THE DYING INDIAN’S =DREAM.= A POEM. BY SILAS TERTIUS RAND, Of Hantsport, Nova Scotia, MISSIONARY TO THE MIC-MAC INDIANS. (_THIRD EDITION, REVISED._) With some Additional Latin Poems. WINDSOR, N. S.: _C. W. KNOWLES_. 1881 PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. THE WIGWAM SCENE described in the following pages, occurred at Hantsport, Nova Scotia, in March, 1855. In the Sixth Annual Report of the Mic-Mac Mission, in a letter written immediately after the event, I find it thus described: “An event of some interest has just occurred here. One of our sick Indians, named John Paul, has just died, and was buried to-day. I have taken from my first acquaintance with him, a great liking to him. I have spent many an hour with him in his wigwam. He always listened attentively to the Scriptures, and engaged readily in religious conversation, and I have not been without hope that the grace of God had taken possession of his heart. Efforts were made to deter him from allowing my visits; but they were unavailing. I never aimed so much to attack his Romish errors directly, as to dwell upon the free salvation of the Gospel—without money and without price. About last New Year’s Day, while I was in Halifax, I was informed that the Romish priest had sent orders to him to leave Hantsport, and had threatened him with all the curses of the Church if he remained. His statement to me when I returned, was: “I won’t leave this place till I choose. It is not in the power of any man to keep me out of Heaven. That is a matter between God and my own soul.” He said in Indian: “_Neen alsoomse._” “I am my own master.” He remained. He continued to listen to the Bible with attention, and to receive my visits with kindness and respect till he died. I now recollect that when I came to read to him, he would send the small children away, so that we might not be disturbed. The last time I saw him was a precious season to my own soul. It seemed easy to speak of the Great Redeemer, and of the way of Salvation. I may say that special prayer was made for him in the Meeting House, where a number of christian friends were assembled on the day before he died, holding a special prayer meeting on our own account. More than one fervent prayer was offered up for the dying Indian. After the meeting I returned to my own house, where I met an Indian from John Paul’s wigwam, who informed me that the poor fellow was near his end. “But oh,” said he, “he is wonderfully happy! He says he is going right to heaven, and that he has already had a glimpse of that bright happy world. He has been exhorting us all, and telling us how easy it is to be saved. He dreamed last night that he was in heaven.