that, mixing with the sap of the tree, can 
force it into bloom even at unnatural aea- 
hoiih ; and Its blossoms, then, have the poison 
in its most powerful form. Yet more: this 
poisonous exhalation, or breath, from the 
blossoms, has the property of infecting other 
trews; so that, in spring, the natural blos¬ 
soms w ill become like them; whole orchards 
may thus be poisoned by a single tree. Thus, 
if fortune favors us, by next spring all Europe 
may be filled with tlic.se infected trees.” 
“ Great man !” exclaimed the Baronet with 
reverence; “ what a discovery! But for us, 
who spread this universal poison, Is there no 
antidote ?” 
*‘ Certainly 1” said the doctor, who could 
hardly help laughing to see how gravely his 
poor patient listened to all his nonsense; “ I 
have some well sealed flasks in my cellar 
that Contain the antidote.” 
“Victory!” exclaimed the young man, 
clapping his hands. 
'•Now for the trial!” said the physician. 
“ I have had some trees covered with the 
artificial blossoms carried to the country scat 
of the Baron von Eicuberg. The blossoms 
are in such a state that they will have little 
or no effect upon a person in perfect health 
it he does not come too near. 1 intend that 
the Baron's family shall be present and see it 
themselves.” 
“ But if t ho exhalations are without effect,” 
said Sir William, “ how are we to judge of 
the strength of the poison ?’’ 
The doctor proceeded: “ Among the mem¬ 
bers of the Baron’s family there is a very 
lovely j'oung lady, but one of very delicate 
nerves. 1 beg you to observe her particu¬ 
larly, and note what effect the first sight of 
the cherry blossoms will have upon her. 
Her frame Is so weak, her sensibility so ex¬ 
quisite, that you will be able at once to see 
the influence upon her. Moat probably she 
will die on the spot. But, her sudden death 
will be attributed to her illness, not to us. 
Whereas if wo tried tli« experiment on a 
healthy person we might be taken up as 
murderers.” 
“ 1 understand, good doctor, 1 understand. 
And when must we set out on the expe¬ 
dition.” , 
“ To-morrow, before noon.” 
“ 1 shall be ready,” said the young baronet, 
and he pressed the doctor’s hand cordially. 
The latter came back, when ho had gone 
nearly to the, door. “I forgot,” said lie; “ 1 
am at this moment in want of money. Could 
you lend me seventy Louis d’ore tor a few 
weeks?" 
“ Most willingly,” said the young man. 
lie opened a drawer of his bureau, and 
throw on the table a heap of gold pieces and 
bank notes. “ Your discovery is worth 
thousands to me.” 
“ 1 need but seventy,” replied the doctor, 
and counted out just so many. “In a few 
weeks 1 will repay you. Now, farewell. Be 
ready to-morrow at eleven precisely, when 1 
will call for you.” 
vru. 
When the doctor wont next morning to 
visit his fair patient, lie was met in the ante¬ 
chamber by the Baroness. When asked how 
Adelaide was, her eyes filled with tears, 
she shook her head and whispered : 
“ I have given up all hope. Who ( ean 
struggle against a dark destiny that seems to 
have rested on our family for centuries? 
The tree blossoming in autumn lias over been 
to us a fatal sign.” 8ho wept bitterly. 
The doctor said nothing, but could not 
help pitying the poor lady — the victim of 
superstitious fears. 
“ Though 1 constantly oppose this idea,” 
said the Baroness, “ and speak against, my 
own convictions to ease the mincl of my sick 
daughter, it. is all in vain. Day and night 
she speaks of the fatal tree, and the old say¬ 
ing that its owner will die before the next 
new moon. Every hour she counts as one 
gone out. of the few she lias yet to spend 
with us.” 
“ How comes it,” asked the doctor, “ that 
she has not mentioned the tree to mo?” 
“ She feared you would accuse her of su¬ 
perstition,” answered the mother. 
The doctor looked graver than usual as 
he entered the sick chamber. Adelaide 
was reclining on the sofa. Pauline, with 
red eyes, was sitting near her, holding a 
book from which she had been reading to 
her sister. 
