Helen C. Black

Summary

Helen C. Black Mrs. Hungerford

Hungerford, has caused a universal thrill of sorrow, no less to her many friends than to the large section of the reading public, in every part of the globe where the English tongue is spoken, who delight in her simple but bright and witty love-stories, so full of pathos, so replete with tenderness and human interest. The melancholy event took place on Sunday morning, the 24th January, after many weeks' illness from typhoid fever, and has deprived what the beloved little writer was wont to call 'a perfectly happy and idyllic Irish home' of its chiefest treasure.
Source: Gutenberg

Helen C. Black Mrs. Hungerford

Nothing less than a genius is Mrs. Hungerford at gardening. Her dress protected by a pretty holland apron, her hands encased in brown leather gloves, she digs and delves. Followed by many children, each armed with one of 'mother's own' implements—for she has her own little spade and hoe, and rake, and trowel, and fork—she plants her own seeds, and pricks her own seedlings, prunes, grafts, and watches with the deepest eagerness to see them grow.
Source: Gutenberg

Helen C. Black Mrs. Hungerford

She finds, too, that driving has a curious effect upon her; the action of the air seems to stimulate her. She dislikes talking, or being talked to, when driving, but loves to think, and to watch the lovely variations of the world around her, and often comes home filled with fresh ideas, scenes, and conversations, which she scribbles down without even waiting to throw off her furs. Asking her how she goes to work about her plot, she answers with a reproachful little laugh—'That is unkind! You know I never have a plot really, not the bona fide plot one looks for in a novel.
Source: Gutenberg

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