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AN IKDIAK POETESS
By EumenSa
A cablegram received uv "The Daily
Herald" :ast week from Vancouver an\x=req-\
auuuc-ed the death of Miss Pauline Johnson,
the Indian poetess. She was a
woman exceedingly well known on the
platform throughout Canada and the
Lnited States, a-ud also in lxmdon, which
ciiy ehe visited every j-ear or two. Mies
J on n son wrote poems, moetly of the
North American Indians, and recited
them. dressed in coeuime, to large audiences
wherever she travelled. Hei
Indian name was "Tekahiouwake," and
sue belonged to the powerful Iroquois
JSauon ol Bed Indians who were ever
tiie faithlui allies of England during the
fanglieli conquest- of Canada, the American
Devolution. and the war of 1612.
During her recitals of Indian poems
Xekaliiouv.mzc always dressed in complete
Bed Indian costume, even to the
quills in the headgear. Her appearance
was most strikingly picturesque, and her
poems caught and imparted the spirit of
her race. lise scarlet "blanket" that
completed the Indian costume Held an
historic interest, having been, used in
the ceremony of conferring the title ol
cnier on H.K.H. the Duke of Connaught.
Ua tliie occasion two of the principals
who performed the ceremony were Teka\x=req-\
hiouwake's grandfather, who fought for
the British at Queenston- Heights, and
her father, the late Chief S.H.M._ John\x=req-\
soil (Ouwanousyshon), of the Six Nations
iudiaue. The silver ornamentations on
the costume were hammered from coin
>iv £h« nalive silversmiths of her tribe.
The "brooches" worn were buried for
safekeeping near Niagara Falls for many
months durinS the stormy times of the
American Revolution, and v^ere only ex\x=req-\
nuined aftei the Imperial Government
had presented the Six Nations Indians
with the magniSeent reserve lands in
Ontario, Canada (where they now reside).'
as acknowledgment of their loyalty1 and
services to the King. Pauline Johnson
was R >wmau 01 fine presence and
strong individuality. The Indian dress
was assumed only for ther.olatform, but
in ordinary attire else always commanded
attention. She was not noticeably
darker than the ordinary "colonial," and
had that easy at-home air of culture and
comradeship that characterises certain
types of Americans and Canadians.
I knew Pauline Johnson personally,
and spent manv a happy hour with her
taiKing of boots and literary friends\x=req-\
I Toved to start her talking of Canada.
Her patriotism was go intense and her
faith in the future of the big land so
strong. Canada meant very much to
this splendid danghter -of a vanishing
people, and she was herself a proof of
the world of the Canadian "output"
"The White Wampum." His6 Johnson's
first book of poems; was. published by
John I-y.ne, and she contributed poems
and stories to "Black and White'' and
other famous English magazines, as well
as to the foremost periodicals in America.
THE HAPPY HUNTING GBOCNDS.
Into the rose-gold, westland ite yellow
prairies roll,
World of the bison's freedom, home of
the Indian's soul;
Boll oat, O seas J in snn light bathed,
Tour" plains rand-tossed, and grass en\x=req-\
swathed.
Farther than vision, ranges, farther than
eagles fly,
I Stretches the land of beauty, arches the
perfect sky,
Hemm'd through the parole miete afar,
1 By peaks that gleam like star on etar.
Fringing the prairie billows, fretting
[ -horizon's line^
Darkly green axe elumb'riog wildernesses
of pine,
I Sleeping until the zephyrs throng
To kiss their silence -into eong.
Whispers freighted with, odors stringing
into the air,
Etrsset needles as censers awing to an. al[
tar, where
The angels' songs axe less divine,
Than duo song twist breeze and pine,
laughing- into the forest, diznplesamoun- I
■ stream;
Pure as the airs above it, soft as a (summer
dream;
O! Lethean spring thou'rt only, found,
Within this ideal hunting ground.
Surely the great 'hereafter cannot be
more than this?
6urely we'll see that country after Time's i
farewell kiss? •
Who would his lovely faith condole?
Who envies not the Redskin's soul?
Sailing into the otoudland, sailing into
the Ban,
Into the crimson portals ajar when life
is done?
OI dear, dead race, my spirit, too,
Would fain sail westward unto you
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