Illustrations.

Portrait of Jessie,[FRONTISPIECE]
Vignette,[TITLE PAGE]
Washington and his Home,[36]
The Snow-House,[59]
Esquimaux Snow-Huts,[62]
Gallery of Literary Portraits (twenty-four figures),[89], [90]
Sugar Boiling,[124]
The Miniature,[149]
Grand Mufti and Sleepy Brahmin (two figures),[176]
The Balanced Coin,[177]
Mild Punishment,[208]
Portrait of the Sociable Contributor,[237]
Portrait of the High-Minded Contributor,[238]
The Interview,[262]
Tip-top,[290]
How to Cage a Bird,[307]
The Picture on the Box,[314]

JESSIE.

CHAPTER I.
THE NEW HOME.

It was on a dull and cold morning in February, that Jessie Hapley, a girl between fourteen and fifteen years old, stood before a window in the farm-house of Mrs. Page, watching a couple of boys who were drawing a sled on which was lashed a trunk. The sled dragged heavily through the new-fallen snow, and when yet some distance off, the cord by which it was drawn suddenly snapped asunder. After a few moments’ delay, the boys took a position behind their load, and pushed it along to its destination, without meeting with any further obstacles.

“Where will you have it, Jessie—up in your chamber?” inquired the oldest boy, as he and his companion landed the trunk in the entry.

“Yes, you may carry it up stairs, if you please,” replied Jessie.

“I hope you have got something good in that trunk, Jessie,—it’s heavy enough, if that’s all,” said the younger boy, when they came down from the chamber.

“Is it heavy?” inquired Jessie. “Well, I don’t wonder—it contains all my gold, except this pin and ring, and you know gold is heavy.”

“Is that it?” continued the boy, whose name was Ronald. “I didn’t know but you had filled it with stones, to make us think you had got something valuable. They say rogues play that game sometimes, when they put up at hotels. But about that gold; how much is there of it?”

“Well, I can’t tell you exactly how much there is, but I will show it to you some time, if you wish to see it,” replied Jessie.

“Is it visible to the naked eye?” inquired the boy, with a roguish look.

“Of course it is,” replied Jessie. “You can see it plain enough, but that is the best you can say about it.”

This was an enigma which Ronald could not solve, and it was not until Jessie exhibited to him her portion of the precious metal, displayed upon the covers and edges of several books, that he comprehended the mystery.

The fact was, whatever else might have been Jessie’s possessions, at this time, she was far from being rich in gold and silver, or any of the paper representatives of those metals. Within a period of about two months, a fearful train of calamities had overwhelmed the family to which she belonged. The oldest son, Samuel, a youth of sixteen, had committed a burglary in a neighboring town, for which he was now serving a sentence in prison. The youngest child, an interesting and lovely boy of nine, had sickened and died, at the beginning of the year. The father, who for many years had been a victim of intemperate habits, sought to drown his sorrows by still deeper draughts at the fountain of woe and death, and came to a dreadful end, a few weeks after his boy was laid in his frozen grave. Mr. Hapley’s farm and other property, on which there were heavy mortgages, were taken to pay his debts, and the widow and children were left homeless and moneyless.[[1]]

[1]. These events are more fully related in the fifth volume of this series, entitled, “Marcus; or the Boy-Tamer.”

Jessie, and her brother Henry, a lad of thirteen, were the only children now living with their mother. A home was soon found for Henry, in the village, where he was to work for his board and clothes. Mrs. Hapley, whose health was poor, was invited to return to the home of her childhood, in another town, where her parents were still living. Jessie was at that time attending the village academy, with a view of fitting herself for the profession of teaching. With no slight struggle, she relinquished this cherished purpose of her heart, and, as the readiest way of supporting herself and aiding her mother, volunteered to work in a factory. But in this hour of extremity, a new door was opened to her. Mrs. Page and her family, who were next neighbors to the Hapleys, were so much interested in the welfare of Jessie, that they offered her a home for a season, on conditions that she could not well refuse. Her services in the family were to be considered an equivalent for her board, but she was to have the privilege of attending the academy. Her mother was to provide her with clothes, and there was a prospect that she would be able to offset her tuition bills, by rendering some assistance to the lower classes. It was thought that by this arrangement she would be enabled to enter upon her chosen work in less than a year.

On the morning with which our story opens, Mrs. Hapley had bidden her daughter farewell, and started for the home of her parents. It was not without a strange sinking of heart, and eyes blurred with tears, that Jessie took leave of her mother and her old home; but nothing of this was visible on her countenance, now. She was apparently as calm and cheerful as any of those around her.

The family of which Jessie had now become an inmate, comprised the following named persons: Mrs. Page, who was the widow of a sea-captain; her sister, Miss Fanny Lee, usually called Aunt Fanny; Marcus, Mrs. Page’s son, a young man in his nineteenth year, who had just served his first term as assistant teacher in the academy, of which he was a graduate; Ronald, an adopted son of Mrs. Page, about twelve years old; and Oscar Preston, a nephew of Mrs. Page, in his sixteenth year, who came to live with the family the previous fall. They lived upon a small farm, in one of the pleasant hill towns of Vermont, which we shall call Highburg.

