THE FIRST GREAT SORROW, AND THE FIRST BOOK
It must have been at about this time that Charlotte became increasingly anxious for more of definite outdoor work among the poor. Her wish was to be allowed to visit in the Marylebone Workhouse; but difficulties for a while barred her way. Mr. Tucker objected strongly, fearing the risk of infectious diseases for his daughters; and no doubt the risk in those days was far greater than in these, considering the then condition of Workhouses generally.
So long as permission was refused, Charlotte seems to have contented2 herself with the simple duties of home-life. She was not one who would restlessly fight for and insist upon her own way at all costs, under the plea of doing what was right. Rather, one may be sure, she counted the prohibition3 as in itself sufficient indication of the Divine Will. However, while submitting, she probably used from time to time some little pressure to bring about another state of things; and somewhere about the beginning of 1851 her parents’ ‘reluctant consent’ was, we are told, at length given. From that time she and Fanny visited regularly in the Workhouse.
In 1849 Charlotte’s eldest4 sister, Sibella, was married to the Rev5. Frederick Hamilton, for some time Curate to Mr. Garnier, the Vicar of Holy Trinity Church, which they all regularly attended. Mr. Garnier and his wife, Lady[84] Caroline, were especial friends of Charlotte, through many a long year. Thus the first break in the charmed circle of sisters was made; and Fanny was now ‘Miss Tucker,’ Charlotte being the second home-daughter.
Until the spring of 1850 Mr. Tucker kept his health and vigour6 to a marvellous extent for a man eighty years old,—for one too who had worked more or less hard through life from the age of fourteen or fifteen. He still attended to his India House business, not seeming to find it too much for his strength; and in the April of that year, after making a speech in Court, he was congratulated by a brother-Director upon the force and energy with which he had spoken. ‘Ah,’ he replied, ‘it is only the last flicker7 of the taper8 before it goes out.’
No one had noticed aught to be wrong with him, but perhaps he had himself been conscious of failing power. Soon afterwards a sharp attack of fever and inflammation laid him low, and most serious fears for his life were felt. It was a time of terrible suspense10 to his own family; not least so to Charlotte, who had always loved him with an intense devotion. Probably few fathers are quite so devotedly12 beloved as was old Mr. Tucker; but not many men, and especially not many men of his years, can throw themselves into the interests and amusements of their children, as he was able to do.
They had till then hardly realised how suddenly the call might come. As his biographer says, he had been always ‘so full of life, there had been so much activity of body, so much energy of mind, so much elasticity13 of spirit, that they had never associated with all this vitality14 a thought of the stillness of death.’ Now, without warning, the foe15 was at their very door; and the shadow of his great danger weighed heavily upon them all.
In answer to many prayers he was given back to them again, just for a little while. But they could never quite[85] forget how nearly he had been taken from them, how unexpectedly the great separation might come.
Another event of 1850 was the marriage of Charlotte’s brother, William Tucker, at Brussels. It came almost immediately upon Mr. Tucker’s rally from his severe illness; and Charlotte had the pleasure of being taken to Brussels for the wedding by her brother, St. George Tucker, then home for a short time from India. It would be interesting to know her first impressions of the Continent, but not many letters of this date are available. The two which follow are among the last belonging to her unshadowed younger life, before the true meaning of loss and sorrow had dawned upon her. One black cloud had gathered and dispersed16; but it was soon to roll up again; and then the storm would break.
‘Oct. 3, 1850.
‘Dearest Laura,—We have finished the volume of stories which we were reading—which by the way resembled the pottles of strawberries sold in the streets, capital at the beginning, but as one gets further on, miserably17 inferior—and now Fanny has gone to her dear Will-making, so I keep her pen in company by writing to you. I soon knocked off my Will, and we have just the same sum to dispose of, but her large sheets of paper are not covered yet.
‘Now what shall I write to you about, dear—for we write so often that it is impossible that we should often have much to write about? The sun shines one day, and does not shine another; the sea is rough one morning and calm the next. I may have to follow the style of Letitia in her well-known note, “sometimes we pass Fummity, and sometimes we do not.” Things go on quietly, nothing changed but my half-sovereign. I had to buy new ribbons for Letitia to-day, and fear that I shall have to supply the children with fresh gloves.
