yearn for the opportunity now offered by the
Canadian Pacific Railway of seeing the great virgin forests and
prairies before settlement has made much progress--of seeing them as
they existed before even the foot of the Red Man trod them--of seeing
them without that physical toil which only a few hardy explorers can
undergo. It is hard to realise that he who has not seen the vast
unsettled tracts of the British Empire knows Nature only under the
same aspect as she has been known by all the poets from Homer to our
own day. And when I made the allusion to Pauline Johnson's poems
which brought me such reward, I quoted "In the Shadows." The poem
fascinated me--it fairly haunted me. I could not get it out of my
head; and I remember that I was rather severe on Mr. Lighthall for
only giving us two examples of a poet so rare--so full of the spirit
of the open air.

Naturally I turned to his introductory remarks to see who Pauline
Johnson was. I was not at all surprised to find that she had Indian
blood in her veins, but I was surprised and delighted to find that
she belonged to a famous Indian family--the Mohawks of Brantford.
The Mohawks of Brantford! that splendid race to whose unswerving
loyalty during two centuries not only Canada, but the entire
British Empire owes a debt that can never be repaid.

After the appearance of my article I got a beautiful letter from
Pauline Johnson, and I found that I had been fortunate enough to
enrich my life with a new friendship.

And now as to the genius of Pauline Johnson: it was being recognised
not only in Canada, but all over the great Continent of the
West. Since 1889 I have been following her career with a glow of
admiration and sympathy. I have been delighted to find that this
success of hers had no damaging effect upon the grand simplicity of
her nature. Up to the day of her death her passionate sympathy with
the aborigines of Canada never flagged, as shown by such poems as
"The Cattle Thief", "The Pilot of the Plains", "As Red Men Die",
and many another. During all this time, however, she was cultivating
herself in a thousand ways--taking interest in the fine arts, as
witness her poem "The Art of Alma-Tadema". Her native power of
satire is shown in the lines written after Dreyfus was exiled,
called "'Give us Barabbas'". She had also a pretty gift of vers de
societe, as seen in her lines "Your Mirror Frame".

Her death is not only a great loss to those who knew and loved her: