6
THE KNITTERS.
AH hat! to the little brown fingers
That pull the tlrst blossoms of life.
And hail to the strong hand that lingers
To calm the hot pulses of strife!
But where, with the last light caressing
Their thin silver tresses, they sit.
Our hearts cull down Ivor and blessing
Upon the old ladles that knit.
Their hands have long since dropped the
burden
That age made too heavy to bear.
And peace and repose are the guerdon
That follows long labor and care.
Ambition has burned down to embers;
Hopes outgrow the old nest and flit.
Alone with the love that remembers
They sit by the fireside and knit.
Where now Is thp full mending-basket.
Not empty one day in the year?
Speak gently and low as you ask it,
Lest the dulled ear bent near you should
hear.
For the children have grown and departed,
The work of the daylight Is gone;
In the twilight of life, tender-hearted.
The knitters are waiting for dawn.
Full soon shall the light break above them,
That shines from the City of Kest.
Full soon shall we gather who love them.
To fold their frail hands on the breast.
Oh. evening of life, slow descending,
Rest gently upon each white head,
Till these fingers, the last stitches ending,
Shall touch the lirst harp-strings In
stead.
—Curtis May, In Youth's Companion.
BORN TO SERVE
By Charles M. Sheldon,
Author of"IN HIS STEPS,'' ''JOHN KING'S
QUESTION CLASS," "EDWARD
BLAKE,' ! Etc.
(Copyright, IWUO, by Churieu M. akuidou.)
CHAPTER IV.—CONTINUED.
While her room was in process of
reconstruction, Barbara had been go
ing home to stay with her mother.
Mrs. Clark was only partly reconciled
to Barbara's choice ot a career; and
when, tuis particular night, after the
news of Mr. Morton's coming, Bar
bara arrived quite early (having ex
cused herself soon 0:1 the plea of be
ing very tired), M-s. Clark noted the
signs of trouble in Barbara's face,
and instantly questioned her about it.
"Your work is too hard, too eon
fining, my dear. It is not at all the
work for such a girl as you are, Bar
bara. It will kill you."
"No, mother, I don't think it will,"
Barbara replied, bravely.
"But I don't see what good it is do
ing to anyone. You are just slaving
yourself to death like any ordinary
servant. Your talents as a teacher
are wasted. Vour social position is
gone. You have buried yourself in a
kitchen. Of what use is it? You
might be in the wo -id like other peo
ple, with some opportunities to rise
and make the most of yourself,
whereas now you are shut out from
all the ordinary social ambitions and
accomplishments of other girls—"
"Mother, don't, please," cried Bar
bara, and then to her mother's sur
prise she suddenly broke down and
began to cry softly.
"There! I told you so! You are
all worn out!" said her mother, com
ing to her and putting a loving arm
about her.
"No, mother, I am not very tired m
body. I'm just a little bit discour
aged to-night," Barbara declared;
and after a few minutes' crying, with
her head in her mother's lap, she be
pan to talk cheerfully of her plans.
She was going to see Mrs. Vane again.
She thought she could in a little time
get Hilda interested and add one or
two more to the inner circle. They
were very kind to her at the Ward's.
It was very much like home there.
They were making a new room for
her, and enlarging her kitchen. Bar
bara spoke of this last with a playful
reference to a laughing remark Mrs.
Ward had made while talking of the
enlargement of the kitchen: "You can
set apart this new corner for com
pany, unless you will use the parlor
when your beaux come to call." "I
don't think I shall ever need it, moth
er; you are all the beau I want," added
Barbara, gayly.
Her mother shook her head. "What
company can you ever have, Barbara?
You have forfeited all expectation of
it l)3 r putting yourself into your pres
ent position. You are so situated that
neither your inferiors nor your equals
can meet with you socially. There is
an impassable gulf between you and
the young people of your own degree
of education and refinement."
"Not necessarily, mother," Barbara
stoutly protested. Perhaps a lit tie
unconsciously she was trying to give
herself some hope. "Anyone Tor
whom 1 might care as a friend in the
«ocial world would not be influenced
iby my position."
