AT LOVE'S DOOR. I lionrd a sound, in the deep of night, Unlike aught heard before; It w its a lost heart knocking at I-ove's door. I saw a sight in the dawning light- May 1 not see it more! It was a dead heart lying at Love's door. —The Criterion. \ A Berkshire M Story.* * > T.Y ITTA A 1.1, EN L'KLLNEB. Q Timothy Dole, or "Old Tim Dole," as he was called by his associates, was a great and powerful blacksmith in a quiet little village among the Berk shire hills. Tim was an honest, hard working, kind hearted man, and a great favor ite with all the country people for miles around, in spite of his being mor bidly superstitious and a firm believer in spirit rapping, haunted houses and ghosts. Tim's drarest friend, farmer John Davis, or "honest John," as he was everywhere known, was always chid ing Timothy about his belief, or, as John would put it. his "foolishness." Still, whenever they had an hour to spare, they were sure to get together and the talk always turned to "ghosts" and "spirit rappings." All through the winter months they were much together. It was Tom's de light to close his shop early and drive to his friend's house and spend the long wintry evenings by the fire in the farmhouse kitchen, expounding his favorite views on spiritualism. Although John Davis professed to be an unbeliever in spiritualism, and was known as " honest John," he COUIQ vouch for more bloodcurdling ghost stories and thrilling adventures than any other man about the country; and Tim was an earnest listener. One of their most horrible tales. lior- Tible for a "true story," was about a haunted house, of course, haunted by a headless ghost. The old house still stood in the neighborhood, but no liv ing being could occupy it, for when ever the housewife attempted to pre pare the morning meal there always appeared beside the kitchen stove a man without a head, but with a ecarred and bloody neck. It was most horrible! There was only one cause tor such a ghost—murder. Years ago, the story ran. a terrible j crime had been committed there; a most brutal murder it was, too. A simple, honest peddler, who merely sought a night's repose beneath that humble roof, had been beheaded with an axt> while awaiting his breakfast. Then the fiend who did the awful deed «scaped by stealing a horse from the barn behind the house. The years had come and gone and the murdero* - had not been found, and to this very day no one had yet been able to live in that house, or even use the barn. The horses stabled in that barn, no matter how securely fas tened, would become untied during the night by some mysterious hand, and ecamper wildly away, even when strong ropes or heavy iron chains were used. John Davis had never fastened a horse there himself, but his father, who had been a very religious and just man. had often tried to do so, in years gone by, without avail. Even John's own mother, who had ♦ecn a noble Christian woman, had Actually seen the headless man sitting Reside the fire in that old haunted liouse upon two different occasions, »nd although John said he did not be- Jieve the tale himself, he always add *d, when telling it: "And father's word was as good as Bible truth,"and "everybody knew that mother could not lie." And Tim believed it all, and would hardly have ventured home at night if he had not kept his horse with him to keep him company. Now it happened that as these two old men would often meet and tell their tales, they sometimes had a lis tener, a young man who loved humor and occasionally dropped into hear their stories. His name was George Cowee. He was a slender youth with much learning and refinement. . He was a nephew of Deacon Cowee, a wealthy farmer living a short distance Vom the Davis place. He always agreed with Tim, but he rad no more faith in "Tim's views" ttian John himself, but he liked Tim he liked to hear him talk. It was very amusing. The night before Christmas he hap pened into John's kitchen, and there he found Tin), who, as vsual, was tell ing about "the dead coming back" and "communicating with their friends by rapping on tin pans," and as usual John loudly declared it was all "bosh" fcnd "nonsense." Tim had just been down to the city, where lie had attended a full fledged spiritual meeting, and he was strong er than ever in his belief, and had many wonderful things to relate. When George Cowee arose togo that (light he said to them: ■"1 am going away tomorrow—out west," Then he added mischievously, slyly winking at John: "Tim, if 1 am killed before I return I will let you know it through the spirit. I will rap on the head board of your bed at night. Spirits are always around at night, and I shall rap very softly at first, then louder than a bass drum, so that you will know that, it Is 1, George Cowee. and no matter what hour It is. you hasten here to John's house a::d l !'l him. I am sure that If lie believe.; it he will at once be converted to your VSO'AS.'' Jr.st ilicn a'i ciil clock i.non the kitchen shelf struck 10, and the young man added: "Ah, John, that you may also know that I have pasted away, I will ring that clock. I will ring It for an hour, and wake you and your wife up and keep you awake the whole time." George Cowee was only jesting, and he smiled as he went west. Weeks and months went by, and nothing was heard from him. It was now the beginning of May. As there was much horse shoeing to be done in the springtime, Tim was kept very busy. John Davis was also hard at work. One Tuesday, May 4, John had plowed all day, and when night came he was unusually tired, and went early to bed. In the middle of the night he and his wife were awakened by the strik ing of the clock in the kitchen. They thought it was 12 o'clock, but the clock did not stop when it had struck 12, but struck on and on. "What in thunder ails that clock?" he exclaimed, and he got up and went into the kitchen. He shook the old clock, but it would not stop ringing. He took it down from the shelf and laid it on its back upon the kitchen table, but he could not stop it from striking. It rang fully an hour, until John was tempted to throw it out into the yard; then it ceased as suddenly as it began, and was as quiet as a mouse. "The old clock is worn out!" John said. "I must get another one," and he returned to his bed and slept. It was hardly daylight when he heard a team driving into his yard. Going to the door he beheld his old friend Tim. Tim was all excitement and his voice trembled as he ca.lled out to John from his buggy: "Did your clock ring in the night last night?" "Well—yes," John answered; "but how did you know that?" "Don't you remember George Cowee. and what he told us about his spirit manifesting itself to us? If you don't I do, and I am sure George Cowee is dead!" "Nonsense!" John cried. "The young rascal is probably alive and kicking." "Nonsense or no nonsenso." Tim said, "I believe he is dead, for all night I could not sleep. About 12 o'clock, when I was thinking about the spirits, there came a rap upon the headboard of my bed, faintly at first, and then when I asked if it was George Cowee's spirit, such a thumping and bunmping you never heard. It was louder than a bass drum. As soon as dayligßt I made haste to come to you." "Ha, ha, ha! ' laughed John; "you had the nightmare, sure enough," ho said. But Tim sadly shook his head. He knew it was the "spirits." "Come down to my shop this after noon, and we will talk about it." Tim said as he drove away. That afternoon John went down to the shop. "Not because I want to talk about ghosts," he said, "but to have Tim put a new shoe on my mare." As Tim worked on the mare's foot they fell to talking, and naturally the conversation drifted to the strange events of the previous night. Before they had finished talking about the rappings on Tim's head board Mr. Maxon, the station agent, came into the shop, and he held in his hand a folded paper. "1 saw your wagon out here. Mr. Davis," he said, "and I thought if you were going right home I could get you to deliver this message that has just come for Deacon Cowee." "Certainly I will deliver it," John answered, and the agent handed him the paper and departed. As soon as he was out of the shop both old men drew near each other and looked at the telegram addressed to Deacon Cowee, and this is what it said: "Denver, Col., May 5. "Your nephew, George Cowee, was killed in a railroad accident here last night." Both old men stared into the fire, silent, sad, thoughtful.—Waverley Magazine. Ilonpilnl PsitlpntH Spankml. A very useful adjunct to the para phernalia at the Hahnemann hospital, Philadelphia, is known as "the awak ener." This is a wooden paddle about two feet long, designed to restore consciousness to patients who have either taken poison or who have lapsed into a comatose condition from the effect of too much liquor. This little instrument is decorated with such legends as "The way of the transgressor is hard," "Slumber, sweet slumber, nit!" and similar sen tences purporting to be in a jocular vein. "The awakener" is used upon the soles of a patient's feet. The shoes and stockings are removed, and then the paddle is applied with full force. Most of the patients respond to this treatment within 10 minutes, but sometimes, where drugs have been used, "the awakener" is kept busy for an hour, or even longer.— Philadelphia Record. A Cruel but KfTcctive LPMOII. Nature is giving us a most valuable object lesson in the common sense of dress and diet. And "us" in this case means about two-thirds of the popu lation of the United States. This enormous heat ought to hasten the of late years rather rapid pro gress of shedding kinds of clothing so long worn upon the absurd theory that New York and America had mild sum mers. Also it ought to hasten the adop tion of a summer diet of fruit and vegetables, with nothing stronger than water to drink, and that water chilled only and not lccd. Naturo has a very crude way of teaching licr children. But she pro duces results.—New Yovk World. New "xork City.