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
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
MARRIAGE OF LITTLE MAG.—SOCIETY AT HALIFAX.