"My son, when first we came here I too was impatient of imprisonment, and fretted against it; but since then I have come to a knowledge that, with our present freedom from the cares and anxieties of the world, our life is happier here than it could possibly be elsewhere. More than that, this place is our home, which we have learned so to love that mother and I hope never to leave it, save for the better land of our Father. I would not seek to detain thee here one moment against thy will, nor would I hinder the departure of Nanahe if I knew of a way for his going and an object to be gained. At present neither of these seems to be offered; but in the Lord's own time, if it be His will, they are certain to come, and until then we must be content to await His pleasure. Therefore, my dear lad, satisfy thyself as well as may be in this place, gain from it whatever of health, strength, and knowledge thee can, and have faith to believe that in due time a way of escape will be opened to thee." Todd accepted this advice in silence and with a heavy heart, for to him the Valley of Peace, in which he could not regard himself as other than a prisoner, was only a refuge from the perils of its encircling desert; while the great, outer world from which he was cut off contained all of life that he deemed worth the having. Therefore during the next few weeks, while he found much pleasure in the company of Nanahe, under whose guidance he explored every foot of the valley and became an expert climber of its frowning cliffs, he brooded constantly over plans of escape. He even went so far as to propose to the Indian lad that they two should set forth on a search for the Moqui towns in spite of the Professor's protest, but was met with an unqualified refusal. [TO BE CONTINUED.] ONE TOUCH OF NATURE. A LEGEND OF WESTERN NEW YORK. BY G. T. FERRIS. "What d'ye think it all means?" said Mark Lytte, peering through the tangled thicket of hazel and sumach, where the earliest autumn dyes had begun to lay their crimson. Buckskin, before answering his young comrade, pondered on the scene before him. In the hollow nestling at the foot of the hill and clasped in the bend of the river lay the large Indian village, all astir with motion and excitement. But it seemed not to be the fever of war and slaughter which so often convulses the aboriginal man, but a jubilee of mirth and innocent delight. They were looking down on one of the most considerable towns of the Seneca tribe in western New York, near what is now Olean. Hurrying through the village streets, laughing groups of dark-skinned youths and maids carried wreaths of wild-flowers, branches of trees, and great sheaves of maize-stalks toward a lofty pole which towered in the centre.