On the border of a green meadow, watered by a narrow stream, the wigwams of a large Indian settlement were lighted up by the slanting beams of the setting sun, as they shone, soft and bright, through the tall dark pines and gently-waving birch trees beneath which the village was erected.  The deep red trunks of the ancient fir trees contrasted beautifully with the silvery bark of the birch; and between the shadows which were cast by the gigantic boles of these, and many other varieties of timber, the sunbeams played on the smooth soft turf, and illuminated a scene of peaceful joy and contentment.

Towards the center of the broken and irregular semi-circle in which the huts were arranged, rose two wigwams, of a size and construction superior to the rest; and around them were planted many flowering shrubs and fruit-bearing plants, that clearly showed the habitations to have been permanently fixed for some seasons, and to have been occupied by persons who possessed more of good taste and forethought than are commonly displayed by the improvident natives.  Many climbing plants also threw their luxuriant branches over the sides and roof of these rude, but picturesque dwellings, and the brilliant blossoms hung gracefully around the eaves and the doorway, and moved gently in the evening breeze.

On a neatly-carved bench, in front of one of these wigwams, sat an aged Indian Chief, and by his side a young woman, who seemed to possess all the ease of manner and refinement of a European, but whose clear brown skin, and glossy jet-black hair and eyes, at once showed her to be of the same race as her venerable companion.  Her dress was also Indian, but arranged with a taste and delicacy that rendered it eminently becoming to her graceful figure; while her hair, instead of being either drawn up to knot on the crown of the head, or left loose and disheveled in native fashion, was braided into a truly classical form, and simply adorned with a beautiful white water-lily—­a flower that Oriana always loved.

Two other figures completed the group that was formed near the wigwam door.  One of them was a young man of tall end muscular form, whose dress and richly-carved weapons would have proclaimed him to be an Indian warrior and chieftain, had not his curling brown hair, and deep blue eyes, spoken of a Saxon lineage.  Courage and intelligence gleamed in those fearless eyes, but no Indian fierceness or cunning were there; and as the tall warrior stooped towards the ground, and lifted up in his arms a laughing little child that was reclining on the mossy turf, and tearing to pieces a handful of bright-colored flowers that his father had gathered for him, the smile of affection and happiness that lighted up those clear blue eyes, showed that a warm and manly heart was there.