"They couldn't help it, much as they
wiight not wish to. Mrs. Ward is pow
erless, Mrs. Vane with all her wealth
and influence is powerless to give you
any real standing in society. Try it
and see."
"I will," replied Barbara, as a plan
occurred to her. "But, mother, why
should I be shut out of any society I
might choose to enter, simply because
1 am doing good, honest, useful labor
with my hands?"
"I do not think you ought to be shut
out, of course. We have gone over the
ground a hundred times. But your
position does shut you out. It is not a
question of ought, but it does."
"Anyone I might care for would not
regard my position," said Barbara,
stoutly.
"Nevertheless, Barbara, you know
as well as anyone that because you
are a hired girl in Mrs. Ward's house
you do not have the place in society
that you would have if you taught
school in Crawford. Why, even in the
ohurch it is clearly a fact that you
cannot get the recognition that you
would get if you were doing something
else. Don't you yourself see that
plainly enough?"
Barbara was silent. She was going
over in memory the last few Sundays
at Marble Square church. Since that
first Sunday when she had gone with
Mrs. Ward she had been every week
except one. She would have been n
very stupid girl if she had not noticed
the difference between her reception
by different ladies in the church and
that given other young- women. A
few women to whom Mrs. Ward had
warmly introduced her had treated
her in every respect like anyone else,
with neither a patronizing nur a hypo
critical manner.
She had been invited into a Bible
class by the superintendent of the
Sunday-school, and had been wel
comed without any notice taken of her
position; but, as the weeks went by,
she was simply ignored by the major
ity of people to whom Mrs. Ward had
introduced lier. One invitation from
a warm-hearted member of the class
she had accepted, to take tea at her
house; but her reception by other
young ladies who met her there was
not such as to encourage her togo
again.
As far as the church was concerned,
she found herself simply passed by.
There was no uncivil or coarse con
tempt of her. There was simply an
ignoring of her as a part of the Mar
ble Square congregation. For various
reasons she had not yet gone to the
Endeavor society. It met on Sunday
night before the preaching service,
and so far she had reserved her Sun
day nights as sacred to her mother,
who did not feel able togo out.
"I acknowledge what you say about
the church, mother. But I may be
partly to blame for it myself. I don't
think the best people in Marble Square
church think any the less of me for
working as a servant."
"Maybe not, and yet even the best
people are almost unconsciously in
fluenced by social habits and tradi
tions. Why, even the minister is in
fluenced by tliem. This new young
man. Mr. —Mr. —what is his name?"
"Morton," said Barbara, coloring;
but her mother did not notice, as her
eyes were very poor at night.
"This Mr. Morton, according to Mrs.
Vane, is nv- rkably good and sen
sible and talented young man; but, if
you were to join his church and be
come a worker there, you could not
expect him to ignure the fact that you
were a servant girl. He could not
even forget that fact when he was
speaking to you."
"I don't know why!" Barbara ex
claimed almost sharply.
"I only used him as an illustration
of any educated Christian gentleman
anywhere," said Mrs. Clark, looking
some .hat surprised at Barbara's ex
clamation.
"A Christian gentleman," replied
Barbara in a low tone, "would not
make any distinction between a serv
ant girl and a school-teacher."
Mrs. Clark sighed. "It is useless
for me to argue with you, Barbara.
You will probably learn all the bitter
ness of your position by painful facts.
All the theories of social equality are
beautiful, but very few of them
amount to anything in the real world
of society."
"I don't care for society!" exclaimed
Barbara. "That is, for society repre
sented by wealth and fashion. But I
don't believe any real Christian will
ever make any cruel or false distinc
tion between different kinds of labor."
"It isn't that altogether," Mrs.
Clark wearily said, as if too tired to
continue. "It's a difference in social
instincts and social feelings that sep
arates people. You will find it out
"YOU ARE ALL WORN OUT," SAID
HER MOTHER.
from experience in time, T am afraid."