The accustomed questions were asked and 
answered; but. both the sistem observed 
with surprise a strange inattention in I lie 
physician’s manner. His face, usually so 
cheerful, was thoughtful, and grave; and 
even the circumstance that Adelaide had 
left her bed, passed quite unnoticed by 
him. He lingered longer than usual, and 
seemed absorbed in deep thought. lie ap¬ 
peared often on the point of saying some¬ 
thing, and as often checked himself. The 
curiosity of the sisters became yet more 
excited. At, last, after walking a while 
up and down the chamber, he stopped be- 
forc the window. 
“ It is a beautiful day,” said lie; and, after a 
pause, turning to the sisters, “1 have been 
thinking of a natural curiosity i have lately 
seen. You both have heard, doubtless, of 
trees blossoming late in the siwison, after the 
leaves of other trees liavu decayed and fallen. 
You maybe surprised when I tell you that 
Miss Adelaide's birthday tree is beautifully 
iu blossom. J saw it yesterday myself.” 
Pauline, with imploring gestures, en¬ 
deavored to silence the doctor; but he 
seemed so much occupied with his own 
thoughts that ho took no notice of her. 
A i»EL aide, who now had the alarming news 
about her tree confirmed, became deadly 
pale, and grasped the arm of the sofa to 
keep herself from falling backward. 
Thu doctor, who pretended not to regard 
his patient’s agitation, took from his pocket 
a roll of paper, opened it, and drew out a 
twig from a cherry tree, full of blossoms. 
“ You can see with your own eyes,” said 
ho, “how beautiful it is.” lie offered the 
twig to Adelaide. 
The girl trembled violently. Her face 
was as white as the blossoms themselves. 
8hc took the twig and looked at it very 
long; then drew a deep sigh, and seemed to 
recover her composure. “ I am called 
away; this is my summons!" said she in a 
low, sweet tone, and handed the twig to her 
sister. 
“ See, Pauline,” said she gently; “ these 
are my -.” She was going to say “ graw- 
Jlowcrx /” but she stopped because the doctor 
was present. 
Pauline took it, agitated as much as her 
sister had been; but the twig was scarcely 
in her hand before she let it fall on the floor. 
The doctor, meanwhile, seemed very busy 
with his roll of paper. At length lie drew 
out another twig, much prettier and fuller of 
blossoms than the ilrst. 
“1 really beg your pardon,” said lie; “I 
was quite mistaken. This is the twig from 
Miss Adelaide’s tree.” He handed the last 
to the invalid. “ Bee; it is much more beau¬ 
tiful than the pther." 
“ And where is this from?” cried Pauline 
quickly, snatching up the twig she laid let 
fall on the floor. 
“ Upon my word, dear Pauline,” replied 
the doctor, quietly, “ I cannot exactly tell 
you from which tree 1 broke it oil. 1 have 
yet another specimen and he took out a 
third twig. “ You observe, its blossoms are 
entirely different, from thu others.” 
“ How!” exclaimed Pauline, eagerly, as 
if life or death luing on her question, “ are 
there other trees blooming in our garden?” 
“This is just the tiling, which puzzled 
me,” said the doctor. “ If Miss Adelaide’s 
tree alone were iu bloom, I could account 
for it by supposing the tree unhealthy. 1 
have often heal'd lhat unhealthy trees will 
sometimes put forth blossoms lule in the 
season. But yesterday I counted in your 
garden at least half a dozen trees more or 
less covered with blossoms. They looked 
healthy, too, and vigorous. Noav, I should 
like to have some naturalist explain to me 
the meaning of this. Ah !” lie added, shak¬ 
ing his head, “ our knowledge, al'tflr all, is 
only patchwork.” 
“AdelaideI my Adelaide!” cried Pau¬ 
line, while tears of joy ran down her cheeks. 
“You arc saved—my Adelaide! my sis¬ 
ter!” And the sisters were locked in each 
Other’s arms. 
“I shall live 1 T shall stay with you, Pau¬ 
line !” cried the sick girl; and she also wept 
on Pauline’s breast, overcome by her feel¬ 
ings. 
