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of hair behind her, and stood revealed the perfect incarnation of faith and hope, as if her upturned eyes met God’s glance from Heaven. The old chief and the boy at his side said nothing, but each instinctively folded his hands in the attitude of confidence and prayer. The combined effect of all this upon the young man was electric. The singular incident struck him so forcibly that he rose to his feet, placed his hand upon the girl’s head, uplifted his eyes and voice to heaven, and, from the depths of his soul, responded “Amen, and Amen.” It was at this critical instant that I, the editor of these papers, chanced to come up to where this scene was being enacted. A few words sufficed for an introduction, and on that spot begun a friendship between us all that death himself is powerless to break. Two hours thereafter, the chief, his son, the girl, the youth, were, with myself, partaking of a friendly meal at the old man’s house. After the repast was over, the conversation took a philosophic turn, in which the chief, who was a really splendid specimen of the cultivated Indian, took an active and interested part. Presently the old people took their pipes, the younger ones went to bed, and Beverly and ’Levambea, as she was almost universally called, walked out, and sat them down beneath an old sycamore that stretched its giant limbs like the