finding out that they
love one another when they are sinking for
the last time with their lunes full of water.
anctheproverbialstrawofthedrowningman
is slipping from their nerveless
sp. But
what I object to Is that it makes the story
too short. I haven't suffered enough yet to
satisfy the practiced reader. We must be
brought near enough to the verge of this
world so that we feel ourselves beyond the
reach of ordinary regulations and still
be left with articulation enough to reveal
our innoxious love. Then there must be a
rescue and resuscitation for the purpose of
overwhelming us with shame, contrition
and remorse."
"Somebody can come along and pull us
out of the water,"' suggested Mr. Dunlap.
who felt that he was not contributing his
share to the story, ""and bring us to by roll
ing us on barrels."'
"Rolling on barrels may be the scientific
method of resuscitation, but science is no
toriously unavailable for poetic purposes.
Besides," she continued, with extreme
gravity, "it seems to me that two well
meaning persons like ourselves are going to
suffer sufficiently from our consciences
without the additional anguish of being
rolled on barrels. Let us be just before we
are generous.' even in punishments. Now.
I think, '.s our acquaintance began in a rail
way station, we might preserve the unities
by mixing up the railroad with our affairs
whenever we can. A railroad accident at
this point is necessary to the evolution of
the story. Can you arrange one that will
be about what we require!'
The lady had been talking so rapidly that
Mr. Dunlap had followed her in rather a
gasping condition. This would never do m
breach.
"The train must be derailed and thrown
down a steep embankment- We are caught
together under the seats and debris. (Mr.
Dunlap rhymed this word with remiss), and
to add to the horrors of the situation the
car takes fire from the overturned stove,
and there we are I I clasp you in my arms
anl saj -I wouldsave you if I could, darling,
but as I can't we will die toother;' "' and he
paused for breath, convinced that he had
established bis reputation as a man who
could say pretty things as well as the next
one when he took a notion to."
"That's it exactly." replied his compan
ion. "I murmur some appropriate rcplr,
and just as the lire is getting so uncomfort
ably hot wc hardly know where we are,
some one breaks in the window and rescues
us. I am so mortified at my ill-timed con
fession I don't know what to do, and you
say that as wc can never forget our declara
tions, suppose that we go ta Europe to
gether. 2ow there's a strong situation. A
horribly brutal husband in the background
and love and Europe urged upon my ac
ceptance. Europe, that I have always pas-
sionately longed to see and the man I love
, to go wita me ah "
She drew a long breath and her keen.
restless eyes grew soft with a look of inex
pressible gentleness: her odd. anxious feat
ures wore an expression of infinite yearn
ing and tenderness.
Though not vainer than the generality of
men. Mr. Dunlap felt that perhaps this story
was not wholly a make-believe as far as her
love for him was concerned. It was barely
possible that she had fallen in love with
him at first sight and was making up this
story to test his feelings. He was strangely
moved and murmured- "And we go to Eu -
rope and are happy forever after."
"o, indeed," she exclaimed, "that would
never do. Have vou forgotten the scandal-
f j-ed reader at this point "o- I refuse
sadly but steadfastly, and turning away
with a look of stern resolution and renun -
ciation I part from you forever, and go to
look after my fellow-travelers who are less
mortally wounded than myself. The bored
reader lays down the book and says with a
yawn that the story didn't come out welL
The husband ought to have died."
The short rainy afternoon had drawn to a
close, and the lamps about the station were
all lirhtod.
"Well, I have had a pleasant afternoon
but I suppose it's most time for us to part."
' said Mr Dunlap.
"Yes," she an-wered. sadly.
j The sparkle had all died out of her face
' and tones ; she looked worn, discouraged and
woe-begoae. Her companion was mure and
I more convinced that her story was founded
t on her love for him and the fie! of an inhu-
man husband. He was rilled with pity, but
could think of nothing to say.
"It'll be rather dismal going to Montreal
in the dark." he said, after a pause. "I had
counted on seeing something of the country."'
