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grandly mouthing to himself passages from his favorite Milton
Part IV, What the World Brought;
Chapter 1, The Old Order Changeth
In the great vacancy that death leaves, Helen sat with Madge and Horace in the swept and garnished house at Orchardhurst. How pitifully silent it seemed, with the yellow leaves falling outside and the orange sun hanging like a lantern in the smoke-darkened sky! Forest fires had been raging, and the day was close and still. Never again would she hear the doctor’s admonitory roar, as he watched Draper puttering among the currant bushes. No more his deep, burring monotone, pacing up and down the porch of a summer evening, and grandly mouthing to himself passages from his favorite Milton. The old gardener might burn all the pea-brush now and the little paths go unhoed all autumn.
It was a bitter emptiness...
ex Florence Wilkinson, The Lady of the Flag-Flowers (1899) : 229
Harvard copy/scan (via google books) : link
same copy/scan (one of several via hathitrust) : link
—
a writings and about page is currently in progress for
Florence Wilkinson (1878-1960), poet, playwright, novelist; it has somewhat metastasized as more comes into view, regarding her own life,
her father (William Cleaver Wilkinson, 1833-1920 *), and
her four (remarkable) sisters
Edith L. Wilkinson (1865-1958)
Maud Wilkinson (1866-1911), Wellesley 1889
Ethel R. Wilkinson (1871-1962), Vassar 1893, and
Evelyn Alozil Wilkinson (later Stowell, later Rutherford; 1882-1963)
contemporary reviews, notices
- The Rocky Mountain News 40:218 (August 6, 1899)
Colorado Historic Newspaper Collection : linkNeither French, nor Canadian, nor Huron is the fair heroine of Miss Wilkinson’s story. There is a perfect maze of romantic possibilities in the early history of Canada when the sons of the ancient blood of France came to the wilderness to build a new empire. Yvonne is a descendant of an old and noble French family, yet a daughter of the Hurons. She lives in the forest with her mother, and the big, strong Indian cousin who has always expected to marry her. She loves the woodland, the grace and agility of the fawn are hers, and she is as devout as a saint, yet there burns in her pulse a thousand fevers to know the great world which lies beyond her horizon. Her beauty, intelligence and winning personality bring her suitors, but it is through the generosity of her Indian lover that she obtains an opportunity to visit the outer world, where she makes a successful debut, only to find that his love is more to her than all her polished friends. The story is told with infinite grace and delicacy. It might be called a study of a heart. The mixed qualities which form the character of Yvonne present an interesting, if perplexing combination, and it is in the naturalness with which they are delineated that the chief charm of the book lies.
H. S. Stone & Co.; $1.50. For sale by the Colorado Book company. - (somewhat promotional) notice of The Lady of the Flag-Flower, together with a handsome photographic portrait of the author, appeared in The Bookman (June 1899) : 293-294 : link (via google books)
Chicago has the honour this month of publishing a work of fiction by a new writer which should gain distinction by its admirable literary quality and descriptive power. Mis Florence Wilkinson in The Lady of the Flag-Flowers has written a story of American life and character into which the ingenious and fascinating Yvonne, half Indian and half French, is precipitated arousing passion and admiration, and causing tragedy for herself and for those who love her. It is indeed for the sake of this character that the story is told, and none of the other personages in the book lives in its pages as does Yvonne, a charming and most bewitching figure from the time that we first see her sitting on a stump watching the Indian woodcutter felling the great pine tree, “all the French-Indian blood in her stirred by the incipient tragedy,” on through her turbulent life until the end, when “she looked like a child fallen asleep in Summer’s lap.” Miss Wilkinsons’s style is richly coloured by an ornate fancy that is apt to run riot at times, and this is particularly noticeable in her otherwise fine descriptions of nature. She has yet to learn the value of reserve and the power of self-restraint in diction. But she has the quality of investing her pictures of nature with warm, human interest, and Yvonne at least is a creature of flesh and blood.
Florence Wilkinson (1878 ?-1960), poet, playwright, novelist.
more (soon) at 469a