When Barbara went back to her
work the next morning, it was with
a resolution to do something' that
perhaps the talk with her mother had
suggested. In the afternoon she
asked Mrs. Ward for leave to gc» and
see Mrs. Van's, and it was readily
granted.
When she knocked at the door and
Mrs. Vane heartily bade her ent<-r,
she was more excited than she had
been in a long time.
"I want you to help me make n
test, Mrs. Vane," Barbara said, as
the old lady sat erect, confronting
her and looking straight at her with
those terrible eyes. Barbara, how
ever, did not fear them. She under
stood the character of Mrs. Vane
thoroughly.
"Tell me all about it, dear," said
Mrs. Vane.
Barbara went on, calming her
excitement, but not her interest.
When she was through Mrs. Vane
said: "I am perfectly willing, my
dear. But I think 1 know how it will
come out, beforehand."
"But 1 want to prove it for my
self."
"Very well," Mrs. Vane replied,
with the nearest approach to a sigh
i that Barbara had ever heard her
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 3, 1901.
utter, and Barbara finally departed ;
to her work. If she had realized |
what results would follow the test 1
Mrs. Vane was going to make for her, ;
she could not have walked back so
calmly.
CHAPTER V.
A TRUE SERVANT OF THE LORD.
The "test," that Barbara had pro
posed to Mrs. Vane was not any
thing very remarkable, either as a
test or as an experiment. Mrs. Vane
was to invite several people to her
house some evening and invite Bar
bara with the rest, presenting licr to
her guests and treating her in every
way like all the otjiers. The curios
ity that Barbara felt was in reality
something in the nature of a protest
against a remark made by her moth
er that society would not accept, un
der any conditions, a servant into its
circle, and that not even Mrs. Vane
with all her wealth and eccentricity
and social standing could really do
anything to remove the barrier that
other people would at once throw up
against her.
No sooner had Barbara perceived
that Mrs. Vane was perfectly willing
to do what she asked, and indeed
looked forward to it with a kind of
peculiar zest, than she began to re
gret having asked her. Nothing would
be gained by it one way or the oth
er, she said to herself hesitatingly as
she pondered over it. What if she
should be welcomed for herself? That
would prove nothing and help noth
ing. She would goto Mrs. Vane next
day, and ask her to forgive a foolish
impulse that had no good reason for
existing; and that would be the end
of it.
But before she had found an after
noon togo and see Mrs. Vane that
energetic lady had invited her com
pany, and it was too late. Barbara
said to herself that she would re
fuse her own invitation and not go,
but Mrs. Vane next day wrote a char
acteristic note urging Barbara not to
disapoint her.
"You must r.ot hesitate to romc for
fear of putting; me in any awkward posi
tion. my dear. I am Independent of any
verdict of selfish society, and the few
fri'r.ds who do know and love me will
treat you as if you were a member of my
own family, and you may be surprised at
some things yourself. For I have found
after a much longer life than yours that
there ts still a gjod deal of human kind
ness yet, even among people of wealth
and so-called fashion. On the whole, how -
ever, you will be doomed to meet with
what yuu undoubtedly t xpect. Wealth and
family connections and. above all, position
are counted greatest in the kingdom of
men. The time will come when the first
shall be last and the last first; and, when
that time comes, servant girls will be as
good as duke's daughters and eat at the
same banquets. You are not willing to
wait until then; so come to my feast and
prepare to be overlooked. Cut don't stay
away for fear of hurting me. The only
way you can hurt me is to misunderstand
me. I don't mind that from my enemies.
They don't know any better. But my
friends ought to. Your friend,
"AIRS. VANE."
This letter put Barbara more or
less at her ease; and, when the night
of the gathering came, she went to
it quite self-possessed and prepared
i for anything. The reality of it she
was not prepared for in the least,
j and among all her experiences she
counted this the most remarkable.
It was to be rather a large gatlier
| ing; and when Barbara arrived the
front rooms were quite well filled.
