To secure a certain amount of leisure for work, she accustomed herself to habits of early rising. Her Mother had always strongly objected to late hours, making the rule for her girls,—‘If you can, always hear eleven o’clock strike in bed.’ Charlotte is said to have made her a definite promise never to write books late at night; and through life this promise was most scrupulously adhered to.
Since she was debarred from late hours, and since in those days she could never be sure of her time through the day, early morning was all that remained to her. Punctually, therefore, at six o’clock she got up,—like her hero, Fides, conquering Giant Sloth,—and thus made sure of at least an hour’s writing before breakfast. In winter months, when others had fires at night in their bedrooms, Charlotte denied herself the luxury, that she might have it in the morning instead for her work. The fire was laid over-night, and she lighted it herself when she arose; long before the maid came to call her.
Later in the day she wrote if she could and when she could. No doubt also she found many an opportunity for thinking over her stories, and planning what should come next. She usually had the tale clear in her mind before putting pen to paper; so that no time was lost when an hour for actual work could be secured.
A sitting-room behind the dining-room of No. 3, called ‘the parlour,’ was by common consent known as her room. Here she would sit and compose her books; but she made of it no hermitage. Here she would be invaded by nieces, nephews, children, anybody who wanted a word with ‘Aunt Char.’ And she was ready always for such interruptions. Writing was with her, as we have seen, not the main business of life, but merely an adjunct,—an additional means of usefulness. Since she had secured the one early uninterrupted hour, other hours might take their chance, and anybody’s business might come before her own business. With all these breaks, and in spite of them, she yet managed in the course of years to accomplish a long list of children’s books.
One of the said nieces, Miss Annie Tucker, writes respecting certain visits that she paid to her grandmother, Mrs. Tucker, at Portland Place:—
‘In each of these visits it was always my beloved Aunt Charlotte who entertained me,—if I may use the word,—though I was a mere child; and she did it just as if I were a grown-up person. I could never see that she took less pains to interest me than she did to please the many grown-up people who called. She usually entertained us in her room behind the dining-room, so that my grandmother should not be wearied too much.
‘How often have I gone in and out of her room, with a freedom which now almost surprises me! but she never seemed interrupted by my entrance. I have seen her put down her pen, though she was evidently preparing MS. for the press, and attend to any little thing I wanted to say, without one exclamation of vexation or annoyance, or a resigned-resignation look, that some people put on on such occasions, at her literary work being put a stop to. And yet I am sure that was not because she did not mind being interrupted.’
It is not for a moment to be implied that all hard toilers in life are bound to follow precisely here the example of A. L. O. E. Circumstances differ in different cases. Often the work itself is of supreme importance; the interruptions are unnecessary and undeserving of attention. If everybody worked as Charlotte Tucker worked at that particular period, the amount accomplished would in some cases be very small, and in other cases, where undivided attention is essential, the result would be absolute failure. In her case the literary work was of a simple description, and the home-calls appeared to be distinctly first in importance. But the spirit which she showed was well worthy of imitation. Many, whose favourite occupations are, to say the least, no whit more pressing than were her books, are exceedingly tenacious of their time, and exceedingly impatient of interruptions; and with too many the home-calls come second to all personal interests. It was far otherwise with Charlotte Tucker. Whatever had to be done, she was ready to do it,—not one iota more ready to write her books, or to visit in the Workhouse, than to teach the ‘Robins,’ to amuse visitors, old or young, to entertain guests at dinner or luncheon, to take her part in a family ‘glee,’ to join in merry games, to conduct friends on sight-seeing expeditions. No matter what it might be, she did it willingly, throwing her whole energy into the matter in hand, always at everybody’s service, never allowing herself to appear worried or bored.
Despite her somewhat fragile appearance, and an appetite commonly small, there must have been a marvellous amount of underlying strength,—of the ‘wiriness’ which often belongs to delicate-looking people. If tired, she seldom confessed the fact, and never made a fuss about it. Her extraordinary vitality and mental vigour carried her through what would have entirely laid by many another in her place.
The following extracts are from letters ranging between 1861 and the beginning of 1866:—