The doctor looked in silent joy at the two 
lovely girls. Ho turned away and wiped a 
tear ft'om his ow n eyes; then spoke in a tone 
of surprise, as if lie did not understand the 
reason of their delight. 
“ But, my dear young ladies, 1 cannot com¬ 
prehend how the natural curiosity I have 
been describing to you should make you 
so glad ! I assure you it lias puzzled many 
wiser heads than mine, to find out the cause 
of this freak of nature.” 
Pauline exclaimed, half wild with her 
joy, “ Oh, my dear doctor ! I could kiss you 
for your news 1” 
“ Indeed ? Then pray do, my pretty Pau¬ 
line 1” 
“ Adelaide shall not die! She shall live 
through many new moons 1” 
“ What has it to do with dying, or with 
new moons 1” asked the doctor. “ 1 was 
talking of kissing.” 
“ But it was what we were all thinking of,” 
said Pauline. 
"Of what? Of kissing?” 
“ You Avill not understand me, doctor,” 
cried the young girl. “You must know 
there avus an old saying — an old superstition 
— in our family, that if a tree belonging to 
any of its members bloomed after harvest 
it was a sure sign of the death ot the owner 
before the next new moon. But the other 
trees are also in blossom!” she clapped her 
little hands joyfully—“and now we have 
nothing to fear! Such a thing has often 
happened before. The chronicle said it was 
a fatal sign if one’s birthday tree bloomed 
alone!" 
“ You should not have paid attention to 
such a superstition!” said the doctor. “I 
assure you, people before this have lost their 
lives, merely through the influence of im¬ 
agination.” 
Here Adelaide beckoned him to come 
close to her, and whispered earnestly, though 
gently: —“ Dear doctor, you are not deceiv¬ 
ing us, are you ?” 
“ My sweet young lady,” replied the doc¬ 
tor, “ I see that you have strength enough to 
walk a little way, if you have some oue to 
support you on either side; and a little drive 
will not hurt you, for the air is as warm its a 
spring day. Gome, then, let me take you 
into the garden and show you all the trees, 
that you may see the curiosity with your 
own eyes.” 
" Oh, that will be charming!” cried Pau¬ 
line. “Dearest Adelaide, pray, pray, 
come! The good doctor would not advise 
you to do anything that would hurt you! 
We will wrap you up warm! Look how 
brightly the sun shines, and how clear the 
sky is 1” 
“ Doctor, you must answer for us that it 
will not hurt me,” said Adelaide, smiling. 
She gave consent to the excursion, lor she 
was more anxious than she liked to express 
to be satisfied about the matter of the trees. 
“ Victory!” cried the doctor, and Pauline 
flew to communicate the good news to her 
parents.—[Concluded next week.— g. b. 
-- 
CHARLEY’S PACKAGE. 
Charley Lawson had just left his board¬ 
ing place, owing six dollars to liis landlady. 
Unhappily, the matter of debt rested very 
lightly on Charley’s shoulders, and hefe 
and there, ull over the town, he was owing 
little bills. 
“ It’s too bad you couldn’t get your money,” 
I said one of the boarders to Mrs. Broavn, 
the landlady, the morning after Charley’s 
departure. 
“ Oh, I’ll get that six dollars,” said Mas. 
Broavn. 
The boarders glanced at one another, and 
smiled. 
“ Oh, no 1” said one of them, “ I’m sorry to 
say it, Mrs. Broavn, but you’ll never get it 
in the world. Why, Charley Lawson 
owes money all over, and there’s no such 
thing as getting a cent from him.” 
“ Well, we’ll see. But I’ll get that money, 
and without much fuss, cither." 
The hoarders all laughed at Mrs. Brown’s 
credulity. “ We’ll see,” said one; “ but I 
can only say I hope you’ll get it.” 
“Mr. Slater,” said Mrs. Brown, the 
next morning, “if you should chance to see 
Charley, xvill you tell him there is a pack¬ 
age here for him ?" 
