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Love Me.
I wander through the blooming woods
Where no unhallowed thought intrudes
And song and sunshine fall in floods;
I hear among the budding trees
Contentment sighing in the breeze,
And even the winds reprove me,
For crying out 'mid scenes like these,
“Love me! Love me! Love meP
I mingle with, yet walk apart,
crowds that throng the busy mart,
Aid silent bear my breaking heart,
And live—Oh, life! with pain replete,
60 sweetly sad, so sadly sweet,
With only one hope to move me,
These echoing heart throbs still repeat,
“Love me! Love me! Love me!”
•f
The pinions of the day are furled
And night enshrouds the sleeping world,
But still, like restless billows hurled
Upon the shore; my spirit flies,
From star to star with weary eyes
Through the pitying skies above me
And in its hopeless anguish cries,
“Love me! Love me 1 Love me!”
— M. M. Folsom in Atlanta Constitution.
The Story of a Picture.,
i by h. e. clamp.
It is about 10 o’clock p. m., the hour
when life in its lightest and most frivol
ous form is on parade in the upper part
of the city’s great artery of traffic—
Broadway.
Among the crowd of busy talkers,
thoughtless idlers and devotees of pleas
ure, walking at a leisurely pace and
with a thoughtful air, comes a man
whose genius has already made his name
a household word in many lands. It is
Geoffrey Yail, the artist, The hnnd
some, scholarly face, with its delicate
white complexion, its large, soft, black
eyes and sweeping black mustache
which fringes his sensitive mouth, his
graceful carriage and the plain but fault
less Btyle of bis attire, stamps him easily
as a man of superior type even to those
who do not recognize in ae lono indi
visual the well-known fig ure of metro
politan life.
Above the jargon of sounds in the
streets rise occasionally from a side
street the tones of a piano- organ, ac
companied by the voice of a person
singing some Italian songs. The artist
pausos for a moment to listen to the un
usually pathetic ring of this voice, and
ns ho approaches it is struck by tho ap
pearance of the singer. It is a young
girl, about sixteen years of age, with a
Madonna-like face touched with a look
of most exquisite sorrow. Is it possible
that the coarse-looking Italian yonder
can have *ny connection with this lovely
qbild? It is not of this the artist thinks
as he lingers, thro wing coins into the old
man’s hat. It is of how that lovely face
would look on canvas!
I Suddenly tho girl sees his ardent gaze
and her eyes droop to the ground,
while a color like the first blush of sun
rise mantles her cheek. The artist is yet
more charmed, although he diverts his
gaze, still following the couple from
street to street.
Finally the organ is closed up and the
two performers prepare to go home.
Goeffrey Vail approaches the Italian as
he is about to go and touches him upon
the shoulder.
i “Is it your daughter?” he asks, point
ing to the girl.
^JThe man nods his head.
“I am an artist and would like to
paint her picture,” said Geoffrey.
The man shook his head in disap
proval.
“If you will allow her to coma to my
itudio every day for a month I will pay
fou liberally.”
“How much?” asked the man,gruffly.
“One hundred dollars,” answered
the artist after a moment’s reflection.
“She would earn mo more than that
with the organ.”
“Then we will say two hundred.”
The mail’s greed was satisfied, and he
consented to the terms.
“When shall she commence?”
“Tomorrow, if it suits you,” said the
artist.
“Very well,” answered the man, and
Geoffrey handed him his card.
Geoffrey turned homewards, pleased
with his discovery. For a long timo he
had meditated painting a series of
pictures representing the emotions.
.“Here is my ‘Angel of Sorrow’ ideal
ized already,” he said to himself as he
pursued his way through the still
crowded thoroughfare home.
► The pretty Italian found Geoffrey
Vail in his studio awaiting her visit on
the following day.
'}■ The strong light in the studio, where
the curtains were purposely drawn
back, revealed to the artist that he had
^iot been deceived with regard to her
COtTNTY NEWS.
appearance. The face was delicate, re
fined and indescribably sad.
She had evidently put on her best
clothes—a dress of some soft black stuff
and a shawl of the same sable hue
wrapped round her head and shoulders.
“You have posed as a model before?”
asked Geoffrey, noting the artistic ef
fort of this simple costume.
“No,” said the girl, “never before.”
“What is your name?” asked the
artist.
“Consuelo.”
“Consuelo,” repeated the artist, “and
you look inconsolable.”
The girl did not understand his re
mark, but her large dark eyes were
turned upon him wonderingly.
“Well, Consuelo, we must make the
best of our time, ” said the artist.
“Come, I will arrange yoe I wish you
to sit,” and he placed a cha!’' for her,
arranging with some care hoc attitude
and drapery.
“You not feel timid, do you?”
asked Geoffrey, kindly.
“Oh, no,” answered the girl, looking
at him with wonder again. It was in
conceivable to her that she should feel
timid in his presence.
The grave, gentle face of the artist
had won her confidence completaly. Ac
customed to rough looks and sometimes
blows, the child seemed in the atmos
phere of this elegant studio to breathe
the air of paradise.
But the look of sorrow did not leave
her face; it was too deeply imprinted
there.
Geoffrey was soon busy with his pen
cil. An artist, his soul was in his art.
To him the animate beauty was only a
stepping-stone to the inanimate, every
thing lovely created that it might be
copied on the canvas and immortalized.
Consuelo’s sitting was not a long one.
He thought it best not to tire her too
much the first day, and at the end of the
third hour rose from his easel, and
thanking her, dismissed her till the
morrow.
“You will come again, won’t you?”
said Geoffrey.
The girl’s look answered him.
For the first time that she could re
member Consuelo went to her miserable
home happy. A new vista had been
opened to her. She had caught a
glimpse of another world with which
she seemed to feel some strange kin
ship.
The last sitting came. Artist and
model were to part.
Geoffrey, who had grown familiar
with the child, took her hand in his
own when he bade her adieu. Sudden
ly Consuelo burst into tears.
The artist himself felt uncxpectly and
strangely moved. Even to him the
parting seemed painful. Why? Blind
egotist 1 unknown to himself he had
learned to love. Only at this crisis did
the truth dimly dawn upon him. But
why these tears of hers? Strange infat
uation I Then the child must love him
also.
She had turned away to weep.
“Consuelo,” he said gravely, “come
here.”
Consuelo came at his bidding.
“Look at me straight in the face.”
“I cannot,” she sobbed.
“Consuelo, why do you weep?”
The face could be doubted no longer
except by the blind.
Geoffrey folded her tenderly in his
arms, unresisted. The lovely head
rested upon his bosom. His lips were
pressed to the blushing cheek.
“Consuelo, would you like to stay
here always—to be my wife?” he said
rather nervously, half frightened him
self. 1
The girl looked at him and seemed to
make some sudden resolve.
Withdrawing herself from his em
brace she wiped her eyes, and then
without another word or look fled from
the studio.
“She is frightened, but I must follow
her,” said the artist. How soon she
had become infinitely precious to him!
He hastened to the door, but no trace of
Consuelo could be seen. He paused to
reflect. He did not know even her ad
dress. The Italian 'had already called
for his money. IIow should he find
her? What strange impulse had caused
her to turn and fly so suddenly. It was
inexplicable, bu he must find a key to
the mystery. How? Would she not re
turn ta her old avocation, accompany
ing the organ? If he searched the
streets for a few days ho would soon
meet her again.
But days, weeks and months rolled
by, and no traco of Consuelo or the
Italian rewarded his anxious search.
g 0 frig passion died away into a vague
and hopeless regret. Nothing remained
of Consuelu but the blending of her
beauty with his own dreams in the
picture. So he devoted himslf with re
newed ardor to his favorite pursuits.
The “Angel of Sorrow” was completed;
extravagant offers were made for it, but
the picture was not for sale. Money
could not buy it.
It was hung in the artist’s own studio
—his greatest achievement—and many
wondered as they gazed upon the sor
rowful face whence came the inspiration
for it.
Five years had gone by since his brief
love dream had had its sudden birth and
tragic finale.
His gentle face had grown gentler,
and perhaps a tinge of sadness had crept
in between the handsome lines; but he
had little to complain of so far as suc
cess was concerned.
He is busy in his studio when some
callers are announced. They are
foreigners, evidently, from their names.
Geoffrey glances carelessly at the card,
and, not recognizing the names, is about
to excuse bimself, but suddenly changes
his mind.
His visitors are shown into the studio.
A gentleman, refined and distinguish
ed in appearance, and a lady some
years his junior. A white veil partly
secludes the lady’s face.
Geoffrey bows politely, and advances
to meet them as they are announced.
The gentleman, speaking in French,
apologized for their intrusion and asks
permission to look at some of the artist’s
work, and the lady, who has observed
the artist’s favorite picture, leads her
companion towards it. After viewing it
for some minutes and exchanging re
marks of admiration in their own
tongue, the gentleman, turning to Geof
frey, asks him if the picture can be
purchased.
“On no consideration,” replied the
artist. “It is reserved at a price which
even the most extravagant would never
care to go to.”
“Which means that jou do not wish
to sell it,” replied his visitor.
The artist bowed in acquiescence.
“And did you ever see a face which
suggested such beauty?” asked his visi
tor, adding “Pardon me, but I have a
purpose in inquiring.”
“I have seen one,” replied the artist,
“with which this creation of mine could
but feebly compare.”
As he said this his eye caught the
face of the lady who had removed her
veil.
“Consuelo!” cried the artist, forget
ting his visitors for a moment.”
But they were smiling at him pleas
antly.
“Pardon mo,” he said, “Some fan
cied resemblance compelled me to utter
that name.”
The lady approached nearer to him.
“Do you not remember me, then?”
she said, softly.
The artist looked puzzled and per
plexed.
“Surely it is Consuelo; but, pardon
me, you have changed your name.”
And he glanced significantly at her com
panion. “Ah! and you are no more the
Angel of Sorrow; you might now pose
for tho Angel of Joy.”
Consuelo seemed to enjoy his per
plexity. “And have not you found a
true Consuelo also?” she asked laugh
ingly.
The artist shook hi s head sadly.
“Papa, this is Mr. Vail, ” said Con
suelo, turning to her companion, who
offered his hand to Geoffrey with a pleas
ant smile.
“You are wondering what it all
means,” said Consuelo, also smiling;
but it is a long story; papa will tell you
whilo I look at some pictures round the
studio, and if you wish to repeat the
question you asked so long ago, which I
never answered, repeat it to him'”
The story was briefly told.
Consuelo had been kidnapped from
her home in Italy and shipped to New
York. After many years she had been
traced and returned to her parents.
She had fled from Geoffrey’s presence
because ashamed of her humble origin
and parentage, believing the padrone
to be her father, and had been rescued
immediately afterwards.
Iu Italy she had been educated, pre
viously exacting from her father a
promise that as soon as her education
was completed he would bring her to
New York.
Such a story could have but one so
quel—a happy marriage, It was
assuredly a happy one, and soon after
it Geoffrey commenced tho twin pictqra
*—[Afina York Mercury.
FARM AND GARDEN.
FIGHTING INSECTS WITH FUNGI.
The observation that many injurious
insects are kept so effectively in check
by diseases has led to the idea of study
ing these diseases and introducing them
among insects in localities where the
diseases have not yet appeared. This is
ably advocated by Mr. Nicholson, who
states that cabbage worms are not very
destructive in Europe because a fatal
fungus disease does not permit their
rapid increase. All such fungi should
be bred and spread among our healthy
insect crop .—Rural New Yorker.
SHEEP POISONED BY LAMB-KILL.
The narrow-leaved laurel is the
variety known as 1 lamb-kill, though
both it and the broad-leaved laurel arc
poisonous to sheep. They have a bitter
taste, and after grass becomes abundant
sheep learn to avoid them. The remedy
for a sheep poisoned by lamb-kill is first
to give some physic, to get the stuff out
of the stomach as quickly as possible.
Then take three heaping teaspoonfuls of
common tea, boil, them twenty minutes,
and give the decoction to the sheep.
After twelve hours repeat this dose if
necessary. This is said by those who
have tried it to be a certain cure. The
tea itself has some poisonous properties,
and should not be given unless it is cer
tain that lamb-kill has first been eaten,
and is causing the sickness. The poison
of the tea probably counteracts the poi
son of the laurel.
TEACH THE COLTS.
Colts can be taught by mind as well
as children, and this is the first requisite.
A colt that will obey a moderate tone in
the stable will obey the same outdoors,
but confidence is the one thing needful.
A colt should be curried until he is used
to the comb and brush. Should be
made acquainted with the pitchfork and
convinced that a fork is harmless.
Should let you poke the handle under
or over him, or rub his back with the
round side of the tines. If I accident
ally prick a colt, I at once tell him I am
sorry, and rub the spot with my hand.
Ropes, straps and cloths should be laid,
dragged and thrown across the colt’s
back carefully but persistently till he
will hardly notice them. Then blankets
and robes may be used. I you want to
roll a barrel through the stable, don’t
take the colt out, but go ahead of the
barrel, never behind it, and gradually
get it near enough for the colt to smell
it. If he finds a few oats on the head
of the barrel, he will never be so much
afraid of a barrel again. Umbrellas and
overcoats should be used in the same
way, and then when your colt is old
enough to hitch up you will have a safe
BITTER ROT OF APPLES.
In the experience of many orchardists
one or more apple trees will occasionally
be found where the decayed fruit has an
exceedingly bitter taste that distin
guishes it from the ordinary rot of the
orchard. Old trees are most liable to it,
and while not confined to any one var
iety, some are more predisposed to it
than others. The rot usually begins in
the Summer and increases as the season
advances. An affected apple never re
covers, but continues to decay until en
tirely destroyed. Occasionally the rot
is not developed until the apples are
fully ripe and have been harvested and
stowed away, but much more commonly
it begins while they are yet on the tree.
When a tree is affected by it, it will
usually reappear yearly, though some of
the fruit may be sound.
This disease, says the Chief of the
Section of Vegetable Pathology, is
caused by a fungus that belongs to a
group the members of which are quite
destructive, one species causing the so
called anthracuose of the vine, while an
other attacks the raspberry and black
berry. Serious and widespread as this
disease seems to be in certain parts of
the United States, there does not ap
pear to be any record of the fungus that
causes it in the works of our mycolo
gists.
The affected apple first shows one or
more brownish spots on its surface,
which gradually enlarge and run to
gethcr, affecting the entire apple, with
a very dark and almost black discolora
tion in the centre of the diseased spot.
On cutting through it while the spots
are small the decaying tissue will be
found extending quite a distance into
tho fruit, and finally the entire apple
becomes a soft, yellowish-brown mass.
As the result of some experiments made,
spores from a diseased apple had no
effeot ■when sown on the uninjured sur
face of a healthy one, but infection was
readily imparted by a knife-blade first
in a diseased, and afterwards in a
healthy apple.
Says the same authority: “It will be
seen we have a dangerous foe to contend
with, but with our present limited
knowledge of its habits it is impossible
to suggest means of combating it.”
Notwithstanding the above a few per
sons are on record claiming to have rem
edies that have been successful in their
own cases. One is to bore a hole through
the centre of the diseased tree and fill
the hole with salt. Another has had
success by boring to the centre and fill,
ing the hole with sulphur. Still another
finds the best remedy in trimming up the
lower limbs, seeding down to grass and
grazing the orchard with sheep. Gen
erally, however, persons with the long
est experience with badly diseased trees
have found the most effectual remedy in
cutting them down.
PEACH YELLOWS.
Bulletin No. 9 of the botanical divis
ion of the United States Department ol
Agriculture, just issued, constitutes the
most complete and valuable compendium
on the subject of peach yellows ever pub
lished. Its author, Mr. Erwin F. Smith,
who has devoted sixteen months of con
tinuous careful examination and pains
taking study to this subject, presents in
a clear and interesting manner all the
known facts and best-founded theories
about this devastating disease; its his
tory and distribution; characteristics of
the disease; losses due to yellows; con
ditions known, or supposed to favor the
disease; restrictive legislation; chemical
analyses; local enactments; find conclu
sions as to the causes of yellows. Care
fully prepared maps showing the extent
and location of the infested district and
several photo-engravings and colored
plates depicting the appearance of the
peach trees and fruit accompany the work.
The author, while not able as yet to draw
final conclusions from the facts known
so far, considers it reasonably safe to
conclude that yellows is not due to cul
tural influences, and that although the
frosts, floods and droughts may be modi
fying influences, they are nothing more.
Neglect of cultivation and pruning, in
juries by quadrupeds and borers^ use of
animal manures, soil exhaustion, etc.,
must all be included in the list of dis
proved theories. The only remaining
probable hypothesis of the cause of yel
lows, the author thinks, is that of micro
organisms. Further investigations and
experiments will be required before a
final conclusion can be reached, but so
much may be safely admitted: the peach
yellow is a communicable disease, and it
is justifiable on the part of state legisla]
t ures to make statutes compelling the
immediate removal and destruction by
fire of all affected trees. It is gratifying
to note that the agricultural appropria
tions for 1890 will enable Mr. Smith to
continue his researches in this field.—
American Agriculturist.
FARM AND GARDEN NOTES.
Keep a look-out for the sows that are
soon to farrow.
Turn geese eggs set under hens, by
hand, every other day. Sprinkle with
tepid water twice a week.
The colonies that raise the most
brood, will, as, a rule, be strongest at
the beginning of the honey season.
If there is a prospect of a shortage oi
honey plants in your neighborhood this
season, better sow some Japanese buck
wheat.
C. F. Muth says: A strong colony
always consumes more honey than a
weak one, and a strong colony always
secures the most honey.
Beans or potatoes are the best crops
for an orchard. Among sowed crops,
peas and buckwheat are best. Fertilize
the orchard well if you seed it down.
Insects on orchard trees have become
so numerous in summer that the trees
should be sprayed with Paris green
water,or fine fruit need not be expected.
The best soil for an orchard is a clay
loam. It should be thoroughly pulver
ized by frequent harrowing when a new
orchard is to bo set.
The best means of removing lice from
fowls is to make them do it themselves
by having a lot of dry earth where they
can dust themselves whenever they feel
like it, having first sprinkled the earth
with diluted carbolic acid. This acid
proves too much for the lice, and they
leave the at onto.