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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.