‘I have been reading about our poor friend, the first of the Blacks, to-day; and it appears that his character was very fairly drawn18 by Miss Martineau. I was glad to know a little about the after doings in Hayti, and find that Dessalines—that fierce fellow, husband of Theresa—was made first Emperor, and killed in about two years. He was a great savage19, but his wife an amiable20 lady. Then came[86] King Henri I.—our friend Christopher the Cook—who was king at the time that my informant wrote, that is to say, in 1819. A famous king he seems to be, or have been, with a good palace, standing21 army of 25,000 men kept in strict discipline, a hereditary22 aristocracy—all of the colour of coal—and ecclesiastical establishment. He was considered in person very much like King George III.—barring complexion23, I suppose—and, in short, that part of Hayti which owned him for king seemed in a very flourishing condition in 1819.
‘Do you remember the name of Thaurepas (?), the blacky General who weakly surrendered his post to the French? What do you think the grateful Monsieurs did to him? Nailed epaulettes on his shoulders and a cocked hat on his head, and then threw him with his wife and children into the sea! Would one believe such things of men in the 19th century? I should like to know something of the present state of Hayti, and whether the throne is filled by a son of Henri I., for I suppose that Christopher is hardly living still. If he were, would you not like to have his autograph?
‘I have told you all this about Hayti, because I thought that, like myself, you would be pleased to know what really became of the characters in Miss Martineau’s Romance, and one seldom meets with a book which throws any light upon such an out-of-the-way subject.’
‘Oct. 18, 1850.
‘Dearest Laura,—We have been luxuriating in the letters from Paris.... All things look so bright and joyous24! I have twice sung “The World is so Bright” to-day con1 amore, and my heart is so lightsome that I could dance. I do not think that I have once seen precious Father dull since my return. He desires me to say that he cannot quite countenance25 a visit to Lebanon. It is rather too far, and Lord Ellesmere was very ill on his way thither26; so dear —— must give up her Blackbeard, and content herself with Sir Peter. Now Mamma is reading St. George’s note. Papa is smiling away,—his dear lips apart. He looks so nice in Clara’s beautiful cap!
‘Henry thinks so much of you, dear. He says that you are a sweet girl, and that he loves you extremely. I cannot tell you all the kind things he says of you....
‘We are such a comfortable party, and our loved absent ones help to make us more so.... This is a very disconnected sort of note, a sort of patchwork27, for my ears are as much employed as my hand, and I have every now and then a message to darn in,—then, O my chilblains! But I am determined28 to complain of nothing, for I am[87] so overloaded29 with blessings32. Dearest Parents are just going out. The weather is delicious. The world is so bright, the world is so fair! Yes, even now, when she has only a wreath of dahlias, and decks herself in yellow like the sweet little Blossom!...
‘I should like to think that our dear trio are enjoying themselves as much at Paris as I am at home. I hope and trust that we may all have such a happy winter together, when “Love’s shining circlet” has all its gems33 complete except the dear Indian absentees.’
This was written in the autumn following Mr. Tucker’s dangerous illness. After a long and tedious convalescence34, his health had steadily35 improved through the summer months, and during the autumn he seemed to be almost himself again,—able to walk out regularly, able to read much and thoroughly36 to enjoy being read to by his wife and daughters. In the evenings he would delight in their music, varied37 by merry talk and by an occasional rubber of whist.
With the coming of winter acute neuralgic pains took possession of him; and though some little improvement was seen with the advent38 of spring, it was not permanent. In the end of May 1851 he was taken to Brighton for a few days’ change; after which he became worse and then again better. Amid these fluctuations39, which included at times very severe suffering, his manly40 courage and patience were never known to fail.
On the tenth of June he seemed so far improved as to talk of going next day to the India House, for the Wednesday’s Council. The Doctor strongly opposed this; and Mr. Tucker went instead to a Flower-Show, with his daughters. For two days afterward9 he seemed particularly well. On Friday night there was no apparent change for the worse; and his usual tender good-night to them all had in it no shadow of approaching calamity41.
But the end was at hand. Before morning sharp illness[88] had seized upon him; and before twelve o’clock he had passed away.
