The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1884-02-06
GEORGE FLEMING"
Something of the Life of Julia Constance
Fletcher, Our Authoress.
Every Other Saturday.

Every Other Saturday
The following biographical notes are furnished
us by we'll known authoress. Their converse
tional style adds a charm to the natural interest
excited by the subject. To those who have en-
joyed Miss Fletcher's (whose nom de plume is
George Fleming y novels "Kismet," Mirage"
and 1.-The Head of Medusa,h this little insight
into the early life and personal character of the
authoress will be pleasant reading. Especially
as we are shortly to have a new novel. YES
tigia, from her pen-a book which those who
are qualified to know assert to be "a work of
real power"
/ believe Julia Fletcher was born in Rio
Janeiro where her parents were then living her
father being personal friend of the Emperors,
and engaged in missionary work in Brazil, where
he was also attached to the United States lega-
ton, as secretary. On returning to the United
States Mr. Fletcher, acting the advice of
friends, established his household at Newbury
port Mass, as convenient headquarters while
he was absent on his ectuTng tours. Mrs.
Fletcher, a woman of wonderful fascination her
face bearing strong resemblance to the head of
Antinous feminized, was native of Geneva. in
Switzerland, and a daughter of DR.. Cesar Malan.
the learned and celebrated divine. She was
reared quite strictly, but with a picturesque
variety in her life, her father being the spiritual
adviser of many interesting people To
him the Countess D'Orsay came for religious
help when Frustrated by the sudden death of the
young Duke of Orleans, remaing under his roof
and his children sat at table with perhaps. the
Queen Of Wurtemberg at one end of the board
and poor shoemaker from the mountains at the
other Mr.. Fletcher, the son of wealthy
American banker, going to Geneva TO study
divinity with DAubigny, married the young
daughter and took her away Julia was some
four or five years old when the family came to-
Newburyport, an airy little creature, very
slight and very fair with large blue eyes and
delicate features, and a quantity of fluffy, flying
hair not exactly pretty, but with an indescriba-
BILE charm about her, full of spirit and
fire and sweetness. She led a singularly
hon Inv fn nT,t Df -
of the time; one saw her all over
the town, on the sea-wall in the ship-yards.
on the river in the gardens hand in hand with
her young brother and the faithful Swiss nurse:
but not so much out of doors that she did not find
time for her books, being in advance of most
children in her studies and at seven years of age
reading books that few read at seventeen. She
was already the intellectual companion of her
mother, which is saying much, for Mrs Fletcher
was woman of uncommon intelligence. the
writer of some unsurpassed descriptive passages,
and able to do almost anything she had chosen
to do.
Julia was a keen mimic from her earliest days,
personating perfectly, at the moment, and with
dramatic instinct, any individual of the com
munity; she kept the house gay with her wit and
mischief, and was poet from her birth. What
are you doing!" her mother asked once when she
was hardly four years old and as she ran along
stopped to sip the dew from the flowers Drink
ing melted plimlose," she answered. Her mother,
between whom and herself the most tender tie
existed, red TINS pOetlcal sense by the beauty
which she herself loved passionately and with
which she always kept her surrounded Julia
was but thirteen when the Galaxy published
these verses from her pen:
UNDER THE DAISIES.
Above the daisies the pure, white daisies,
We met one year ago.
When told my darling loved her well,
The daisies white
One year ago! stand where l stood
look at the daisies and weep;
For under the daisies, the pure, white daisies,
My darling is lying asleep.
And longingly wait for that day to come,
When under the plying sky,
And under the daisies the pure, white daisies,
By the side of my darling I'll lie.
At about that time her mother left Newbury
port and, except for one or two visits to the
young daughters of Major Ben: Perley Poore, at
Indian Hill, those who were interested in her
saw her no more. But they have always fol-
lowed her course with affection, been proud of
her successes and sorry for her sorrows, have
foretold career for her and are looking for
work at her mature hands that shall justify their
admiration for the brilliant child.