Mrs. Vane introduced her to three or
four ladies standing in the front hall.
J One of them was a young woman
I about Barbara's age, elegantly
dressed and very distinguished lo#k
i ing, even to Barbara. Her name was
Miss Dillingham.
"My mother was a Dillingham,"
said Barbara, simply, as an opening
remark for conversation.
"Indeed. Your name is—"
"Miss Clark," said Barbara.
"0, yes, Miss GJark. What branch
of the Dillinghams, may I ask? The
Vermont Di 11 ingliams ?"
"Yes. Mother's father was from
Washington county."
"How interesting!" The young
woman smiled in a very interesting
manner at Barbara. "Then we must be
related somewhere. Our family is
from Ihe same county. Is your fa
ther living here in Crawford?"
"Father died last year," said Bar
bara, returning the young woman's
look of interest.
"It's rather strange I have not met
you before," said Miss Dillingham.
"You have been shut in on account
of your father's death." She looked
at Barbara's simple black silk dress,
which was Barbara's one party dress,
very plain, but in perfect taste in
every way. "But 1 thought I knew
all the Dillinghams of the Vermont
I branch. Mother will want to meet
you."
"Is she here to-night?" asked Bar
bara.
"Yes. She's in the other room some
where. Ah! There's the new minis
ter of Marble Stfuare church, Mr.
Morton!" Miss Dillingham exclaimed.
"I didn't know that, he had come yet.
I think he is perfectly splendid. Have
you ever heard him preach?"
"Yes, I heard him once," replied
Barbara; and the next moment Mr.
Morton had caught sight of them,
and came out into the hall and greet
ed them.
"Good evening, Miss Clark. I'm very
glad to meet you again. And you,
Miss Dillingham," he said in his sim
ple but hearty manner.
"You are good at remembering
names," said Barbara, because she
could not think of anything brilliant
to say. "I've understood that one of
the difficulties for ministers is the
task of remembering so many j Peo
ple."
"Yes, I've heard Uncle James say,"
j spoke up Miss Dniingham, brightly—
j "Uncle James is rector of St. Mark's
■ in Crawford," she nodded by way of
i explanation to Barbara —"I've beard
him say that he could remember
names that began with certain let
ters, but that he was completely for
getful of others. It must be very nice
to have a distinguished memory for
people's names. It is such a pleasing
flattery to the people who are ad
dressed. Every one like* to be re
mem be red. He takes it as a special
compliment."
"I don't know that I can claim any
special faculty in that direotion," the
young 1 minister replied, smiling.
"Your names come near the begin
ning of the alphabet, C and D. Per
haps that helps me. The farther on®
gets into the alphabet, the more in
tricate and difficult the matter be
comes."
"It's a very disappointing explana
tion, Mr. Morton," said Miss Dilling
ham, laughing. "We hoped, at least
I diil, that it was something personal
about ourselves that made you re
member us."
"What, for example?" said Morton,
gravely.
"For example, our —our looks, or—"
Miss Dillingham turned to Barbara.
"What should you say, Miss Clark?"
"Or our occupations," suggested
Barbara, coloring a little.
"But we've no occupations," said
Miss Dillingham, carelessly. "At
least, I haven't any since finishing at
Yassar. Mother wants me to study
photography. What would you say,
Mr. Morton?"
"I?" The young man seemed un
prepared for an answer. "0, 1 should
say .you would take a very good pic
ture."
"Now, that's certainly a compli
ment, isn't it. Miss Clark?" she ex
claimed, laughing again. "And yet
they told me you couldn't talk small
talk, Mr. Morton."
"I was trying to retrieve my blun
der about the memory of the names,"
said Mr. Morton, laughing with them.
"Hut, if you really want my opinion
about the photography, I think it
would be a good tiling for you to
learn it.l believe everyone ought to
have an occupation of some kind."
"Even society young women?"
"Yes, even they," Morton answered
with his characteristic gravity, which,
however, was not at .111 gloomy or
morose. Young women like Miss Dil
lingham liked it, and spoke of it. as
fascinating. The reason it was fas
cinating was that it revealed a genu
ine seriousness in life. Not morbid,
but interesting.
