call to mind those infant days
When her fond mother led her by the hand,
And her little feet made impress on the sand;
And plant a flower beside the monumental stone
In yonder church-yard, o'er her mother's tomb,
Then ramble o'er the green and flow'ry lawn,
Leaning fondly on her lover's buoyant arm,
The valiant, happy man, who Fate ordained
To write his name, in love, upon her heart
And fondly claim her for his own."

Dora was delighted with her new name, believing it to be the name given
her by her parents, whom she had so often seen in her dreams, whilst
sleeping in the Indian's tent. And then it seemed so familiar to her--it
seemed like the voice of her mother floating in music-tones upon the
morning air. And the Indians seemed to her sent by the Great Spirit to
inform her of the place of her birth, of the Eden of her childhood, and
the path that would conduct her to her once-loved home, which now came
up in grand review before her youthful mind, as the Indians related the
sad story of the death of her mother, the capture of her lovely child,
and the curling flames that consumed their earthly home.

The picture set forth by the Indians was forcibly impressed upon the
mind of Dora, and she persuaded her husband to accompany her on foot
through a dense forest, for more than a hundred miles, following a blind
Indian war-path which she had been trained to follow through other
forests by her tutors, in other days. This war-path led them to the lake
shore, where they obtained a boat, with a skillful oarsman, to land them
on the shore of that lovely bay which Dora had so often seen in her
dreams, whilst sleeping in the Indian chief's wigwam. When they arrived
at the birthplace and youthful home of Dora, she could only find the
place by the remains of part of the burnt and cracked walls of the
foundation, and a few trees that had escaped the fury of the flames.

Here Dora called to mind the scene that occurred when the Indian's
war-axe parted the fair forehead of her mother. She seemed to see the
crimson tide run down her neck, her ivory bosom stained, as her parental
life-blood ebbed away. She wept long and loud for her fond mother. She
lingered round the fatal spot until the sinking sun began to cast her
last rays in lengthened shade over the waters of the lake below. She
then hurried to the nearest house with her husband, where her neighbor
recognized her and called her Dora. Like