It was a heavy blow to all who knew him; above all to his wife and children. He had been the very life of the house, the very spring of home-brightness. Charlotte’s little niece, Bella Frances, daughter of the elder brother, Henry Carre Tucker, came to spend her first English holidays in the house, not long after Mr. Tucker’s death, and she found the whole family ‘plunged42 in gloom,’—Charlotte Tucker being exceedingly sad and grave. The only one, indeed, of the whole party who was able to speak cheerfully was Laura. It is probable that Laura had at that date a dawning outside interest in her life, not possessed44 by any of the others, which may have enabled her to bear up somewhat better than they could.
Many months earlier, after the sharp illness of the preceding year, Mr. Tucker had written a letter to all his children, thanking them for their ‘late unwearied and devoted11 attentions’ to him. After desiring them ‘not to give way to strong emotions,’ he had gone on to say,—‘I have reached a very advanced age, and must be prepared for a change. Old age has its infirmities and suffering, and a prolonged existence is not to be desired. Your care should now be to comfort and console your beloved mother, who has been everything to me and everything to you all. I trust that she will not leave this house, in which we have all enjoyed so much happiness; and I feel assured that you will all tenderly watch over her, and contribute by every means in your power to her future comfort.’
This wish was fulfilled. Mrs. Tucker never did leave No. 3 Upper Portland Place, except of course for necessary change. It remained her home, and the home of her daughters, from the year 1851, when her husband died, until her own death in the year 1869.
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How much of life’s sunshine had been swept out of Charlotte’s life by the loss of her Father, it is perhaps impossible for any one to estimate who did not personally know Mr. Tucker. Not that all her sunshine had departed! Apart from her own inherent elasticity of spirit, she was devotedly attached to her Mother; and she had still the tender and satisfying companionship of Laura.
That while deeply saddened, she was not crushed, is shown by the following letter to her little niece, Bella F. Tucker, dated August 9, 1851:—
‘The sun has been shining so beautifully lately, and the reapers45 have been busy in the fields. It is a sight to warm the heart, to see the yellow sheaves covering the land, and we should bless God for an abundant harvest. There is a clover-field near us, and it looks like a beautiful carpet of lilac and green. I was calculating that there must be more than two million blossoms in that one field; and each blossom may be perhaps the home of many insects.... Then what is that field compared to all England, or England to Europe, or Europe to the whole world? Neither your little head, nor the wisest man’s, can imagine how many blossoms and how many insects there are on this great globe,—it makes one almost giddy to think of it,—and then to consider that all the world itself is only like a speck46 in God’s Creation, that there are said to be eighty millions of fixed47 stars, each of which has very likely worlds moving round it. And God made all. How very great and wonderful He must be! It seems surprising that He should care for every one on this little ball,—how much more astonishing that He should have condescended48 to come and live upon it, to have appeared as a feeble Child in one of the worlds that He had made, and then actually to die, like one of the creatures that He had formed! Is not God’s power wonderful, and His love more wonderful still?
‘When you look at the bright blue sky, do you never long to fly up like the birds,—no, much higher than the birds can fly, to your Home, to your Father which is in Heaven? I hope that time may come, sweet Bella, but now is the time to prepare. I sometimes think that this life is our school-time. We are now to learn lessons of faith and patience and love. When our education is finished we shall be allowed to go Home; and Death will be the gentle Messenger[90] to say,—“Your Heavenly Father sends for you; come and join your loved ones who have gone before. O that will be joyful49, when we meet to part no more!”’
There is a tone of quiet sadness running through the letter, in marked contrast with those joyous epistles to her sister Laura quoted earlier in this chapter. The world could never again be to her ‘so bright, so fair!’ as in the days when her Father was still upon earth. No doubt as time went on the buoyancy of her temperament50 reasserted itself; but life was no longer unshadowed; and other troubles soon followed.
One of these must certainly have been the marriage of her sister Laura, though no letters are at hand to show what she felt. Mr. Otho Hamilton, elder brother to the Rev. Frederick Hamilton, who had married Charlotte’s eldest sister, sought Laura’s hand; and he was accepted.
