quick as a flash burst into a beautiful crystal light.  The heavens looked like shining silver, all around the horizon was a wide cloud of clear light blue, with a border of gold.  Beneath was a broad expanse of green, with large groves of trees at regular intervals dressed in a deeper shade.  Through these were meandering streams or rivers as of clear glass.  Clear cut avenues ran through at regular spaces from stream to stream, on the borders of which (avenues and rivers) were thousands of jasper wigwams, sitting and standing, at the front of each were Indians of all ages, dressed in pure white and ornamented with precious stones of various hues.  Rising above the blue border of the sky, slowly and majestically, a new sun was beaming.  On its face stood Paul Guidon, in a dress of glistening whiteness.  The dress was after the pattern of that of an Indian chief.  Out of his right shoulder rose a red cross slanting slightly outward, on the top of which stood an angel slightly inclining foreward.  In his right hand he held a wreath made of flowers most pure and white, inside of which in letters of light blue, was the word Love.  Out of his left shoulder, in the same direction, rose a staff of deep blue, to which was attached a drooping silver flag crossed with bars of gold. (Its pattern was like the one placed in his grave.) On the top of the staff rested a dove, holding in its beak a wreath, composed of rainbow shades, circling the word Peace in letters whiter than snow.  As the new sun continued to rise, the jewelled sky increased in dazzling brilliancy, ten thousand gems of shining gold shot out, and ten thousand sapphires too, all glistening gloriously in the new light.  The jasper tents on the everlasting hunting grounds, and the motionless streams were brightning with living flame.  Thousands of Indians, strong and fair, in countless groupings, seemed, to surpass even the sky itself in their glittering starry dress.

Paul Guidon appeared to move his head forward as the star-paved sky increased in burning brightness, till overpowered by the lustre shining, and dazzled by the increasing brilliancy.  Little Mag fell to the floor and awoke in the darkened room.  As she was in the act of falling the faint sound of distant music, mingled with the noise of far away rushing waters, seemed to fall upon her ears, increasing in strength and melody as she touched the floor.

If Milman’s lines had been written or known at the time of Mag’s dream, they could have been most suitably recited.

“From all the harping throng
Bursts the tumultuous song,
Like the unceasing sound of cataracts pouring,
Hosanna o’er hosanna louder roaring. 
That faintly echoing down to earthly ears,
Hath seemed the concert sweet of the harmonious spheres.”

CHAPTER XII.

MARRIAGE OF LITTLE MAG.—­SOCIETY AT HALIFAX.