“ Yes, 1 will,” said Mr Slater. “I sup¬ 
pose he has not been to pay you that six 
dollars yet ?” 
“ Oh, no. not yet,” said Mrs. Brown ; 
"but I guess he will. I expect to give him 
a little time.” 
Mr. Slater smiled. Thai day he saw 
Charley, and gave Mrs. Brown's message. 
Accordingly in the evening Charley 
came. He avus in his most agreeable man¬ 
ner, all smiles and politeness. If Mrs. 
Brown had been a young beauty of sixteen 
Charley could not have been more partic¬ 
ularly delightful in his conversation. 
Mrs. Brown rose to leave the room a mo¬ 
ment. “ Did you say,” said Charley, “ you 
had a package for me ?" 
“Oh, yes, Charley, I have,” said Mrs. 
Broavn. 
In a lew minutes she came back, and 
quietly again took up her knitting. 
After a little more conversation Charley 
rose to go. “ Noav, Mrs. Broavn, it you 
please, I Avill take that package.” 
“ Well, Charley,” said Mrs. Broavn, 
“ you knoAv you are owing me six dollars. 
Noav in a I’cav days you Avill be in to pay 
that, and then I’ll give you the package. 
I’ll keep it. all nicely till you conic.” 
There was nothing for it but for Charley 
to walk himself-out—about as vexed, how¬ 
ever, as lie Avell could be. 
Where could the package be from? He 
thought and wondered. “ There, now, I 
have it 1" and Charley clapped ids hands 
together. Fanny Clark had said, the last 
thing when he suav her in New York, “I 
shan't forget the philopena T owe you, Mr. 
Lawson." “That's it uoav, by George! 
That horrid Mrs. Broavn !” 
The next day, every once in a while 
Charley would think of his package, and 
before night lie contrived to find he had six 
dollars for Mrs. Brown. In the evening, 
with the six dollars, he presented himself at 
his old boarding place. He paid the money, 
and received the package from the quiet¬ 
faced landlady. 
Charley went home, and then he opened 
bis package. There were a great many 
wrappers — paper alter paper—something 
very carefully done up, to be sure! Then 
at last out there came a pair of old gloves!— 
his own old gloves that he had thrown aside 
when he left Mrs. Brown’s! 
“ Confound Mrs. Broavn !” 
She had got her money, and all the board¬ 
ers knew about the affair. The next day, on 
the way to his business, Charley heard some 
one eah to him. It avus a man to whom he 
owed a little bill, though in truth he had 
forgotten all about it. 
“ Charley, I say," the man called out, with 
a laugh, “ there’s a package hero for you.” 
Before night. Charley hoard of one or two 
other packages, and the next day of several 
more, and a great laugh was sure to follow 
from the bystanders, as the store - keeper 
called out to him. If he walked in the back 
streets, some little snub-nosed imp would be 
sure to start up, and ask with a grin, “ Have 
you got your package yet, sir ?” 
Charley found, about this time, he had a 
business opening in another town. He went 
away, and loll, it is said, all his packages 
behind him. 
or Immg jjJropIc. 
MAMMA’S KISSES. 
A kiss when I wake In the morning 
A kiss when I go to bed, 
A kiss when I burn my Ungers, 
A kiss when I hump my head. 
A kiss when my hath Is over, 
A kiss when my hath beams; 
My mamma ifl full of kisses,— 
As full us nurse Is of pins. 
A kiss when I play with my rattle, 
A kiss when 1 pull her liitlr; 
81m nnvnred mo over with kisses 
The day 1 fell from the stair. 
A kiss when I give her trouble, 
A kiss when I give her toy; 
There's not hing like mamma's kisses 
In her own little baby-boy. 
[The Nursery. 
-- 
GRANDFATHER’S STORY. 
BY AUNT ALICE. 