"Why not wait till to-morrow or next
day i" she ashed, with suppressed eacemess.
O, I must go." he answered, vaguely.
She looked down at the floor for some
time with a look of inexpressible sadness.
She seemed trying to make a difficult resolu
tion. At lust -iie looked up with a strange,
inscrutable expression, and said in a low.
forced tone :
"Please don't go for a day or two. I want
to see you again. I can't bear to think that
after this pleasant afternoon we must part.
never to meet again. Can't you stay in
Springrield until day after to-morrow, and
meet me again here, in the afternoon''
Mr. Dunlap hesitated. His companion
was pale and trembling.
"What'll your husband say"' he asked,
after a pause.
"My husband."' she exclaimed, in a star
tled manner, as if she had forgotten his very
existence, "O. it's about that and other
things that I wish you to advise me," she
iveat on with terrible earnestness. "I am in
a great deal of trouble. I want to tell you
about it. You look kind, you can help me
if you only will."
Mr. Dunlap knew perfectly well that it
was very imprudent to make an appoint
ment with an entire stranger, but as he was
equally sorry for her and sure of his own i
ability to take care of himself, he gave the
required promise. A look of inexpressible
r relief came over her face and her eyes filled
with tears.
She thanked him fervently, begged him
not to trouble himself to see her to the j
train, and after a warm pressure of his hand
. di-appeared
Mr. Dunlap's pity for her did not prevent
him from the dislovaltv to her memorv of i
searching his pockets to see if any of his I
valuables were missing. Finding them all 1
intact he went to a hotel to await the ap- (
I0WhSdrT; AimMt t- ' At,
Dunlap. though he had thought constantly
of the fair unknown in the interval and had
mixed up the thoughts of Ler with his con
scientious study of the city so that about all
the view he had been able to see from the
Armory tower was the vision of a bright
eyed woman making violent love to himself.
and hail studied the architecture of the
public library with the question : "Is it ever
justifiable to get a divorce for intolerable
cruelty!" uppermost ia his mind, was still
unable to arrive at an
definite answer to
eitner supposition.
tr. . ,,, . , , , i ,t
ne sirouea aim.essiy up ana cowu tr.e
platform, now and then stopping to peer
furtively into the waiting-rooms.
"I will tell her." he finally decided "that
this is very sudden, but that after long and
careful deliberation, I bave decided that,
though I appreciate her kindness and the
confidence she has reposed in me. I have
conscientious scruples against marrying a
divorced woman, out that I will be a brother
to her."
There had been no definite time set for
the meeting, and Mr. Dunlap began to grow
impatient. Suppose that she had decided
on renunciation instead of leaving that
agreeable duty to him! He acknowledged
that if she had come to a realizing sense of
her forwardness in making an appointment
with a perfect stranger, it was perfectly
right and extremely proper, but it was very
tiresome and stupid wandering about a
smoky old railroad station, waiting for a
person who had not a sufficient sense of
moral obligation to keep her engagements.
He was rapidly growing ill-humored when
he met Fred Richmond, an acquaintance of
his who was beginning to do quite a little
in detective work. Richmond accosted him
jovially, and. turning around, walked along
with him. Dunlap was rather impatient at
the interruption. He thought Richmond
would be a much more pleasant companion
if he had not been so exclusively enthusiast
ic on the subject of detective work, so in
c'rlned to manifest a hardiness toward any
thing that was not closely connected with
this hobby.
"You have no symDathies with any thing
but sleuth-hound instincts." he had told him
once, and Richmond had laughed and said
that In order to be successful one must
whoop on his own side."
"That was a fine piece of work capturing
Williams, the absconding bank casn.er." he
began at once, as they walked along together.
"I saw something 1 f it in the papers. I be
lieve." Mr. Dunlap responded indifferently.
"I think sometimes that you think the
whole business of mankind is to detect or be
detected."
