Forms suddenly appear upon the scene--forms living and lovely--in the presence of which the bright sunshine, the forest glories of green and gold, the bird-music among the trees, the flowery aroma in the air, are no longer needed to give grace to the clearing of the squatter. It signifies not that it is a morning in the middle of May: were it the dreariest day of December, the effect would be the same; and this resembles enchantment itself. The rude hut seems at once transformed into a palace--the dead trunks become Corinthian columns carved out of white marble--their stiff branches appear to bend gracefully over, like the leaves of the recurrent _acanthus_--and the enclosure of carelessly tended maize-plants assumes the aspect of some fair garden of the Hesperides! The explanation is easy. Magic is not needed to account for the transformation: since there exists a far more powerful form of enchantment in the divine presence of female beauty. And it is present there, in its distinct varieties of _dark_ and _fair_--typified in the persons of two young girls who issue forth from the cabin of the squatter: more than typified--completely symbolised--since in these two young girls there appears scarce one point of resemblance, save the possession of a perfect loveliness. The eye of the soaring eagle may not discover their charms--as did the bird of Jove those of the lovely Leda--but no _human_ eye could gaze for a moment on either one, without receiving the impression that it was looking upon the fairest object on earth. This impression could only be modified, by turning to gaze upon the other. Who are these young creatures? Sisters? There is nothing in their appearance to suggest the gentle relationship. One is tall, dark, and dark-haired, of that golden-brown complexion usually styled _brunette_. Her nose is slightly aquiline, and her eye of the oblique Indian form. Other features present an Indian character, of that type observable in the nation of the Chicasaws--the former lords of this great forest. She may have Chicasaw blood in her veins; but her complexion is too light for that of a pure Indian.