sident's table at the White House. After
dinner the long pipe was handed round, each taking a few puffs, whilst
the blue smoke curled from the emblem of peace,

Whilst the forms of love are round us
And our hearts with pleasure glow.

The eyes of the lovely Blanche rested on the form of Esock Mayall, when
his first glance met hers, which was often and still oftener as the rose
bloomed brighter on her cheek, her breath grew quicker, her smile more
radiant, and the first blue flower of love bloomed into fondness for the
young hunter, as he gazed upon her rounded waist, her snowy neck,
ornamented with a shower of curls that fell loosely upon her shoulders.

CHAPTER VIII.

The landscape around the chief's wigwam was sublime. First his little
field of corn clustering with golden ears; beyond, the beautiful tall
forest trees formed arches overhead and locked their boughs in social
harmony. A winding path led from the wigwam to the grove, bordered with
wild roses, which must have appeared beautiful and gay in summer, but
now began to droop and fade like the leaves of the surrounding forest.
Esock Mayall wandered along this path of faded flowers to the edge of
the dark overgrown forest, and stood for a time viewing the large,
massive branches that had been torn from their parent trees by the fury
of the wind and rain the previous day. The splinters of every form lay
scattered where the currents of electricity in their fearful descent had
rent in fragments some giant of the forest, torn out its oaken heart and
scattered its ribs and limbs upon the forest floor.

After viewing the wonders of Nature, Esock Mayall was returning to the
wigwam along the path of flowers, when that wood-nymph, the chief's
daughter, appeared before him, gentle as the ring-dove.

And the glory of youth clung around her,
I felt her ambrosial breath on my cheek
Like the scent and perfume of wild roses.

She seemed to appear in all the beauty of innocence. Esock Mayall asked
her who planted those roses.

"I planted them," said the maiden, "to perfume my path and wanton in the
summer air around me whilst I walked to yonder grove in summer days, for
twelve long years, to hear the evening and morning song of birds which
charmed me to the grove; and then again I love the solitary woods, the
sylvan shade. I learned, when but a child, to wander in yon shady grove
to hear the squirrels chirp and bark."

Esock Mayall wished he