WORKED WITH DICKENS.

Otago Witness, Issue 1851, 30 March 1904, Page 69

WORKED WITH DICKENS.

Miss Amelia Thurston Tells of Habits, Methods, and Manners of the Great Novelist — Helped Her in Her Writing.

There lies beyond the old bushwick meadows, on the brow of a hill, the little straggling hamlet of Port Mar. In this out-of-the-way spot lives a woman o£ advanced years. Her name is Amelia Thurston. A .single glance at her denotes hei a lady, born and bred. The home in which she lives is a humble one, but for all that more than one author of world-wide fame has paid his respects to that lowly cot. The singular interest that attaches to this estimable woman is cute to the fact that she was for many years inlujiateiy associated^ with Charles Dickens, and at one time his amanuensis. She not only was a frequent visitor to Mr Dickens in his home, but- was often visited by him in her own residence in London. In this wav she gained an insight into the habits, methods, and manners of the great English novelist such as few even of his most privileged friends have had the good fortune to acquire.

The following interview with this accomplished woman is given to the public just as the words fell from her own lips, and is a true statement of a most interesting story : —

"I was born in Massachusetts, in the suburbs of Boston. My home was one of luxury, refinement, and wealth. Every advantage that a fine education could bestow upon an ambitious girl was showered upon me. Very early in life I got hold of the words of Dickens, and fell in love with them, particularly 'Sketches by Boa, 'David Copperfield,' and 'Nicholas Nickleby.' They made such an impression upon my young mind that, though still a girl in my teens, I resolved to cross the water and know for myself personally the man whose works had so d'elightad me. I had already written -several "magazine articles, some of which had been accepted, and I must confess that I had a desire to present in person an article of my own to the gieat author for publication in his magazine. Supplied by an indulgent father with plenty of money, I vent with 1113 maid to London, and there procured for myself comfortable .partrnenta'not far from old Bow Square Church.

"It was autumn. The people were as yet largely out of town. Mr Dickens was on the Continent. The days wore on, and .Thanksgiving came, with its winier cheer, and then Christmas, a.nd I began tc he homesick and to long once more for my old New England home. But all uch fashion as that was only fie for dilettanti, and had to bs put by. So 1 turned my b.-ck 011 myself and worked nit this homMsifkness into a. story of New England hie, which I pent to' Mi Dickens as soon as he icturned.

"About this time unhappy rumoins of demestic infelicity in Tavibtock Bouse crept out into the" ah, started by Hterrav laev who enailed enviously at the heels of the great writer. Added to such s<v-i-oaas, which told upon him veiy peiceptibly, were multiplied tl's ince«saiu toil and social strops which greatly ino'pn,s-ed his daily cares. In spite of aH the«e things, however, po.-sihly the more because I was a girl, alone and uufrieaded in London,

he took time to lead my mami=cript. To my gieat. giat ; ri^ a tion ,hkl surpn^e hs accepted it, paid me liberally toi it, and asked mo to go on contributing to his magazine

"MoL long aftpr this incident in my life Mr D«ckcns sent me a note, inviting me to call upon him at his house on such a day and hovr. Punctuality w;is one of the gods he worshipped. Not being much acquainted with the map of London. I went a. roundabout v.ay, arriving ol his residence half an hour lale. The butltr inflamed me, much to my chagrin, that Mr Dickens had waited for me half on houi, but had been obliged to go to his jfiice, and that he would expect me on the same clay and hour the Wowing week. Once more a monstrous toj, prevented him from reaching home in time to meet mo, which brought a uot-9 of explanation and a renewed appointment. The third attempt was successful, and I found myself face to face with the man w he of all otheis I most dosued to mcct — Charles Dickens— at list.

"'Ten minutec late!' exclaimed' the apostle of punctuality, laughingly. ' I began to fear that you had doped with Mokanna, lorn Moore's veiled prophet. He must- liave been your frien.l of the fog.' said Mr Dickens, as lie placed me in a, chair from the Old Curiosity Shon and began to. ply me with questions about the great country out of which I had come. I answered him as best I could, and after a pleasant interview we paited. Not long after I was mrpiised to recsive a note frotn him informing me that he was coming to see me. I was living at that time neai the West End, in a rather antiquated stone cottage. The day came, and with it Mr Dickens, on time to the minute. Hardly had he entered the parlour and taken a. seat when 'Fancy,' my pet canary, who was flying about the room, peiched on his head and began to caress it. J was in the act- of driving away the bird when Mr Dickens good-naturedly remarked, 'Let it stay. Wht-n lam home I often gc about with half an aviary around my head.' So, with the canary perched lightly there upon the dome of that brain that' had circled the world with its beautiful thoughts, we sat and talked, as he outlined for me a series of researches into the different phases of London life. This was to be niv study, tho study of human nature. I accepted his suggestions, and sj)ent years in following them out, reporting to him as. I progiessed each new find. Sometimes he laughed uproariously at me when I made a blunder, but generally he accepted my articles and published them, with such emendations as the dictates of his ripc-r experience might deem best. In this way I came to know Mr Dickens very well, often acting at last as his amanuensis and assistant. Ho wrote carefully, slaughtered mercilessly, and made many changes. He once said to me, and I r_e\ er forgot it :

" 'There is a quiet way of writing a story which is mure powerful than the opposition of ike most violent contrasts. The only way to tell a story is to let the story tell itself. Simplicity is the first and last trait of style.'