Richmond laughed. "WelL I confess it
does look so sometimes from my point of
view." he said. "People are concerned in
these things more than they always know.
Do you know yet brw closely you were
nixed up in Williams' capture"'
"Me mixed upl" said Mr. Dunlap. staring.
'Yea. you." returned the other: "it's too
pood to keep now it's ull over with. Anna
Brown, the girl I saw talking with you the
day before yesterday, must have caught on
the fact that some on as lying for Will-
I isais, for I sit her loitering round here for
an nour or two before the train for Moa-
treai staed She didn't see na watching
her. mind you. but he was studying time
tables and looking this way and that, and I
made up r.y inlnd ah had some scheme fcr
hindering the preens of law. She just
worshiped Williams, and she's ju-t that
kind cf a woman that wouiJ go through fira
and water for the man she lo .-ed."
"Isn't she married, you say!"
No. never was. He never cared so much
for her, but he made her think -o, I suppose.
He was the cashier in a biff bank and she a
poor girl who worked here in 3 button shop,
though she hid a good education and is
smart as steeL "Well, he must have con
fided his trouble to herso's she could help
him. and a mean trick it was. too. for he had
it all planned out to meet another woman in
Canada and they were to be married and go
to Europe. Probably he made Anna think
he was going to marry her and take her to
Europe. She doesn't Know any thing about
" the other one. Well. I saw her sauntering
1 around here day before yesterday, and I
1 made up my mind she meant to help him
et off. I had put a detective on every train
that went out that day. but I thought that
that was the one he would take. Just as I
I was passing her I said to a fellow that was
I with me. just as if I didn't know she could
! bear, "that's the most famous detective in
' the country, and pointed to you. She didn't
seem to notice, but I watched her and
( saw her top vou and make voa lose your
train as cleverly as could be. She probably
1 thought that it nadn t got out much ind
1 that if she could detain you a day he'd get
os. But. Dies you. tne ieucw 1 put on tne
train boosed on to Williams before they got
out of the State. She's smart, and when I
saw her talking to you 1 made up my mind
that you worn ia't get away that d.iy. She's
quite equal to making love to you or any
other man to keep you away from her
lover. O. you needn't look so mad! I'm
not going to ask you about it. I'll bet
if she did no one could tall it from th gen
uine article. The joke of it is that she's so
proud she'd rather have died than done it if
it hadn't been for him. It'll be rather rough
on her when she dads out about the other
woman." Ethel (toriMTi Clarke, m Hertford
Timet.
HOW GAS IS MADE.
A Simple Explanation nf the Manufacture
I of niumlnatitijr C.u.
I How few people can intelligibly en
plain some of the most ordinary things
in every-day life. An orhcial of the
! city jras work? wa heard to say not
long asro that if he might judcre by the
number of times he was asked for
information, not more than two people
in ten know how common illuminating
gas j- made. They all seem to under
stand, he said, that it comes out of soft
coal, but they are ignorant of the pro
cess by which it is extracted. We do
not doubt this at all. tor. as we have
said to you several times, it is the very
common thirnrs that we are apt to over
look in our .-eareh for information. You
will understand, therefore, why we
select subject- to talk about with which
you aud everybody else ought to be
familiar.
Now. let us give you a very simple
explanation of ras-makiag. Break up
a piece of bituminous coal into small
fragments and nil the bowl of a clay
tobacco pipe with them. Cover the
mouth of the bowl with wet clay and
then thoroughly drv it. Put the bowl
of the pipe into a tire where it will get
red hot. and you will soon see a yellow
ish smoke come out of the stem, and if
you touch a light to the smoke it will
burn brightlv. for it is nothing more
nor less than the gas from the coal.
You can purify and collect this gas
in a very simple way. Fill a bottle
w vati"' aad turn 1
upside down in
know the water
a bowl of water. Vou
will not run out of the bottle because
the air pre;iure on the water in the
l Prevent it. Put the end of
the pipe-stem under the mouth of the
bottle, and the gas will bubble up
through the water into the bottle,
gradually displacing the water, and if
the pipe were large enough to make a
great deal of gas, the bottle would be
entirely tilled with it.