-—The dainty break fast jacket that, suggests perfect com fort at the same time that it is taste ful and becoming appeals to every nr.EAKFAST JACKET. woman and always find a place. Tlje attractive May Manton model illus trated is suited to dimity, batiste lawn and the like, and to sucli light weight wools as cashmere and albatross, but In the original is made of white lawn With frills and bands of needlework. The fronts are tucked to yoke depth, then allowed to fall free and form fot'is, but the back is laid in pleats that are stitched in tucks and produce a tapering effect. At the neck is a Bailor collar and the sleeves as shown. ONE OF TUB SEASON" S POPULAR COSTUMES. nre tucked and in elbow length, but the pattern also includes those of full length that are cut in slight bell shape. To cut this jacket for a woman of medium size four yards of material twenty-seven or thirty-two inches wide, or two and a half yards forty four inches wide will be required, with four and a half yards of embroidered bands and seven yards of edging to trim as illustrated. A I'opular Costume. The fancy blouse with accessories of lace and the like is essential to cor rect formal dress and fills an impor tant place in the well-kept wardrobe. The charming and stylish May Man ton model shown in the large drawing has the merit of suiting both the en tire costume and the odd bodice. As shown it is of white batiste with cream Cluny lace and black velvet ribbon held by small jeweled buttons, but the design lends itself to silk and soft wool fabrics as well as to all the dainty cottons and linens with equal success. The foundation is a fitted lining that closes at the centre front. On it arc arranged the round yoke, the full un der portion and the graceful bertha. The yoke closing at the left shoulder extends to form a narrow vest that closes under the left front. The sleeves are ia elbow length, terminating with flaring cuffs, but can be extended to the hirnds. To cut this blouse for a woman of medium size one and a half yards of material twenty-one Inches wide, one and a half yards twenty-seven inches wide, one and a quarter yardo thirty two inches wide, or one and a quarter yards forty-four inches wide will be required, with three r.ud seven-eighth yards of all-over lace and ten yards of velvet ribbon to trim an illustrated. The graduated circular fiojnee gains in popularity aa the season advances and has the merit of being singularly graceful r.s well as smart. The ad mirable skirt shown in the large draw ing is shaped with five gores and fits with perfect s.noothness over the hips while It flares freely at the lower por tion. The two flounces are cut with precision and care, and include just the amount of fulness required by fashion. The original is made of em broidered pongee, but all the season's materials arc suitable. Thin goods. such as mohair Swiss and grass linen, are charming when so made and hung over n separate foundation, while tioth silks and wool art; well adapted to the style. The skirt Is cut full length and can l>e used plain or with a single flounce when desired. To cut this skirt for a woman of me dium size ten and five-eighth yards of material twenty-one inches wide, ten and a quarter yards twenty-s.-ven inches wide, nine and a quarter yards thirty-two inches wide, or sis yards forty-four inches wide will be required. llronze Hoot* and Shoeß. Bronze boots and shoes are to tifl seen in the shops, but they are not worn to any extent. It is only when one wants to have tilings match that they are worn once in a while. A woman wearing a girdle of bronze silk not long ago witli a light silk gown wore also bronze shoes and stockings to match. A «>ualnt l'ln. The moss agate, which is but little seen now, forms the head of a quaint pin. The flat stone is set in a frame of gold on top of the pin, like a sign board on a post, supported underneath by two odd little fishes. Woman'** Fancy BIOIIHP, The white silk blouse trimmed with lace in bolero is a marked and de- Served favorite of the season, and is becoming to by far the greater num ber of figures. The very pretty May Manton model shown Includes a big fancy collar and is made of white In dia silk, with trimmings of lace rp plique, shield and collar of lace, and is worn with a biff white ribbon bow and narrow black velvet necktie, but all soft pliable materials are appro priate, whether wool, silk or cotton, and the trimming can be varied in many ways. The foundation for the waist is a fitted lining that closes at the centre front. To it is attached the shield and over it are arranged the smooth back and softly full front. At the throat is a regulation stock that, is un lincd, and the open neck'is finished with the sailor collar that is shaped in points. The lower line of lace gives the bolero effect. The original includes moucque taire upper sleeves that puff over the elbows, but this portion can be omitted in favor of plain ones trimmed as FANCY 11LOOHE. shown iu the back view. When the lining is omitted the shield is attached to the l'igiit front, beneath the collar, and worked onto the left. To cut this waist for a woman of medium size four and a half yards of material twenty-one inches wide, four and a quarter yards twenty-seven inches wide, two and three-quarter yards thirty-two inches wide, or two five-eight yards forty-four inches wide will be required, with five and a quar ter yards of applique and one-hr.lf yard of all-over lace to trim as Illus trated. WW tooira l''rotih Water for Swltic*. Slop will not take the place of pure water for hogs. During the warm season swine should be liberally sup plied with fresh water