"What would you have us do, then?
What can society girls like Miss
Clark and myself do?"
Miss Dillingham asked the question
seriously, or thought she did.
"Beally, 1 am not competent to de
termine your duty in the matter,"
the young man answered, looking
earnestly at Barbara, although Miss
Dillingham had asked the question.
"Perhaps Miss Clark can answer bet
ter than I can."
[To Be Continued.]
Southern Prognostication.
The tamale man lias again become
the subject for a good joke that is go
ing the rounds. Among the crowds
that came to Memphis to see the pres
ident was a long, gawky specimen
from the wilds of Kansas. That night
he stopped to talk a few minutes with
a chance acquaintance in the lobby
of the Arlington and made the remark
that there were some queer customs
in vogue in Memphis.
"How so?" asked the man he was
talking to.
"Why, gosh ding it," said he, "you
folks have still got the town crier."
"Crier your grandmother!" ex
claimed the other. "You've been
drinking Ileal street whisky, man."
"Not much. I know he was the
town crier, for I heard him a-calling
the state of the weather, or rather the
forecast fer to-morrow. It nearly
gave me a conniption fit, for I thought
the weather here was of the Christian
sort. What did he say? Why, as I
passed a fellow down on Main street,
a chap in uniform with a big copper
lantern, he sung out:
" 'Hot to-morrow! Hot to-morrow!
Hot west wind.' "
Poor, abused tamale man!— Me
mphis Scimitar.
Sonivtliiniv In Reserve.
A young lady had a train to catch,
and chartered 'a cab, which unfortun
ately was drawn by a very wretched
horse. Having told cabby that- she
had to reach the station in 20 minutes,
away the vehicle dashed at five miles
an hour.
They had barely got 50 yards, how
ever, before the lady put her head out
of the window and requested the
driver to whip the horse, as she would
otherwise miss the train. He accord
ingly did so.
A little further on she asked him to
administer the whip once more, as the
cab was only just moving. Cabby
again complied. Soon after she said:
"Can't y.lll hit him 011 the head so
as to wake him up a bit?"
Looking at the young lady, the
cabby exclaimed:
"Well, miss, I've 'it the hanimal all
over 'is bloomin' body except 'is left
ear, and I'm savin' that for the last
'ill." —Londll n All swers.
A ItcnMOiinhie Precaution.
One of the stories which Levi
Hut chins, the old-i.me clock-maker
of Concord, New Hampshire, delight
ed to tell related to the youth of
Daniel Webster.
One morning, said the old man,
while I was taking breakfast at the
tavi rn kept by Daniel's father, Daniel
and his brother Ezekiel, who were
little boys with dirty faces and snar
ly hair, came to the table and asked
me for bread and butter.
I complied with their request, little
thinking that they would become very
distinguished men. Daniel dropped
his piece of bread on the sandy floor
and the buttered side, of course, was
down. He looked at it a moment
: then picked it up and showed it to
j me, saying:
I "What a pity! Please give me a
j piece of bread buttered on both sides;
j then if 1 let it fall one of the but
j tered sides will be up."—Youth's Com
' puniou.
JUDGE ELL TORRANCE,
Mlnnenpollu Jurlnt Who Hun lleen
Elected loiiiiiiniKlcr In Chief of
tlie Grmi<] Army.
Ell Torrance came of patriotic stock,
his ancestors having served in the
colonial and revolutionary wars, and
in every subsequent war, including
that of the preservation of the union.
Although under military age, he was
on June 20, 1861, enrolled as a pri
vate in company A, Ninth Pennsyl
vania reserves, and for almost three
years carried a musket, participating
in all the battles in which his regi
ment was engaged, except when dis
abled by wounds. His regiment was
GEN. ELL TORRANCE.
(New Commander in Chief of the Grand
Array of the Republic.)
among those that suffered severe
losses in battle.
