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The whole of the long north gallery is flooded with its splendor. The oriel window at its farther end is lighted up, and from it can be seen a picture, living, real, that resembles fairy-land. One day a young married man killed a prairie rabbit. He ran home as fast as he could, and told one of his wives to hurry and get a skin of water to cook it. She started down to the river for water, and as she was going along she heard a beautiful song. She looked all about, but could see no one who was singing. "Hate you!" replies he, with a smile of ineffable fondness, "my preserver and my love!" "You mean the Australian?" says Dorothy. "Oh, as for him, he is perfectly utter!—such a man to follow in Nicholas's footsteps!".