Pine Bluff daily graphic., 1895-11-03
,oTsDAM AND ITS PALACES.
,adereYs Impressions of Fred
 arick the Great and Others.
,,a Kings Idea of 8 aJehe-Nightmarish ations-Enabarrassing Foot Gear The Artist Misconceived-Europe
 Idea of Rapid Transit
COPYRIGHT. 1905


 ,rha s,1n has set in the west with a ,ull sickening-no, that won't do. It < dark night. The fragrant moon has .otreated behind a murlly cloud; the Sodest stars, though not exactly con- saoled from view, are hardly what you n,;oht caldwell, at any rate, it is a aark night. This doesn't sound snonoh like Q scoop-that's so, it's word painting. Word-painting may not he in my line, but I'll make one more ,toh at it. I'll take fresh start.
 Tt is the Berlin express from Magde- b,ro and still further west. Swiftly n it's glittering track it has sped throuhg the dispiriting suburbs of the ,ld cathedral town until, the open country reached, the scene grows more axhilarating. By the wayside herd If swine, unchaperoned, amiably nunch their evening repast Town after town, each with a name sugges- five of a fine brand of kase, of wurst, or mayhap of beer laden tankard, is nassed with rattling swish. Not a v+on. not even semieolon. Even stately old Brandenburg-o on-the-Havel, midst river-made lakes and musty memories of long dead, world-famed margraves, is passed with scarcely nod from the burly locomotive-fuhrer.
 The pink-and-white lieutenant in the corduroy seat (for it is a second-elass compartment, fact the corduroy up- bolstering denotes) fips from off the lapel of the fire-gray overcoat a tiny cinder speck.
 It is a great strain for him to lean over his high redcloth collar and aim at the spot where the cinder is. He must have felt it drop there.
 The first stop of this lightning ex- press will be at Potsdam, my alighting place. The speed of the train is so great that the passengers are struck with awe at their own swift flight The speed almost equals that made by an American milk train on a Wisconsin branch line.
 Dusk comes apace. l have authori- ties to prove it. Twinkling stars be- gin to appear in the boundless space above-space almost as boundless as that which 1 am writing against.
 Sol, like gleaming copper target, is slowly sinking, filling the western sky with lurid flame; the black tree tops are silhouetted against the glare like the spires and pinnacles of a burning city. The passenger at the east win dow of the compartment comes to life and lights tobacco torch, which at first burns with blue flame, then turns to orange, and this expiring, the torch smolders on sputteringly.
 The air is divinely still, as if nature held her breath to watch the glory of dying day. Perhaps it is the cigar.
 The lieutenant discovers that the left lobe of his mustache is off it's perpen- dicular. He arranges the matter to the intense relief of himself and the minor specimens of humanity who have the honored felicity of sharing the corduroy compartment with so iI- lustrious a person.
 Just above the carnation of the sky line sea of mackerel green leaves the golden coastline of buff cloud conti- nent.
 Still the sun sinks.
 My heart and soul are absorbed in the kaleidoscope transmutation of form and color still dimly visible under the veil of night.
 The squeak, squeak, of the locomo- tive whistle. Housetops. turrets and church spires! A dome appears. The