54 PREFACE

my own house, where I met an Indian from John Paul’s Wigwam,

who informed me that the poor fellow was very 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 how easy it is to be saved. He dreamed last night that he was in heaven. Heaven seemed to him to be an immense great palace, as large as this world, all formed of gold. He saw there the glorious Redeemer, surrounded by an immense host of Saints and Angels, all drest in white. As he entered he thought they gathered round him and shouted: John Paul has come! John Paul has come!” The poor fellow did not die until the following morning, and just before he died he looked up towards Heaven, and declared that he saw the angels and the Glory of God. He was astonished that the others could not see what he saw. He wanted them to hold up his children that they might see the wonders that he himself saw. He then sank back on his pillow and quietly expired.

It will be seen that the following Poem is not a work of fiction. It aims to relate—With some license of imagination, of course, else it would not be poetry—a plain historical fact. The description of Paul’s skill and knowledge as a hunter, and in managing their frail little water-crafts in a sea, is literally true of many of the Indians, and was true of him. His peace of mind in committing his family into the hands of God, after he found himself disabled, having burst a blood—vessel by carrying a large load, from which he never re- covered—he related to me: and this is expressed in the prayer put into his mouth at the close, “ which we did not fully lzear or share.”

It may be added that after the Poem was written, I read it to the Indian who gave me the account of John Paul’s death, and as he spoke the English language well, he had no trouble in understanding it. And he assured me that it described the scene correctly.

I may add that the measure—or rather the utter disregard of all regular measure—was suggested by an old poem I saw somewhere, describing a very different scene, and the “ wildness ” of it appeared, to me to be just suited to a scene of the l/Vz’ldemcx: and the zngwzzm.

It will not surely be deemed a very great stretch of “poetic