"Mr Dickens lived frugally, dressed soberly, worked methodically. He woi-e vo jewellery save in. a parsimonious way. He despised the shams of ostentations vulgarity. He was a modest man. He never talked eitliei about himself or his books, save when others introduced the subject, and then very gingerly. Honest ].iaise pleased him, but indiscriminate flattery disgusted him.

"The most beautiful part of Mr Dickens's life has never been known, to any extent, and, therefore, has never had justice done it. I refer to his great moble heart ■and the sympathy he poured -out for the poor and the unfortunate. I hare witnessed many of these acts of his generosity, and know, as probably few others do, how much he sacrificed in order to relieve destitution and rescue self-respect from the de-, gradation of rags. On one occasion two young artists, far from home, became stranded. Mr Dickens happened to hear of their embarrassment, aad without asking any questions seat them a £10 note, and with it simply the words, ' Home is the best place.'

"From all parts of the great nty appeals for help were constantly nude to 'him, and never in vain. He did not stop to inquire whether the request came from a saint or a sinner. He knew tiiat it came from a human being, and that was enough. In. the crowd that gathered round him at last to look upon his dead face stood many a weeping zecipient ?f his generosity who could have pronounced upon him a far more impressive panegyric than pen or pulpit

"There is not the slightest doubt but that the prolonged reports of his domestic affairs, coup'ed with other unkindly animadversions, wore upon his sensitive nature and hislened his death. During it oil, Mr Dickens in spite if tha oft-repeated entreaty of his fiiends, remained absolutely silent, ncvei once condescending to deny a single unkind accusation. He once ~-aid tii tn-e in a moment of temporary depression :

" 'We must know everytlnno; before we can pass an opinion upon am thing.'

"He always leaned to-naid ir.orcv. protbaVy because ne had been so unmercifully treated by a certain class of envious men "who sought to confine his pov\ei? vi ithin. the role of the mere c«iieatiuist, but the furious onslaught of mediocrity surged iigain-t this human rock in vain and fell back vi ith a lii--s into fo:un. Ye^, devoutiv do I bless God for my personal k'lov; ]ed_ce of the life and character of Cluule^ Dickens.

"I had now spent sevsra 1 year* m London, ami in s-pite of my pleas-ant relations if the great marc, I yearned to look once moif on my early home. Changes had swept over it. Dear ones had died. And all th-e^e thing* made me doubly anxious to revisit whal .vas left of it. ILivinc; finally decided to leave London, I communicated my intention to Mr Dickens. v\ho ..line immediately to see me and sought to change my rrind. But the st€-p was nil ady taken ■iiid my arrangements v.erv. v 1 competed. I shall never lorgel my last iuteiview willi tliat greaii

"human benefactor, who had been so good a, friend to me, always treating me -frith such., urbanity and kindness. "It was in the little &tone cottage at the West End. Mr Dickens came in the evening of a beautiful spring day to say good-bye to me and to wish me Godspeed. The' late sun was dipping J>elow the golden west. He came in full evening dress on his way to a dinner party of literary people. Entering the room, he ■sank down into an easy chair, with a , weary, worn expression upon his face. Across the street stood aD ivy-covered thurch. In its vines hundreds of sparrows ■gossiped and scolded. Suddenly the transparent voice of a boy soprano rippled out on the air, after which elimbsd up, as if to overtake it, a rich, beautiful alto, followed at last by an exquisitely blended chorus of boyish voices, chanting a litany to ,the Virgin. The effect upon Mr •Dickens was impressive to behold. Gradually the haggard lines faded out of his face -as I watched it, and a look of deep serenity settled peacefully upon that massive, ~ countenance. The sparrows had stopped their sec-Ming, and in the mellow afterglow he seemed transformed into a very angel of light. His soul seemed translated. There was a far-away look on his face, as if. the spirit had floated up on the musip to heaven. At length the little canary that had been hovering about jliis head, aroused by the strains of music, poured forth a crystal shower of delicious motes. "

"Mr Dickens arose, gave me his hand, and said as he looked into nay eyes for the last time on earth : ' " ' Surely this is a. good-night blessing.' '

"And, as one awakening from a dream, he walked slowly away into the deepening shadows. I never saw him again."