You have seen the immense quanti-
l ties of coke which they have at the gas
! works: that is what is left of the coal
after the gas has been burned out of it.
Coke is carbon, only a small part of
what was in the coal having gone off
with the gas Take the clay covering
off your pipe and you will find the
bowl filled with this coke.
Now. that is precisely the way gas is
made in large quantities at the gas
works. Instead of pipe bowls they use
big retorts, and these are heated red
hot by furnace, for the fire must be
outside of the retorts. Heating coal
red-hot in a closed retort is very dif
ferent from burning it in the open air.
A large pipe from the retort carries off
the product of the coal, consisting of
steam, tar. air and ammonia, as well
as gas. The ammonia and the tar go
into tanks, and the gas into coolers,
aud then over lime, which takes up
the acids in it into the immense iron
gas-holders which you have seen at the
works.
These holders are open at the bot
tom, and stand, or rather swing, in
tanks of water, being adjusted by
means of weights. As the gas comes
into them they rise up out of the water,
but the bottoms are always submerged,
so that the gas can not escape. The
large gas-pipes, or mains, as they are
called, connect with the holders and
conduct the gas through the streets to
the houses where it is used. The pres
sure is given to the ga3 by the weight
of the iron holders, which are always
bearing down on the gas they contain.
X. Y. Graphic.
It is safe to say that thousands of
horses die annually, literally burnt out
with too much of a grain diet, and too
little of a cooling one. It may confi
dently be asserted that if more turnips,
cabbage, potatoes and beets were fed
them with their grain, they would last
longer and be freer from disease. And
th'e same rule applies to all animals fed
on grain. American Farmer.
There's nothing like leather, ex
cepting, of course, the upper crust of
the young wife's first lii. Jeur-iaZ ot
ducatioiu
FREDERICK'S DIARY.
Th Thirty Tolamei Written S,j tlie tat
Emperor or Cerminj.
There has been a great deal of gossip
of the wildest and most scaadalouj
kind about Prussian State papers which
are alleged to have been found missing
at Potsdam after the death of the Era-
ted that
peror Frederick, and it is stai
they were handed by the Empress
Victoria to the Queen when her Majesty
was at Charlottenburg. and that they
are in England. These stories culmin
ated in the malevolent inventions of an
evening paper about the "virtual im
prisonment" of the Empress Victoria,
which, however, were such palpable
Actions that they excited no attention
at h3me or abroad. The real truth.
however, which reaches me from a ,
1 trustworthy correspondent in Germany.
is that the diary of the Emperor Fred- J
erick can not be found. Tha Emperor
had kept a journal during more than
1
tM-tv V.V, fr ;,., r, mninr-
W J V. tj IWV. bU.-. ? HIIH4 Uw '-
which was not a mere record of his
movements and occupations, but aa
elaborate running commentary upon
public affairs both political and social
very much in the style of Mr.
Greville's Memoirs. This diary was
contained in thirty immense volumes,
each being secured by a lock, and
I directly after the Emperors's death
his successor, at the request of Prince
J Bismarck, demanded that the whole of
! them should at once be given up. in
order that his majesty's reminiscences
might be Diaced among the Prussian
State archives at Berlin. The Empress
: refused to surrender the volumes, and
I when a second and a more peremptory
' application was made after the Em
, peror's funeral, her Majesty announced
that the diary had been taken to En
1 gland by the Queen, and that sho
' would probably publish it. as it had
( been her husband's particular wish
that it should be published after a
, suitable revision, and that he had re
quested her to act as his literary exe
cutrix. The Empress. I hear. addil
j that justice to the late Emperor's
' memory requires this publicatis... as
he would derive as much benefit from
it as her father, the Prince-Consort,
did from the publication of Sir Theo
dore Martin's work. The idea of such
a proceeding is. however, very obnox
ious to Prince Bismarck, who appre
hends that the Empress might take
what he would regard as an extremely
, inadequate view of her duties as editor,
and. of course, the Emperor William
' objects very strongly to any publica
' tion which might reject upon German
j policy in the past, or which might be
; in any way injurious to what he con
i ceives the present or future interests
, of the empl.-e. Here the dispute rests.
Dut one may predict with confidence
that there will be no publication for
some years to come, and that when the
diary does appear it will contain noth
ing to which either the Emperor or his
advisers can reasonably take exception,
London World.
PLAN OF A SILO.
One That T Chrsp and Can B Cd for a
Vnrietr of Other PurnutM.
It is palpably true that if silage is a
useful and practicable process for pre
serving succulent fodder there is no
use for root crops, except as they may
be grown as catch crops or to rill a
vacancy. Catch crops, as a rule, are
objectionable, for the reason that as
much is lost in the mam crop as 13
gained in these. And if the crops are
rrown merely to utilize a niece of land
that is not in use lor other crops dur
ing a short interval, we can grow corn
as easily and as quickly as we can
grow roots. The good culture and
manuring given to roots, and for which
root crops are so highly esteemed,
maybe quite as well applied to the
corn with equal benefit and profit. So
that the whole question hinges upon '
the value of the silo for preserving
green crops. It is now a season when
a-test of this may be made- A small ,
silo ten by twelve and sixteen feet high (
may be constructed for the purpose. 1
and if it is afterward abandoned for .
this use it will make an excellent ice
house or a most useful stable, or what
is wanted on every
place for calving co.
farm, a senarate
s or sick animals. I
or a visitor's horse or many other
valuable uses. The silo may be filled
with the second cutting of clover,
which never makes good hay.
A silo, constructed by the writer for
this purpose, is of the size mentioned,
and made as follows: Sills, six by eight
inches, are laid down and tied by two
flat girts of the same size, dovetailed
into the sills four feet apart from cen
ters to divide the floor into three and
four feet spaces. Studs, two by eight,
are morticed into the sills in this way:
I
A.nd to strengthen these studs against
i, -, f,v, ia. ;n TMr ot
nlank is spiked across the foot in thf ! supplies. A raw. mellow apple is di
manner shown. This prevents the f gested in an hour and a half, while
studs from splitting and being forced i boiled cabbage requires five hours. The
outward, as the contents of the silc most healthful dessert that can be
settle down. A double floor of oa'a ' placed on the table is baked apples. If
boards twelve inches wide, with joint. ' takea freeIJ at breakfast, with coarse
broken, is laid across the four sills, and
a thick coating of pine tar is laid be
tween the floors: the upper one being j
bedded into the tar, which thus fills the
joints. This gives a most excellent air
tight floor, which is St forany purpose.
The inner wall, the only one at present,
is made of common boards doubled, anc
with roofing felt between them. Tht
plates are tied by two by eight piece:
spiked on the top, upon which a tem
porary staging may be laid at any timt
for toe fodder cutter. Jf. I. Timet.
THE FRENCH WOMAN.
Kn. J.w!U ir She I Far 7Le-u Kocianife
TUuu Hr American Uter.
Curious as it may eem in a nation
so highly and in many respects so arti-
, Sciaily civilized, the virtues which wa
lind most conspicuous on French soil
! are those which in the United States
' are a5 conspicuously absent. Filial
piety, the absence of which is mourned
by nearly every American father and
, mother to-day. still forms the sub-
' stratum of the best qualities to be met
with among the French in every rank
of society. It is not only the devotion
of a son to his mother, a feeling which
' in France is so unfortunately mingled
with sentimentality as to have lost, in
the eyes of most people, ail the merits
it might originally have possessed: but
' the obedience and respect of a son even
to a bad father is taken for granted, and
the mo-t tyrannical abuse of paternal
1 1 r r .1 1 - -i . 1 . -
""tJ not coniaereu in tae iea.