and the food should consist of weeds, grass and vegetables rather than grain. A mess of bran and skim milk may lie given at night, but corn is too heating. Why I>urk» Are Profitable. One reason why the duck brings In money is that tne flesh is generally liked for table use; in other words, the market is sure. The duck is a good eater and gets his living more largely than other fowls from insects in air and water and from the fields. So his keep is cheaper. This characteristic implies another that is important: it is a hardy fowl. Once start them well and your flock of ducks is much more likely—ail of them —to mature than is the case with the less hardy turkey. In profit a duck is put ahead of either the turkey or chicken. The Pattture for Poultry. The pasture is important for poul try as well as for animals. During spring and early summer, when the fowls can secure an abundance of in sect food, as well as a variety of green substances, the production of eggs is greater than at any other season of the year, but when drought injures grass there is less opportunity for the fowls to secure a large proportion of the re quired materials for egg production. They should during the periods of, scarcity of grass he given a mess at* night, which should not consist of grain only. Meat, cut bone and cooked potatoes thickened with bran will be relished. To every quart of bran used may be added two ounces of linseed meal, which will also be relished by "'l kinds of poultry. Feeding: Dairy Co wit. The call for good grass butter is urgent today, and consumers actually long for the spring season when grass made butter makes its first appearance. So delicate and attractive is the color and flavor of June butter that all like the product and hold it above that made at any other season. Packers and merchants store this June butter and hold It all through the winter season, selling it gradually at an ad vance over all others. If it was need ed other evidence could be cited to show that grass is the most natural and best food that can be fed to the dairy cows. Good June grass per forms a work in the economy of nature that no artificial methods have yet du plicated. Nevertheless, some dairy men show such dense lack of apprecia tion of this that they fail to have a decent grass pasture on their farms. Dairying without good pasture fields is very much like playing Hamlet without Hamlet. It is impossible for the farmer to produce the desirable results which he may have vaguely in view. Grass and hay, then corn and other succulent foods, should be the relative order of foods which the dairyman should keep constantly in mind. His farming should be based upon a prop er conception of the value of these foods, so that when he plants a crop he knows exactly what he will get in return for H. A good pasture farm is a small fortune to a dairyman, but the science of keeping up this pasture to its full production .is worth more to him. And yet there is no great secret in the question. It is merely the ap plication of common sense, knowledge and judgment in furnishing the grass crops with the right to keep them going. Robbing the soil and starving the grass roots must always be follow ed by poor grass and hay crops sooner or later. Neglect the crop this season and we will have to pay for it next. Sometimes the payment comes sooner than wc expect, and again it is post poned for some indefinite time. When an overdraft is made upon the soil it is always wise to make restitution as soon as possible. Put on an extra sup ply of fertilizers .his year, and do not neglect It until too late. We cannot take from the soil more than there is in it, but we can cultivate crops so that the full food supply is developed and expanded. A good deal of the food supply of any soil is wasted, as a rule, through lack of cultivation and a proper method of utilizing it. These secrets should be known and then used to their utmost.—A. B. Barrett, in American Cultivator. Why I>airym*n Pro*per. One reason why the people engaged In dairying are prosperous is because dairying is a cash business. There is no credit with t..e old cow. You feed her today, and tomorrow she pays you back in cash. The dairyman does not have to tell his hired man that he can pay him when he sells his wheat, or when he sells a bunch of lambs, or when the peaches are marketed. He has the cash every week or every month. The dairyman need not run a bill at his grocery or anywhere else. His business is a cash business, and he can pay as he goes. Tills is one of the basic principles of prosperity. Run up no debts, pay as you go. It gets a man into the habit of doing business on business principles, and when he does this he has started on the road to prosperity. Again, the dairy business is a con tinuous business. It brings in cash every week In the y*ar. The fruit man or the wheat man, or *-he steer ma a or th« lamb man, gets his money !n large bums and at irregular intervals. This tends to extravagance in expendi ture. When people have lots of money they spend lots, and when the source is cut off they feel it severely. The dairyman's income is more uniform anil steady, and he governs his expen ditures accordingly. He is not flush at one