“ It was just after the war of 1812; you 
knoAv old Gen. Jackson finished that up at 
Noav Orleans. Didn’t avc whip the King’s 
red-coats, though! Just think of it! over 
two and a half thousand of them killed, 
Avliile avc lost only seven men, and half a 
dozen of us wounded. Why, I wouldn’t 
purl Avith that scar over my left eye for any¬ 
thing!—ask grandma if she avouUI. Eb, 
Ruth ? Well, at last— 
‘ The wars were all o’er, und wo marched back 
To the place where we first started,' " 
sang grandpa, marching round the room 
with Eddie on ids shoulder; “ and that was 
Sackcll’a Harbor. 1 had liked tire North 
country pretty well during the war; besides, 
I thought I saw a chance to make money up 
there. Money wasn’t as easy made in those 
days as it is now, but less of it answered tiic 
same purpose. I used t« work days and 
plan nights to increase my little stock of 
gold to five hundred dollars, thinking when 
that A\ f as accomplished there was somebody 
doAvn in York 8tute, with blue eyes and fair 
hair,” nodding at grandma, “ A\ r ho would help 
me make one of the best homes in the world 
“ In the fall of 1815 my business called me 
to the Canada side. After having arranged 
it, I wanted to return, and succeeded in get¬ 
ting a pass at Kingston to take me across an 
island called Long Island, that lay in a 
straight line between Kingston and a place 
on the United States side called Cape Vincent. 
“ The island was claimed by both Govern¬ 
ments, and the British had troops there. It 
has since been ceded to the United States. 
An old Scotchman rowed me to the island, 
where 1 gave up my pass, and marched on, 
minus my breakfast, thinking that a walk of 
seven miles across the island, and a skate of 
two more on the ice, would, bring me to the 
house of a dear old auntie, who was never 
happier than Avhen appeasing the hunger of 
the young,stalwart soldier, returned, avIio she 
boasted stood six feel two, and had two eyes 
as good as anybody’s for all the Britishers. 
“ But the walk, Avhicii 1 had thought Avould 
be nothing more than a good tonfc, proved 
quite another thing. The Avind got into the 
South; the sun came outhot; and instead of 
the smooth crust I thought I could so soon 
skim over, l found a bed of snow three feet 
deep, and so soft that at every step 1 broke 
through. It Avas a dense forest, too, you 
understand, without the least sign of a road. 
“ At the last the shore was reached; and I 
avos finding the change to the ice was almost 
a rest for my tired limbs, when, behold! old 
Sol had again done his Avork; the Icy fetters 
were loosed, and the St. Lawrence flowed as 
calmly and unfeelingly by as though no man, 
hungry and weary, was longing for the rest 
and good cheer of tire other side, and doubt¬ 
less quite unconscious that but a few days in¬ 
tervened till the one set for our wedding-day,” 
“ What tltd you do?” we all exclaimed. 
“ Lh ?” There was just one thing to do. Gen¬ 
erally there are tm. I said, ‘Face about 
Ben I’ and tried to sing, 
‘The wars are all o’er and we’ll turn buck, 
To the place where we first started 
which this time was Kingston; but I guess 
the sound came rather faint, lor it was now 
getting late in the afternoon, and the thought 
ot another seven miles through the slush did 
not tend to strengthen my weak stomach.” 
“ The distance must be traversed at an in¬ 
creased speed, or the night would set in, and 
settle me for a night in the woods; anight 
Avhich, to me, would probably never know 
an end. Fortunately, tjio moon was at its 
full, and by its means I could occasionally 
discover the footst eps of the morning. 
“If ever the sight of the camp-fires of an 
enemy were cheering, you may believe those 
of the Red-coats were to me, at a late hour 
that night.. I Avent, straight to the officer to 
whom I had given my pass in the morning 
and told my story. 
Well, Captain,’ said he, ‘ you look 
pretty near used up; I shall be obliged for 
the present to detain you as a prisoner of 
Avar; but I’ll share my bunk, biscuit and 
brandy witli you, and doubtless your release 
can bo effected to-morrow.’ 
"‘Thank you, sir; that’s what vvill suit 
me above all things.’ I had scarcely said 
the Avords ere the warmth of the fire laid 
tliis six-footer on the kind officer’s bed a 
little sooner than desired. 
“ A moderate portion of the brandy, Iioav- 
ever, soon revived mo; a not too bounteous 
supper and a good night’s rest saw me quite 
restored; and the next morning I avas all 
right. Good as his word, the kind officer 
reported my case at headquarters and got 
me released. 
“I Avent back to Kingston, and further 
down the river got rowed across; went up 
and said farewell to my old uncle and auntie 
and took a fresh start for S.” 
“Did you get there in time for the wed¬ 
ding, grandpa?" 
“ Aye, that I did !” 
“Oh, can’t you make the story longer?” 
said Ruth. 
“ Yes, a little. A couple of years or so 
after, when your grandmother and 1 were 
living in a snug little house of our oavh, on 
the banks of the River C- —, one hot July 
day there came to my store a man, worn, 
weary and dirty, and seated himself on the 
step to rest. 1 took little notice of him till 
lie turned suddenly, and asked: 
“ ‘ Were you ever in Canada?’ 
“ ‘ Yes,’ i replied, ‘ in the fall of 1815.’ 
“ 4 Then you were my prisoner one night.’ 
“ I looked at the man, and truly there Avas 
my old benefactor.” 
“‘And a most fortunate prisoner I Avas, 
too,’ i exclaimed, as I advanced and gave 
him a cordial shake of the hand. 
“‘I’ve seen hard times since then,” said 
he. ‘ I was suspected of being friendly to 
the Americans. Accordingly, my pay was 
withheld, and 1 was put into jail. 1 lay 
there some six months, when 1 began to 
think that poverty and sure freedom were 
better than some other tilings. Do you see 
that ?’ said he, baring his arm and showing 
the mark of a chain. ‘And now, Avitli a 
bare pocket, and almost bare feet,’ glancing 
at his ragged boots, * I am trying to Avear 
my way to Philadelphia, where I have a 
brother.’ 
“ 1 Get this man’s boots tapped,’ said I to 
one of the clerks; ‘Come with me,’ to him. 
T took him to the house, where your grand¬ 
mother gave him a good dinner and I a feAv 
shillings from my not very Avell filled pocket- 
book, after Which he left, saying: ‘God 
bless you for your kindness to a poor fellow 
in need.’ 
“‘Alii’ said I, ‘ I’ve not forgotten the 
time when you were casting bread upon the 
waters; and I may thank you, under God, 
that I am here to befriend you.’ 
“ I have never heard from him since.” 
“ This is better Ilian building snoxv- 
liouses,” said Walter, “ and almost as good 
as skating on the pond. But it comes out 
most too good to be true.” 
“ It is true, nevertheless,” said grandpa, 
smiling. 
-- 
TO YOUNG MEN. 
Ip young men desire success in life, in the 
purest and truest sense of the term,—success 
that culminates in a noble, stainless life, en 
during, exalting and immortalizing even af¬ 
ter passing over to the Unseen,—it is cer¬ 
tainly very essential that their characters bo 
founded unwaveringly upon the broad and 
enduring principles of religion. An unbe¬ 
liever may become a great man, Avitbout 
doubt, if he has the energy, ambition and 
talent; but an Intellect of the highest order 
must be based upon Christianity. 
A lady friend remarked to me in regard to 
a young man:—“ l can scarcely express the 
intense anxiety 1 feel in regal'd to him; but 
if lie Avas a true Christum 1 should have no 
fears, no Avakeful nights, no deep distress, 
for corruption cannot abide, flourish or con¬ 
tinue where Christ is all iu all.” 
There exist in the present age so many 
temptations to legd the young, the pleasure- 
loving and thoughtless astray, aud such an 
utter disregard of honesty, virtue and truth 
among many of our leading men, that a wide 
field of usefulness is opened to the honest 
and upright in heart. Why should not you, 
young men, just stepping upon the arena of 
life, bring your influence to bear witli a 
strong hand and a clear head in the correc¬ 
tion and ultimate punishment of many 
great evils? To accomplish much that may 
at first seem scarcely possible, you have 
only to accept Christ in your hearts, and 
make His precious words your rule and 
guide; and you Avill not only receive an 
hundred fold in this life, but in the world to 
come life everlasting.— M. l. b. 