On the lltli of May, 18G4, he was
discharged with his regiment at
Pittsburg, .Pa., by reason of expira
tion of term of service, and on July
9 following reenlisted the service as
second lieutenant of campany K, One
Hundred anu Ninety-third Pennsyl
vania volunteer infantry, and oil Oc
tober 15, IS(H, was transferred to the
Ninety-seventh regiment, Pennsyl
vania volunteer infantry, and as
signed to duty at Baltimore, where
lie had the honor of guarding the
body of the martyred president when
it lay instate in Baltimore. On
June 17, 1805, having barely reached
his majority, he was finally dis
charged from the service by reason
of the close of the war.
During the years since he joined
the G. A. 11. he lias held the follow
ing important positions: Judge ad
vocate, department of Minnesota,
1S89; commander of John A. Rawlins
post, 1890; judge advocate, depart
ment of Minnesota, 1594; commander,
department of Minnesota, 1595; judge
advocate general to Commander in
Chief Gobin, 1897-'9B; judge advocate
general to James A. Sexton and W.
C. Johnson, IS9B-*99; judge advocate
general to Commander in Chief Al
bert D. Shaw, 1899-1900. He also
served as a member of the national
council of administration and on im
portant committees of the national
encampment.
FOURTH LEO'S TOWER.
Quaint Old Structure In Which tlie
l>ofie Spent the Greater I'art
of L.a«t Summer.
When summer began this year Pope
Leo. according to custom, left his
apartments ill the Vatican and went to
the quaint old building which is known
as "Leo the Fourth's Tower," and
which has long been a favorite summer
residence of the successors of St.
Peter.
The tower was constructed in the
fifteenth century, and is situated on
the northern side of the Vatican hill.
k'' ' ■
i .if-- i ■
LEO THE FOURTH'S TOWER.
(Favorite Summer Resort of His Holiness,
the Fope.J
Grim and unattractive is its massive
exterior, but once inside the portals,
the pope finds himself in a most de
lightful home. The rooms are large,
and are furnished comfortably though
plainly, and from many of the -win
dows there is an extensive view, which
cannot fail to please a true poet like
Pope Leo. Furthermore, the air here
is cool and bracing, and the pope's phy
sician is confident that it will aid
greatly toward maintaining him in his
normal good health.
A lleply ivith it Stlnj*.
A good anecdote is told by the bishop
of Minnesota of the sarcastic powers
of the Indians. "I was holding." says
Bishop Whipple, "a service near an In
dian village camp. My things were
scattered about in a lodge, and when
I was going out I asked the chief if it
was safe to leave them there while I
went to the village to hold a service.
•Yes,' he said,''perfectly safe. There is
not a white man within a hundred
miles!' "
I* o i son In Hornet'* StlnK,
The pain produced by a hornet's
sting is caused by a poison injected in
to the wound, and is so instantaneous
in its effect as to cause the attack of
this insect to resemble a violent blow
In the face.
PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL..
Lugi Carreno, a well-known Itomcn
jiurna list. recent ly got < mploy ment as
a <!ay laborer in the vatiean garden ill
order to get material for an article ou
the daily life of the pope.
Mrs. < arrie ( hap man Catt, pri si tit nt
of the Woman's Suffrage association,
taid in a recent speech at Owen Park,
Me., that one-fourth of the million
aires in America are women.
Lord Salisbury is one of the best
German scholars in England. Teuton
ic literature has been his hobby for
years, and he i~ especially interested
in the various German dialects.
Emperor W'lliam ha- ordered that
the Second regiment of Life Hussars,
the chief of which was the late Em
press Frederick, shall henceforth be
called the Second Itegiment of Life
llussars, Queen Victoria of Prussia,
No. J.
Gov. Shaw of lowa, am' Gov. Savage
of Nebraska, recently met in the little
town of Dakota City, Neb., where both
delivered addresses to the pioneers.
Thirty years ago the two governors,
were residents of Denison, la., the
lowa executive a younglawyi riand't.he
Nebraska executive a justice of the
peace. It happened that the first casie
Gov. Shaw tried was before Gov. Sav
age. then justice of the peace.
Carrie Nation sat on the bench the
other afternoon wit.h Police Commis
sioner Devery, who was hearing com
plaints against officers. The Kansas
woman insisted on questioning the ac
cused policemen, though warned by
Devery to kei p quiet. Finally he lost
his temper and said: "Look here. Car
rie. if you don't shut up your face I'M
throw you out."' This threat was.suf
ficient to keep Mrs. Nation quiet until
the trials were over.
John .lay Jackson, judge of the
T'nited States court for the Northern
district of West Virginia, who has
completed the fortieth x,of his
service on the federal bench, live at
Parkersburg. W. Va. lie was ap
pointed by President Lincoln on Aug
ust 3, 1801, and with one exception,
when the confederate forces held the
\\ est Virginia Charleston so that he
could not reach the place, he has
never missed a term of court. One
of Judge Jackson's brothers has been
governor of his state and the other
has been for nearly DO years judge
of a state court.
WANDERINGS OF TWO WORDS.
ThoilK'h OriK'huilly Dlkml nt ilin r. They
ilecome Inl i matel > AM-
Moeiiited.
Tsn't it strange to think of a word
"wandering?" We like to hear a
traveler tell his adventures, of the
countries he has seen, the people he
lias known, says ihe Springfield
(Mass.) Republican. Do you know
that some words are experienced
travelers and could tell a wonderful
tale of new lands and changed cus
toms? Just take, for instance, the
word "bureau." Should you think it
had any connection with the word
"fire?" In old Greek days there was
n word "pur," or "fire." Then the
Latins needed it for "fiery red," and
they made it "burrus." Presently it
wandered to France and became
"buire," meaning "reddish brown."
For a long time it lived there until
it grew to be in modern French
"bure," a rough woolen cloth.
The Frenchmen used the cloth to
cover their writing tables, so these
were called "bureaus." Next the gov
ernment officials borrowed the word,
for their valuable papers were kept
in the writing tables, so "bureau"
came to mean a place of information
or department of state. You know
we use our bureaus for keeping our
clothes. What do you think of that
for a series of adventures? The
word "bank" has an interesting like.
Once it was "banco." a bench. You
wonder where is the connection?
Well, in Italy the Lombard Jews
used benches in the market place for
the exchange of money. As times
grew prosperous they had to move
to larger quarters. In Venice, 1 .">SO,
was the first public bank started.
Then you can think of other words
from bench. The river bank, the
bank of keys of the organ or a bank
of clouds.
Watermelon* Arc Fruit.
Some men have never been willing
to class the luscious "watermillion"
as a vegetable and on Ibis point the
T'nited States govt rum :t h s been
forced to come to the darky's point
of view. The decision has be en made
by the general board of appraisers
on a case arising at Nogales upon
the right to import melons sis veg
etables. The board decided vhat "the
melon is known technically, popular
ly and commercially as a fruit and
therefore dutiable." The same view
is taken technically by t e depart
ment of agriculture and we may now
rest assured that the staTus of the
watermelon, muskmelon, canteloupe
and their whole kindred has been
raised a few points officially and per
manently. Indio may now claim to
be one of the most promising frr.it
sections of the state without a tree
in sight.—Chicago Chronicle.
AVlicn lleo-l.lll<>n Cannot He >lmte.
He e s lose industry in the time of ci
der making, if that process lasts long
er than a day. They hum and buzz
around the mills or trough, swarm
Over the pomace, and end by getting
gloriously drunk as the cider get s hard.
They will .duster thick along the edge
of an open bucket, sucking, mucking,
until sometimes, when they t<\v to fly
away, they either tumble helplessly to
the ground or describe zig-zag somer
saultis extremely diverting. Thej will
also feed supinely upon shallow pans of
sugar and water set conveniently near,
though richly clustered fields and
woods may invite.—McClure's Maya
slue.