time and totally strapped at an other, but has a modest, uniform, con tinuous income, and is thereby made prosperous. Dairying is a safe business, and therefore brings material prosperity to a person or a community. People have been financially ruined by fat tening lambs or cattle, and, in some instances, by growing fruit or wheat. Hut no one ever heard of a man becom ing bankrupt in the dairy business. These other businesses may ftt times bring a larger profit, but there is a large element of speculation about them. The dairy business is almost devoid of speculation. It is a rather slow, humdrum sort, of business, but it is safe, and one can put his money into it with the assurance of a modest profit from year to year. If crops fail in almost any other kind of farming the farmer is flat, but even if all the dairyman's crops should fail, if he has a good herd of cows he can buy all his feed and still pay ex penses and have a small profit besides. Diarying may be a little slow, but it is sure. —Dairyman and Creamery. Tlie I>i«|»oHul of l-'ttrm Produce. It is a common saying among some producers of merchantable articles, that to sell well is the principal part of the business. The salesman is the chief officer of the manufacturer, and the personal advertisement, as it may be called of a producer, is the agent who sells the products. Why should not a farmer follow the lead of other producers, the thousand and one mak ers of many articles of domestic use. who all keep agents on the road to peddle their products? This part of the business has heretofore given pro fitable employment to many thousands of active men, who of course, have really been paid by the purchasers in the prices they have given for the products purchased by them. Indeed, to change the method of distribution of products is alleged to be the moving principle of the common modern as sociations called trusts, which are said to be formed in the interest of the consumers or purchasers to lessen cost of sales, it may be so, but facts tend to show that these great corpo rations formed, and still forming, are expected to pay big dividends on the inflated stock, and, as a rule, in this world the parties on one side of a business transaction are not generally fretting themselves very much about the advantages gained by the pur chasers of their goods. Why should not the farmer fall into line with these modern improvements in trade, and reduce costs in the way of the disposition of his produce? He may follow the lead of his bigger com petitors and say, "We intend to dis pose of our produce directly to the purchasers, and so give them con siderable advantage in price gained by the discarding of useless distributing agents, and so go directly to them and sell what we have to dispose of." There is no difficulty about it.for like that noted person Barkis, the other party is willing. Producer and con sumer then come into actual contact, and so business is done at the least cost and most protit. to both parties. Some foresighted communities offer encouragement to the farmers to do business in this way by providing con veniences and facilities for direct trade between the farmers and the towns people. When residing some years ago a few miles from New York, I found it very convenient to send a wagon load of sweet corn, melons, cu cumbers, and all sorts of vegetables and dispose of the stuff to any one who would purchase. The purchasers were cheifly the small storekeepers who sold out the produce the next day to the neighboring residents. When living too far from that city in Pennsylvania, and adjoining a large town, I was the first to start a direct trade with the townspeople, and I did it in this way: Having a large sur plus of strawberries above my own ne cessities, I got a convenient hand truck made, and loaded it up with boxes of strawberries, just picked in the garden, and sent a boy to the village to try to sell them, with instructions if no one would buy them to give them away to any family who might be likely to use them, stating that if they wanted any more they would be supplied. Very soon the boy came back with the empty truck and boxes, and said he could sell twice as many more. These more were gathered and sold, and in this way, the ice being broken, the trade increased until every thing I had to spare was disposed of, and out of it grew a house-to-house trade in creain, milk, butter, and Indeed every thing that could be made that was good. The next year much larger pre parations were made, and the business good. The next year much larger prep arations were made, and the business increased until some neighbors were induced to join in.and so the custom became quite common. With the pres ent conveniences as to the telephone, how much may such enterprises be ex tended. —H. S., in the Country Gentle man. M«v Mlp t ! p on It, Almost everything seems to have been thought of in the way of fooj products, but now, thanks to the in ventiveness of a Krench planter, we are to have banana flour. It really sounds quite promising, although, ow ing to the canriciousness of the human palate, it may turn out a comph'f failure.—Boston Transcript.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers