SOMETHING ABOUT DIARIES.
Jessie had one secret that she preserved very carefully from even her
most intimate friends. She kept a “journal,” or daily record of her
life. Not that she was ashamed to have this known, but regarding it as a
strictly private matter, she preferred to keep it entirely to herself.
She was induced to commence keeping a journal by some remarks made by
Mr. Upton, the preceptor of the academy, to his older scholars, near the
close of the previous year. He recommended the practice of journalizing
very highly, and mentioned quite a number of benefits that were usually
derived from it, by the young, the chief of which were these:
1. It aids in acquiring an improved and distinctive handwriting.
2. It promotes ease and rapidity of composition.
3. It assists the young to acquire and retain knowledge.
4. It cultivates habits of thought and observation.
5. It encourages habits of system and method.
6. It is often of great value in after life, when we wish to recall
facts, events, impressions, etc., of earlier years.
7. As a history of one’s life, it must always possess great interest.
Jessie at once procured a small blank book, determined to put the advice
in practice at the beginning of the year. Supposing that every book
ought to have a title-page, she set apart the first ruled page of her
journal for this purpose, and at sundry odd moments inscribed upon it,
in the handsomest characters she could make, a title expressive of its
object. Jessie was tolerably expert with the pen, and her best efforts
with this implement were by no means devoid of merit. But you must not
suppose that they were chiefly remarkable for the fantastic shapes of
the letters, or elaborate shadings, or fanciful and intricate scrawls,
and other frippery. Her taste was rather for the chaste, graceful and
simple, than for the grotesque and the tawdry. To illustrate this, I
will show you the title-page of her Journal, or rather a fac simile of
it, reduced in size, if the printer can imitate it with his types. Here
it is:
[Illustration: A _Journal for 185–_. BY JESSIE HAPLEY. “Try to be
Somebody.” _Highburg, Vt._]
I suppose the motto which Jessie inscribed upon her title-page will
strike some minds as being both too ambitious and too indefinite, to say
nothing of its inelegance. To her, however, it had a history and a
significance that rendered it quite appropriate for the place. Its
history was as follows. There was a girl attending the academy, named
Abby Leonard, who came from a distant city, and whose parents were
reputed to be very rich. She was fifteen years old, had more and better
dresses than any other girl in town, and prided herself on her superior
gentility and refinement. She was a sad dunce, it is true, but her ample
stock of self-esteem did not seem to suffer in the least from that
circumstance, and in spite of it she contrived to wield a pretty potent
influence over the other girls of the academy. When Jessie became a
pupil, and it was whispered from one to another that she was a scholar
of unusual promise, Abby contemptuously remarked:
“Oh, it’s that drunken Hapley’s daughter, isn’t it? I wonder who pays
the bills? Well, I don’t think I shall associate with such folks, if
they do feel smart. If there’s anything I despise, it’s to see a poor
girl all the time trying to be somebody.”
This cruel remark was quickly reported to Jessie, by some well-meaning
but inconsiderate friend. Foolish as it was, it entered her sensitive
heart like an arrow, and for days and nights she tried in vain to
dislodge the poisoned shaft. But at length she was fortunate enough to
find a complete antidote for the envenomed wound. She had studied until
late in the evening, and on retiring, her wakeful thoughts refused to be
composed, and the old ogre which had haunted her of late, returned to
torment her. Then she resolutely and calmly said to herself:
“I will endure this no longer. Henceforth I _will_ ‘try to be somebody,’
if I never have tried before; not in the foolish sense that Abby Leonard
meant, but in a higher and nobler one. Her taunt shall furnish me with a
motto and a spur. I will show to her and all my acquaintances that I
have no ambition to become a fine lady, or to affect gentility, or to
pass for what I am not. I will show to them that even a poor girl may
aspire to something better than these. The ‘somebody’ that I try to be,
shall possess a pure heart and a spotless character. She shall, if
possible, reach an honorable, independent and useful position. She shall
make her influence felt in the world for good. She shall win the love
and respect of those who know her. The poor, the suffering and the
erring shall always find in her a friend. But whether she succeeds in
all these things or not, her life shall be strictly governed by
christian principles, and she shall always patiently submit to the will
of God;” and Jessie concluded her soliloquy with a silent prayer that no
unworthy motive might mingle with the purpose she had formed, and that
she might be enabled to adhere to her resolution through life.
From that hour, “Try to be somebody” was Jessie’s motto. The sting was
at once withdrawn from her wounded spirit, and the ogre was suddenly
transformed into an angel of light. The weeks of the academical term
flew swiftly by, but ere half of them had sped, the aristocratic Miss
Leonard manifested not only a willingness but a desire to associate with
“that drunken Hapley’s daughter,” little suspecting that her thoughtless
and cruel remark on the first day of the term had ever reached the ears
of Jessie.
The first record Jessie was called to make in her journal was a very sad
one. On the afternoon of New-Year’s day, her youngest brother, Benjamin,
fell asleep in the arms of his mother, never more to awake in this
world, until the dead shall arise from their graves. For a day or two,
all thoughts of the journal vanished from her mind; but when the first
outburst of grief was past, she found a melancholy satisfaction in
recording the incidents of Benny’s sickness and death, and from that
time she continued her daily entries without intermission.
In the remarks which Mr. Upton made to his scholars on keeping journals,
he said there were several ways of doing this. The diaries of some
people, he said, were merely a very brief and dry record of events.
Supposing one of his scholars to keep a diary after this style, he said
something like the following would be a fair specimen of its pages:
SPECIMEN OF A DIARY—IN DRY MEASURE
“_Monday, Dec. 20._—Cloudy and cold. Attended academy all day. Studied
in the evening.
“_Tuesday, Dec. 21._—Pleasant, but very cold. Attended the academy, as
usual. Went over to Sarah Cobb’s and spent the evening.
“_Wednesday, Dec. 22._—It snowed a little in the forenoon. I studied an
hour in the morning, and then went to school. In the afternoon pa
carried us to ride. Got a lesson in the evening, and then read till
bed-time.”
Mr. Upton, who was in a rather funny mood, said this might be called a
diary in dry measure. Another method of keeping a journal he illustrated
somewhat after this fashion, denominating it a
SPECIMEN OF A DIARY—IN LONG MEASURE.
“_Monday, Dec. 20._—The weather is really dismal. The sun has not shown
himself to-day, and it is so cold it is of no use to try to keep warm. I
meant to have had an hour for study in the morning, but it was so cloudy
and dark that I over-slept myself and lost it. It seems as if the
mornings were always cloudy, when the days are shortest. I shall be
thankful when they begin to lengthen. How many precious hours I waste
abed, when the days are so short! I attended the academy morning and
afternoon, and got through tolerably well with all the recitations,
though I thought I should break down in grammar. I do wish I could take
more interest in grammar, but I don’t think I shall ever like it. I
suppose it is a necessary study, but I think it is the dryest and
hardest one we have. I wore my new plaid winter dress to school, to-day,
for the first time. The girls all think it is pretty, and so do I. I
fixed my hair in a new way, this morning, which I think becomes me much
better than the old way though John laughed at it until he got me almost
angry. I wonder that father will let that boy plague me so. After tea I
spent two hours in trying to learn my history lesson, but did not get it
perfectly, after all. I think it is too bad to give us such long
lessons. Two pages and a half, full of hard names, is enough to try
anybody’s patience. I got sleepy over it, and went to bed at nine
o’clock.
“_Tuesday, Dec. 21._—We have had a pleasant day, at last, but such a
cold one! I ought to have got up early, and looked over my history
lesson again, but it was so awful cold I dreaded to, and so I laid abed
till ma called me to breakfast. Somehow, all my good early-rising
resolutions vanish, these cold mornings. I had a terrible time getting
to school, and for a while I really thought I had frozen my nose. It
actually felt stiff. The academy was so cold, that Mr. Upton let those
of us who sit back come forward and gather around the stove to warm
ourselves. Then he made all the scholars form a procession, and march
around the room half a dozen times, in double quick time, to quicken our
blood. I missed once in history, just as I expected, but was marked
perfect in all the other recitations. I went over to Sarah Cobb’s and
spent the evening. She sent for me to come, as she was going to be
alone. We sewed, and talked, and had a good time; but we got terribly
frightened, just before the folks got back. We thought we heard steps
around the house, for two or three minutes. We listened, and kept
hearing strange noises, and knew there must be a man around, but we
wondered why he did not knock at the door, if he had come with good
intentions. Pretty soon he did knock, sure enough, and such a knock! We
thought he was banging at the door with a club. Sarah was frightened out
of her wits, and declared she would not go to the door, and so did I. At
last she went into the entry, and mustered courage enough to say, ‘Who’s
there?’ Nobody answered, but immediately after there were three
tremendous raps, louder than the first. Sarah says she thought the door
would be broken down the next time, and so she opened it, when behold,
there stood old Deacon Melcher, who had come to borrow some spearmint
for his wife! The old gentleman is quite infirm, and that is the reason
he was so long in getting to the door, after we first heard him; and he
is so deaf, that I suppose he does not know how loud he knocks at
people’s doors with his big cane. But I would not go through such a
fright again for a good deal. Mr. Cobb soon returned, and brought me
home in his sleigh.
“_Wednesday, Dec. 22._—More snow! Oh, dear, I wish it would never snow
any more—I am tired of the sight of it. Two or three inches fell this
forenoon, and then the sun came out bright. As I was away last evening,
I _had_ to get up this morning, and study my geography lesson. Mr. Upton
says he wishes us to study at least two hours every day, out of school,
and I should think he meant we should, by the long lessons he gives us.
I only half got my lesson, before it was time to go to school; but I
made out to finish it, before we were called to recite. I was marked
perfect in all my lessons, to-day. There is real satisfaction, after
all, in being able to give a perfect recitation, if it does cost some
labor. I think I have improved some this term, in this respect. As
father says I am not going to school after this winter, I must make the
best of my advantages, while they last. How thankful I ought to be for
them! After dinner, father tackled up Bessy, and took mother, John and
me in the sleigh, and carried us to ride. We went about two miles beyond
Mr. Clarkson’s mill, on the Dodgeville road, to where Mr. Rogers lives.
Father had some business there, but Mr. Rogers was away, and so he did
not accomplish anything. We saw Mrs. Rogers’s baby. It is as fat as
butter, and is a real cunning little thing; but it was not dressed
neatly, at all. It is strange how little taste some people have. Father
says looks are of no consequence, if the child is only kept comfortable,
but I don’t believe he really means it. He likes to be on the
opposition, and get me into an argument. We had a real nice ride, but it
was very cold coming home. I do wish I could have a good warm pair of
fur mittens—I think I really need them. Father says I might make them
myself, but I am sure I never could do it. It took all of two hours to
get my philosophy lesson in the evening. Then I had an hour to read the
Advertiser. As usual, it was half filled up with politics. I don’t see
why they want to publish such dry stuff. But I found two or three good
things in it, and a long list of articles advertised for Christmas and
New Year’s gifts. How I should like to take my pick from them!”
“There is still another method of keeping a journal,” said Mr. Upton,
“which, by way of distinction from the others, we may call a diary in
solid measure. I will give you an illustration of it, and we will
suppose the young lady to pass through the same scenes that the others
record:”
SPECIMEN OF A DIARY—IN SOLID MEASURE.
“_Monday, Dec. 20._—Cold and cloudy. I intended to study an hour before
going to school, but as usual, these short mornings, I over-slept
myself. However, I got through my recitations tolerably well. I got one
or two new ideas on grammar, to-day. Mr. Upton says ‘had rather’ is a
very vulgar expression, although it is often used by people who ought to
know better. ‘I had rather go’—_had go_—what tense is that? ‘I would
rather go,’ is the correct phrase. ‘Had better,’ he says, is also bad
grammar. He says he sometimes hears the girls say such a dress or bonnet
is ‘tasty,’ but there is no such word—we should say tasteful. I studied
my history lesson two hours in the evening, but did not quite master it.
I was tired and sleepy, and I am afraid I did not apply my mind very
closely to it.
“_Tuesday, Dec. 21._—Pleasant, but the coldest day yet, this winter.
Thermometer 3° below zero, at sunrise. The almanac says ‘winter
commences’ to-day, and I should think it did, in good earnest. This is
the shortest day of the year, the sun having reached its greatest
southern declination. Mr. Upton explained it to us, this morning. I was
perfect in all my recitations except history, in which I missed one
question. It is strange how we go on mispronouncing words for a long
time, without discovering our error. Our history lesson to-day had a
good deal to say about _magna charta_, the great charter of liberty
which the English barons compelled King John to sign; and it turned out
that only two in the class knew how to pronounce _charta_. I always
supposed the _ch_ should be pronounced as in chart, but it seems they
have the sound of _k_. _Distich_ is another word that I never knew how
to pronounce until to-day. It occurred in our reading lesson, this
morning, and I pronounced the _ch_ as in stitch; but Mr. Upton corrected
me, and told me to call it _distick_. I could not believe he was right,
until I looked into the large dictionary. I wish I could learn as easily
as some of the scholars do. While we were reciting history, several of
us missed, and Mr. Upton asked us if we had studied two hours out of
school, according to the rule. By-and-by he came to Jerry Hall, who
recited so well that Mr. Upton said, ‘There’s a boy that has studied his
two hours, I am very certain.’ ‘No, sir, I didn’t,’ said Jerry, ‘I only
read it over twice; that’s all that I ever study my history lessons.’
And yet I spent two hours over it, and did not learn it perfectly, even
then. I stayed with Sarah Cobb in the evening, as she was alone. When
the family got back, Mr. C. brought me home in his sleigh.
“_Wednesday, Dec. 22._—A little more snow fell in the forenoon, but the
afternoon was pleasant. I got up early and studied an hour, before
school-time. My recitations were all perfect. After dinner, father took
us all to ride. We went as far as Mr. Rogers’s house, on the Dodgeville
road. We stopped there, and warmed ourselves, and on the whole, had a
pleasant time. I noticed that the snow-birds were very plenty and
lively, this afternoon. Father says that is a sign of a storm. These
birds are not the same as the little chipping sparrows that are around
here in summer. I always supposed they were the same, but father says it
is a mistake. He says the snow-birds go to the Arctic regions in the
spring, and breed, and do not come back again till winter. I studied a
philosophy lesson, in the evening, about two Lours, and then read the
‘Advertiser’ till bed-time.”
After giving these illustrations of the different methods of
journalizing, Mr. Upton said any one of them was better than no diary,
but there was a marked difference in their value. No. 1, he said, was
dry, bare, and uninteresting—a mere skeleton; useful, it is true, but
not half so useful as it might be. No. 2 was too wordy, and recorded too
many trivial things, and dealt too much in moral reflections that seemed
to be lugged in for effect. It was quite a tax on one’s time and
patience to keep such a journal, and perseverance in so serious an
undertaking was almost too much to expect. No. 3 came nearer to the true
idea of a diary, which should be a register of daily observations as
well as occurrences—a record of ideas as well as events. This was the
system, “solid measure,” which he recommended; and it was this that
Jessie took as her model, when she began the experiment of keeping a
journal.