& aorogaung miai uuiy.
The Frenchwoman often seems what
she is not. When bent on amusing her
self and it is through the medium of
this mood of hers that we generally
weigh her character and judge her
actions she leaves, it is true, ail care
at home and enters upon the business
of pleasure with the spirit of a child.
But it is unjust to call her frivolous
and idle on this account. Perhaps no
women are such industrious and serious
workers as those of France. The
material prosperity of their country is
certainly largely attributable to their
admirable capacity for making them
selves usoful in all departments of life
from which they are not shut out by
wnlls they can not hope to scale walls
which they show their practical wis
dom by not trying to pull down.
Tne typical Frenchwoman's charac
ter is not deep, but it has been traced
out by nature with no unsteady hand.
Her spirit of independence, her com
parative freedom from that timidity
which is often represented as a charm
ing weakness of the sex. have enabled
her to conquer much of the ground that
belongs traditionally to man. simply
qualifying herself to compete with him
industrially and intellectually in a
multitude of ways. She likes to be
self-reliant, and to feel that in case of
need she can do battle with the world.
Although Frenchwomen generally
marry early and under conditions of
parental influence which invest the act
of patting on the bridal veil with about
as much sentiment as that of taking to
their first long gown or gathering up
of their girlish tresses into a maidenly
coil of plaits, the majority of them
make good wives, and still better
mothers.
lne rrenenwoman is not. pernaps.
1 ..
tne most atiectionate of spouses, but m
her devotedness to her children she is
not to be surpassed, while the interest
she takes in her husband's work and her
desire to help him for the common good.
j throw into bold relief th- strongest
' side of her character. If he is a doc-
I tor. she will make out his bills for him;
J if a tradesman, she will look after the
J accounts and preside over the till;
, whatever his occupation, she will lend
! hi1 helping hand.
What I wish to lav stress on is the
fact that the Frenchwoman, although
extremely emotional at times, in the
ordinary business of life looks at noth
ing through a purely romantic and
sentimental medium. It is this pecu
liarity which marks the chief distinc-
. uon 2uweea ner ana tne American
I woman. Tne latter is just as passion-
i -
ate. but she is less practical.
There is a dreamy "sentimentality in
the nature of our American woman
that easily and frequently merges into
religious melancholy a malady almost
unknown in France. From maiden
hood to eld age her views of life are
romantic. Even after much misfor
tune and disappointment, she rarely
sees things as they really are. Con
sequently, she is not the helpmate in a
material sense that the Frenchwoman
is.
But the deficiency is abundantly
made up ia other ways. It is the ex
ception when she loves her children
more than her husband, while the
r renenwoman s affection lor ner on-
spring is generally all-absorbing. The
sentimentality of the American woman
is at once her strength and her weak
ness. It is her strength because it is
intimately associated with strong re
ligious instinct and reverence for
moral principles which color all her
thoughts and direct her conduct. It is
her weakness, because it is apt to make
her rely too much upon others and tc
caue her to hope when she should act.
Frank Leslie, in Philadelphia Press.
The Value of Apples.
Speaking of apples. Prof. Faraday
says: "There is scarcely any article of
vegetable food more widely useful and
more universally liked than the apple.
Let every family in autumn lay in from
two to ten or more barrels, and it will
db w ujco uie mw euiaosucu uito
ment m tne wnoie range 01 cuunary
bread, and without meat or flesh of any
kind, it has an admirable effect on the
general system, often removing consti
pation, correcting acidities and cooling
the febrile conditions more effectually
than the most approved medicines. If
families could be induced to substitute
the apple sound, ripe and luscious
for the pTes. cakes and candies and
other sweetmeats, with which the chil
dren are too often stuffed, there would
be a diminution of doctors bills suffi
cient in a single year to lay up a stock
of this delicious fruit for a season's um.