Produced by Andrew Sly
This collection of prose written by Pauline Johnson was firstassembled and published shortly after her death in 1913.
By E. Pauline Johnson
With introduction by Sir Gilbert Parker andappreciation by Charles Mair.
Dedicated to Sir Gilbert Parker, M.P.
Whose work in literature has brought honour to Canada
Introduction
Pauline Johnson: An Appreciation
My Mother
Catharine of the "Crow's Nest"
A Red Girl's Reasoning
The Envoy Extraordinary
A Pagan in St. Paul's Cathedral
As It Was in the Beginning
The Legend of Lillooet Falls
Her Majesty's Guest
Mother o' the Men
The Nest Builder
The Tenas Klootchman
The Derelict
The inducement to be sympathetic in writing a preface to a book likethis is naturally very great. The authoress was of Indian blood,and lived the life of the Indian on the Iroquois Reserve with herchieftain father and her white mother for many years; and thoughshe had white blood in her veins was insistently and determinedlyIndian to the end. She had the full pride of the aboriginal of pureblood, and she was possessed of a vital joy in the legends, historyand language of the Indian race from which she came, crossed bygood white stock. But though the inducement to be sympathetic inthe case of so chivalrous a being who stood by the Indian bloodrather than by the white blood in her is great, there is, happily,no necessity for generosity or magnanimity in the case of PaulineJohnson. She was not great, but her work in verse in sure andsincere; and it is alive with the true spirit of poetry. Her skillin mere technique is good, her handling of narrative is notable,and if there is no striking individuality—which might have beenexpected from her Indian origin—if she was often reminiscent in hermanner, metre, form and expression, it only proves her a minor poetand not a Tennyson or a Browning. That she should have done whatshe did do, devotedly, with an astonishing charm and the delightof inspired labour, makes her life memorable, as it certainly madeboth life and work beautiful. The pain and suffering which attendedthe latter part of her life never found its way into her work savethrough increased sweetness and pensiveness. No shadow of deathfell upon her pages. To the last the soul ruled the body to itswill. Phenomenon Pauline Johnson was, though to call her a geniuswould be to place her among the immortals, and no one was moreconscious of her limitations than herself. Therefore, it would doher memory poor service to give her a crown instead of a coronet.
Poet she was, lyric and singing and happy, bright-visioned,high-hearted, and with the Indian's passionate love of naturethrilling in all she did, even when from the hunting-grounds ofpoesy she brought back now and then a poor day's capture. She wasnever without charm in her writing; indeed, mere charm was toooften her undoing. She could not be impersonal enough, andtherefore could not be great; but she could get very near to humansympathies, to domestic natures, to those who care for pleasant,happy things, to the lovers of the wild.
This is what she has done in this book called "The Moccasin Maker."Here is a good deal that is biographical and autobiographical inits nature; here is the story of her mother's life told with raregraciousness and affection, in language wh