Now that I shall never see her face again it is with real emotion that I recur to this article and to the occasion of it.  Many years ago—­nearly a quarter of a century—­a beloved friend whom I still mourn, Norman Maccoll, editor of the “Athenaeum,” sent me a book called “Songs of the Great Dominion,” selected and edited by the poet, William Douw Lighthall.  Maccoll knew the deep interest I have always taken in matters relating to Greater Britain, and especially in everything relating to Canada.  Even at that time I ventured to prophesy that the great romance of the twentieth century would be the growth of the mighty world-power of Canada, just as the great romance of the nineteenth century had been the inauguration of the nascent power that sprang up among Britain’s antipodes.  He told me that a leading article for the journal upon some weighty subject was wanted, and asked me whether the book was important enough to be worth a leader.  I turned over its pages and soon satisfied myself as to that point.  I found the book rich in poetry—­true poetry—­by poets some of whom have since then come to great and world-wide distinction, all of it breathing, more or less, the atmosphere of Canada:  that is to say Anglo-Saxon Canada.  But in the writings of one poet alone I came upon a new note—­the note of the Red Man’s Canada.  This was the poet that most interested me—­Pauline Johnson.  I quoted her lovely canoe song “In the Shadows,” which will be found in this volume.  I at once sat down and wrote a long article, which could have been ten times as long, upon a subject so suggestive as that of Canadian poetry.

As it was this article of mine which drew this noble woman to me, it has, since her death, assumed an importance in my eyes which it intrinsically does not merit.  I might almost say that it has become sacred to me among my fugitive writings:  this is why I cannot resist the temptation of making a few extracts from it.  It seems to bring the dead poet very close to me.  Moreover, it gives me an opportunity of re-saying what I then said of the great place Canadian poetry is destined to hold in the literature of the English-speaking race.  I had often before said in the “Athenaeum,” and in the “Encyclopaedia Britannica” and elsewhere, that all true poetry—­perhaps all true literature—­must be a faithful reflex either of the life of man or of the life of Nature.

Well, this article began by remarking that the subject of Colonial verse, and the immense future before the English-speaking poets, is allied to a question that is very great, the adequacy or inadequacy of English poetry—­British, American, and Colonial—­to the destiny of the race that produces it.  The article enunciated the thesis that if the English language should not in the near future contain the finest body of poetry in the world, the time is now upon us when it ought to do so; for no other literature has had that variety of poetic material which is now at the command of English-speaking poets.  It