Not entirely51 without hesitation52. Perhaps few girls can say, or ought to say, ‘Yes’ at once, without time for consideration. When the offer came, Laura’s first impulse was, naturally, to go to her Mother for advice; her second impulse was to go to her friend-sister. It is not hard to realise what the thought must have been to Charlotte of losing this dearly-loved companion,—her room-mate and the constant sharer of her thoughts and interests from very infancy53; nor is it difficult to believe how bravely she would put aside the recollection of herself, viewing the question from Laura’s standpoint alone. It must, however, be remembered that Charlotte was romantically enthusiastic on the subject of others’ engagements, and was through life ardently55 interested in the marriages of her friends. In the present case her knowledge of how highly her Father had thought of Mr. Hamilton would be an additional incentive56 to put no obstacle in the way. It seems that Laura’s hesitation had arisen, not from any doubt as to her own feelings, but simply from a desire to[91] be sure of her duty. The engagement took place; and on the 19th of October 1852, Laura Tucker became Mrs. Hamilton. So another leaf was turned in the story of Charlotte’s life.
And now, in the very midst of these changes and losses arose a new interest. Hitherto, Charlotte had written a good deal, but she had never published, perhaps had never even thought of publishing. What first led her to adopt the style of fiction, by which she was soon to become known, it is possible at least to conjecture57. In 1850, as we have seen, she wrote another of her merry plays, full of fun and humour. Now, suddenly, she seems to have plunged into the line of children’s stories, having each a very prominent ‘purpose,’—her earliest being The Claremont Tales. It may be that the shock of her first great sorrow, the death of Mr. Tucker, making her to realise intensely the shortness of life on earth, and the supreme58 weight of things unseen, had the effect of turning her mind with a new energy to the thought of doing good by means of her pen. It may be also that, now he was gone for whom and with whom she had written her plays, all zest59 in that direction was gone with him, and the gift of writing, like a river dammed up in one direction and forced to turn elsewhere, sought naturally a fresh outlet60,—an outlet with which there should be no overpoweringly sad associations. Moreover, the home-circle was no longer what it had been. Two of the sisters, to whom she had read her plays, were gone; and with the changed order of life came a new order of writing.
Exactly when she began or finished The Claremont Tales is not known. With her usual reserve she at first said nothing about the completed MS.—beyond, at all events, reading the stories to the children. Probably she felt doubtful about her own venture; and some little time seems to have passed before she showed it to her Mother.[92] Mrs. Tucker was much delighted with the attempt, said at once that it ought to be published, and insisted on action being taken.
So, on November 19, 1851, the MS. was sent to Messrs. W. and R. Chambers61, with the accompanying letter:—
‘Sir,—It has for some time been my anxious desire to add my mite62 to the Treasury63 of useful literature, which you have opened to the young as well as the old.
‘The Tales which I now venture to offer to you for publication were originally composed for young children under my own charge, and were listened to with an appearance of interest, which gives me hopes that they may meet with no unfavourable reception from others of the same tender years.
‘I ask for no earthly remuneration; my position in life renders me independent of any exertions65 of my own; I pray but for God’s blessing31 upon my attempts to instruct His lambs in the things which concern their everlasting66 welfare; and deeply gratified should I feel, were my little work to be classed among the numerous valuable publications which you have already given to the world.
‘The Tales might be printed separately, as each forms a complete story, though all are united by connecting links.’
The date is given, but no name and no address; and a letter more quaintly67 stiff and unbusiness-like can surely never have won a Publisher’s smile. To return the MS. to herself, if disapproved68 of, was not possible; and, as it happened, The Claremont Tales did not belong to the class of publications undertaken by Messrs. Chambers. Very kindly69, however, they passed it on to the house of Messrs. Gall70 and Inglis; and by them the little book was brought out. One can imagine how eagerly Charlotte, while preserving her strict incognita, must have watched for the possible appearance of her Tales, and how delighted she would be to see the name advertised. When this occurred, she wrote again—
‘May 24, 1853.
‘A. L. O. E. presents her compliments to Messrs. Gall and Inglis, and, admiring the elegant form in which they have presented The[93] Claremont Tales to the public, is happy to offer to them for publication the accompanying volume of poems,—asking no further remuneration than 20 copies of the work, when printed, for gratuitous71 distribution. A. L. O. E. proposes sending a few copies of her poems to the principal Reviews, as a means of extending their circulation.
‘A. L. O. E. would be glad to know whether Messrs. Gall and Inglis propose adopting her suggestion of printing some or all of The Claremont Tales in a very cheap form, for distribution amongst poor children, Ragged72 Schools, etc.
‘Any communication will be received by the Authoress, if addressed to—“Miss Aloe; care of Miss Lanzun; S——; Middlesex.”
‘P.S.—Miss —— would much like to know whether The Claremont Tales were first placed in the hands of Messrs. Gall and Inglis by Messrs. Chambers, to whom she originally sent them; and whether Messrs. Gall and Inglis have any professional connection with those Publishers, so distinguished73 in the field of literature. Should Messrs. Gall and Inglis not wish themselves to undertake the publication of a volume of poetry, they are at perfect liberty to submit the work to Messrs. Chambers. An early answer will oblige.’
Three months later comes another letter, still further relaxing her secrecy74, and still on the subject of the ‘volume of poems’:—
‘August 6, 1853.
‘Miss C. M. Tucker presents her compliments to Mr. Inglis, and begs to acknowledge the receipt this morning of his obliging communication to Miss A. L. O. E., which nom de guerre, in compliance75 with his wish, and in reliance on his promise to preserve her incognita, she now exchanges for her own.
‘Miss C. M. Tucker is now at the seaside, and is therefore unable personally to communicate with Mr. Inglis. She requests, however, that he will continue to direct any letters to S——, to the care of Miss Lanzun.
‘Miss C. M. Tucker is much pleased to learn that her little work has been favourably76 received in America. She will be very happy to write such an addition to The Fortress77, as may make it equal in length to its companion tales.
‘As Mr. Inglis’ objection to publishing The White Shroud78, etc., seems only to rest upon the shortness of the poems, Miss C. M. Tucker would have no objection to sending a larger book of her poetry, from which Mr. Inglis might select what he thought likely[94] to please the public. Miss C. M. Tucker has written an Epic79 on the eventful Life of St. Paul, and a variety of other pieces. Would Mr. Inglis wish them forwarded to Scotland, or to his present address in London? Miss C. M. Tucker herself selected The White Shroud, as she thought it one of those most likely to be popular, and perhaps most calculated to be useful. The name might attract readers, who would not glance at what appeared from its title to be exclusively religious. It would also be well adapted for illustration; but that Miss C. M. Tucker leaves entirely to the taste and judgment80 of Messrs. Gall and Inglis, only suggesting that perhaps the commencement of winter might be a favourable64 time for such a work of Fancy to make its appearance, when it might take its place among the elegant little volumes designed for Christmas remembrances.’
Others were disposed to take a different view as to the peculiar81 attractiveness of such a name as The White Shroud, and when the volume was published it came out as Glimpses of the Unseen.
A first interview between Charlotte and one of her Publishers, recalled by some of the family, probably took place at about this date, or not very long afterwards. She is said to have been shy on seeing him, though not commonly supposed to suffer from shyness. In any case it is to be hoped that few Authors are, at first starting, so absolutely convinced of their own powers as not to go through certain twinges of bashfulness.
One copy of The Claremont Tales was sent out to her brother, Mr. St. George Tucker, who was again in India, and had recently gone to Azimgurh. When the book arrived, he sat up reading it until past one o’clock in the morning; no small compliment to a young Author. He then despatched a messenger on horseback to Benares, with the volume,—a ride of sixty miles,—that his brother, Mr. Henry Carre Tucker, might with all speed enjoy the same pleasure. Charlotte, hearing this through her Mother, was not a little gratified.
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Thenceforth Charlotte went steadily in for Authorship. Volume after volume flowed from her fertile pen; most of them for children; many of them exceedingly amusing; all of them definitely designed to teach something. One is rather disposed to fancy that in the writing of these books there may have been, in the beginning, something of a struggle. Charlotte was by nature ambitious; and her literary gift was considerable; and some of its potentialities appear to have been sacrificed to her ardent54 desire for usefulness. Whether she ever could or would have made her mark in any of the higher walks of literature is a question which could only have been decided82 by actual experiment; but at least she must have felt it to lie within the bounds of possibility. Some people may think that her desire for usefulness was a little too ardent in its manifestation83, since it led to so extremely didactic a mode of writing as that of many among her books. No one can deny that some of the said volumes do contain a large amount of direct ‘preaching’; not merely of life-lessons, interwoven with the story in such wise that the one could not be read and the other missed, but rather of little sermons so alternating with the story that a child might read the latter and skip the former. Probably, most children, when reading to themselves, did follow this plan. Directness to a fault was, however, a leading characteristic of Charlotte all through life. The same tendency,—many would say in plain terms, the same mistake—is apparent in the later years of her Indian work, in the mode of her Zenana teaching.
With respect to her writings, nothing is more impossible than to gauge84 correctly the amount of comparative good worked in any age, by different books or different styles of composition. That which makes the most stir, that which has the greatest apparent success, is by no means[96] always the most wide in its influence. Some of us may be inclined to think that A. L. O. E. might have reached a larger circle, might have gained a more extensive influence, if she had less anxiously pressed so very much didactic talk into her tales,—if too she had more studiously cultivated her own dramatic instincts, and had more closely studied human nature. All this we are quite at liberty to believe. For the question as to ‘doing good’ through a book does not rest upon the amount of religious teaching which may be packed into a given number of printed pages, but rather upon the force with which a certain lesson is presented, with or without many words. There is no especial power in an abundance of words; rather the reverse!
But the main gist85 of the matter as regarded Charlotte herself lies outside all these questions. It is found in the simple fact that she determinately stamped down her own personal ambitions, and bent86 her powers with a most single heart to this task of ‘doing good’; that she resolutely87 yielded herself and her gifts to the Service of her Heavenly Father, desiring only that His Name might be honoured in what she undertook. Whether she always carried out this aim in the wisest manner is a secondary consideration. From the literary and artistic88 point of view, one may say that she undoubtedly89 did make some mistakes. From the standpoint of a simple desire to do good, one may question whether she could not have done yet more good by a different style of writing. But with regard to the purity and earnestness of her desire, with regard to the putting aside of personal ambitions, with regard to the single-heartedness of her aims, there can be no two opinions. And He who looks on the heart, He who gauges90 our actions not by results but by the motives91 which prompt them,—He, we may well believe, honoured His servant for her faithful work in His Service.
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Nor must we ignore the measure of marked success which she certainly had, if one may judge from the speed with which her books came out, and the demand which apparently92 existed for them. Even in her most didactic tales there are keen and witty93 touches, and droll94 descriptions. For ‘teaching’ purposes her boys may sometimes converse95 together as boys never do converse; but none the less those boys are real, and they recur96 in after years to the memory as only living people or vivid creations ever do recur. In some of her rather higher flights, such as Pride and his Prisoners, are to be found stirring scenes, drawn with dramatic power.
One thing should be noted97: the curiously98 allegorical or symbolical99 style of thought which was natural to her.
It did not appear in the girlish dramatic efforts,—unless in the direction of a perpetual play upon words,—but in her published books it developed speedily. This was remarkable100 in her; not because of any peculiar result from it in England, but because of its very peculiar adaptation to Indian needs. One may almost think of her authorship in England as mainly a long preparation for her Indian toil101; the continuous practice in habits of imagery and allegory, by no means especially suited to our Western minds, gradually fitting her to deal with the Oriental mind, little as she yet dreamt of any such destination for herself. All these years, without knowing it, she was waiting for and was working upward to ‘the Crown of her Life,’ as it may be termed; those eighteen years in the Panjab. All these years she was being prepared and made ready, till she should be as a ‘sharpened instrument’ in the Hand of her Master, fitted for the work which He would give her to do.
Among the many volumes published during the first fifteen or twenty years of authorship were the following:—The Giant-Killer, The Roby Family, The Young Pilgrim,[98] History of a Needle, and Rambles102 of a Rat, before 1858; Flora103, The Mine, Precepts104 in Practice, Idols105 in the Heart, and Whispering Unseen, before 1860; Pride and his Prisoners, The Shepherd of Bethlehem, My Neighbour’s Shoes, War and Peace, Light in the Robber’s Cave, and The Silver Casket, before 1864. A trio of volumes appeared in succession, the first of which she wrote at her Mother’s suggestion,—Exiles in Babylon, Rescued from Egypt, and Triumph of Midian. Another trio, coming in due course,—Fairy Know-a-Bit, Parliament in the Playroom, and The Crown of Success,—were bright little books, containing a good deal of useful information. Besides these were published at intervals106 House Beautiful, Living Jewels, Castle of Carlmont, Hebrew Heroes, Claudia, Cyril Ashley, The Lady of Provence, The Wreath of Smoke, and very many others.
One of the most strongly allegorical of her earlier works was The Giant-Killer; and in that little book she no doubt made free use of her own experiences.
It is easy to believe that she must have had many a hard battle with Giant Sloth107, before she gained the habit of always rising at six o’clock in the morning, a habit persevered108 in through life. Again, one of her eager and impulsive109 temperament could not have been naturally free from a clinging to her own way, and from a certain vigorous self-seeking; and many a bitter conflict must have been gone through, before friends could, with an all but unanimous voice, speak of hers as a peculiarly unselfish character. In the struggles of Fides to get out of the Pit of Selfishness, we may read between the lines of Charlotte’s girlish battlings.
Even more, in the fight with Giant Pride we seem to see her hardest tussle110 of all, and the mode in which victory came to her. Giant Pride’s assumed name of ‘High Spirit,’ his hatred111 of Meanness, Gluttony, Cowardice112, and[99] Untruth, are all an echo of parts of herself. The polishing of the darkened gold of her Will she had long known in the small unavoidable frictions113 of everyday life; and the plunging114 of that Will into furnace-heat, and the straightening of its crookedness115 by means of heavy successive blows, she had begun to know in the death of her dear Father, and would soon know more fully43 through other sorrows coming after. But many more than three blows were needed for the shapening of Charlotte Tucker’s Will. She may have dreamt when she wrote the book that three would be enough, and that the King’s call to Fides might in her case be soon repeated. She little knew the long years of toil and patience which stretched far ahead.
A tiny glimpse of the daily fighting, which she like all others had to go through, may be seen in the succeeding letter, written to her sister, Laura, a year or two before the death of old Mr. Tucker:—
‘I obeyed you in putting your note into the fire, after twice perusing116 it; but it seemed a shame so to destroy what was so sweet. How little you and I have been with each other lately, yet I do not think that we love one another one particle the less,—I think that I can answer for myself at least. May God prosper117 your humble118 efforts, my sweet Laura. I enter into all your feelings....
‘I do not like to overload30 dear Bella with advice. It appears almost presumptuous119 from a younger sister; but I threw in my word now and then. But what am I?... I fear that I have been peevish120 with —— to-day. I feel discontented with myself, and need your prayers.’
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eldest
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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8
taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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9
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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devotedly
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| 专心地； 恩爱地； 忠实地； 一心一意地 | |
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13
elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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14
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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15
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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16
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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18
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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19
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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20
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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21
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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22
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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23
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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24
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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25
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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26
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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27
patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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28
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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29
overloaded
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| a.超载的，超负荷的 | |
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30
overload
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| vt.使超载；n.超载 | |
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31
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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32
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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33
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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34
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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35
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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36
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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37
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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38
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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39
fluctuations
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| 波动，涨落，起伏( fluctuation的名词复数 ) | |
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40
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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41
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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42
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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43
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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44
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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45
reapers
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| n.收割者，收获者( reaper的名词复数 )；收割机 | |
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46
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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47
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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48
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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49
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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50
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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51
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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52
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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53
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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54
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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55
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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56
incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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57
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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58
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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59
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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60
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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61
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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62
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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63
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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64
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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65
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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66
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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67
quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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68
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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70
gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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71
gratuitous
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| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
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72
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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73
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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74
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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75
compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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76
favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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77
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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78
shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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79
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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80
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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81
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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82
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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83
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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84
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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85
gist
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| n.要旨；梗概 | |
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86
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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87
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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88
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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89
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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90
gauges
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| n.规格( gauge的名词复数 )；厚度；宽度；标准尺寸v.（用仪器）测量( gauge的第三人称单数 )；估计；计量；划分 | |
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91
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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92
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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93
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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94
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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95
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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96
recur
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| vi.复发，重现，再发生 | |
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97
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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98
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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99
symbolical
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| a.象征性的 | |
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100
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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101
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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102
rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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103
flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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104
precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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105
idols
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| 偶像( idol的名词复数 )； 受崇拜的人或物； 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物； 神像 | |
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106
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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107
sloth
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| n.[动]树懒；懒惰，懒散 | |
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108
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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110
tussle
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| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
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111
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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112
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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113
frictions
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| n.摩擦( friction的名词复数 )；摩擦力；冲突；不和 | |
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114
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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115
crookedness
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| [医]弯曲 | |
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116
perusing
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的现在分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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117
prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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118
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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119
presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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120
peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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