Jessie at once began to busy herself with various household duties, taking hold almost as handily as though she had been at home. Knowing that constant occupation is a great security against desponding thoughts, Mrs. Page was careful to provide her with something to employ her time. It was “washing day,” and of course there was no lack of work. In the course of the forenoon, Ronald came in, with his arms full of rope and bunting, and exclaimed:

“There, mother, I’ve got my flag, at last. But just see how dirty it is. Can’t you wash it, right off, so I can have it all bright and clean for to-morrow?”

“Our washing is done, and on the line, and the suds are thrown away; so you had better let it be till next Monday,” replied Mrs. Page.

“But who wants to hang up such a dirty thing as that on Washington’s birth-day?” continued Ronald. “We’ve got our staff almost ready, and we want to raise our flag to-morrow morning; but it’s all soiled, and dingy—and here’s a big rip in it, too. Why, mother, haven’t you got any patriotism at all? I should think you’d consider it an honor to wash the stains out of your country’s flag.”

Mrs. Page smiled at this sally, but did not accede to Ronald’s request.

“Couldn’t I wash it out for him, Mrs. Page?” inquired Jessie.

“You can, if you choose to,” was the reply.

“That’s right, Jessie—you ought to have three cheers for your patriotism, and I’ll give ’em to you to-morrow, when I hoist the flag,” said Ronald, as Jessie commenced preparations for the work.

Ronald detached the flag from the rope, and then went out to the barn to see how Oscar was getting on with the pole. He found it nearly ready for its place, although only the day before it was a young tree in the forest. As it was to be fastened to the gable of the barn, it was not very large, but was tall, straight, and rounded in a smooth and uniform manner. Oscar was now inserting into the top of it a small pulley or grooved wheel for the line to run over. Ronald, meanwhile, went to work upon the cap that was to surmount the whole, which he made out of a wooden knob that belonged to an old bureau.

Before they had finished the staff, Jessie had washed the flag, and hung it upon the line. It was much improved in appearance. Soon after Marcus came along, and having examined the flag a minute or two, he entered the barn, saying:

“Ronald, I don’t think you made much of a bargain when you bought that flag.”

“You don’t? Why, what is the matter with it?” inquired Ronald.

“Oh, it’s an old thing, and it wasn’t made properly in the first place, either,” replied Marcus.

“I don’t care, so long as it’s a flag,” said Ronald. “I’ll get that torn place mended, and then I guess it will do.”

“I think it is altogether too large for your staff,” continued Marcus.

“I don’t think so,” replied Ronald.

“Besides, it strikes me it is not in good proportion,” added Marcus.

“I don’t care for that,” replied Ronald.

“And it has got only twenty-nine stars, when there ought to be thirty-two,”[[2]] continued Marcus.

[2]. Thirty-two is the number at the time this is written, but there is a prospect of an early increase of our family of States, which happy event will of course add to the ever-enlarging galaxy of stars on our national banner.

“Well, nobody would have noticed that if you hadn’t told us,” added Ronald, somewhat vexed at these free criticisms of his flag.

“One star for every State in the Union, is the rule—I shouldn’t suppose such a patriotic boy as you would ignore three of the States in the confederacy,” added Marcus.

Ronald felt the force of these criticisms more than he was willing to admit. The purchase of the flag was his own individual enterprise. He gave in exchange for it sundry articles of personal property, and flattered himself that he had made a good trade. And so, in fact, he had, for flags cost more than Marcus imagined, and Ronald’s, though somewhat dilapidated, was worth all that he gave for it. But Ronald did not feel quite at ease about his bargain, after what Marcus had said. He soon after had a conference with Jessie, and the result was apparent in the evening, when that young lady undertook the task of making the flag over new.

Jessie was somewhat at a loss where to begin upon the novel job she had undertaken, and neither Ronald nor any of the family could give her much light upon the subject. Marcus soon came in, however, and his advice was sought.

“What do you propose to do with it?” was his first inquiry.

“I want to make it smaller, for one thing—you said it was too large,” replied Ronald.

“Well,” said Marcus, surveying the flag quite calmly, as it lay spread out upon the floor, “I’m afraid Jessie wont get much sleep to-night, if you intend to have it ready to hoist in the morning. She will have to rip the stripes apart, and make them all narrower; and then the blue field and the stars will be too large, and they must all be altered; but I don’t see exactly how that is to be done, for you can’t very well make the holes for the stars any smaller.”

“But why can’t we take off one or two stripes, and cut a piece off the length, and let it go so?” inquired Jessie.

“There is one slight objection to that,—it wouldn’t be an American flag,” replied Marcus.

“Well, I don’t pretend to know much about the science of flags,” said Jessie, smiling.

“You must have just thirteen stripes and thirty-two stars; didn’t you know that?” inquired Ronald.

“The outside stripes must be red,” continued Marcus. “That gives us seven red and six white stripes. The field for the stars should be square, and of just the width of the first seven stripes.”

“This is right, then, as it is, and I don’t see how we can make it any smaller without spoiling it,” said Jessie.

“I think it will bear shortening a little,” added Marcus, “and that will make it look smaller, and give it better proportions, too. It should be just one-half longer than it is broad. For instance, if it is four feet broad, it should be six feet long. Let us measure it, and see how it is.”

The flag was found to be too long, as Marcus suspected. So Jessie cut off the superfluous part, mended the rents, added three new stars to the field, and it was pronounced fit for service. Before sunrise, the next morning, it was run up to the top of the staff on the barn, amid the shouts of the boys. Soon after, the family were startled by a loud report from behind the barn. All ran to ascertain the cause, and it was found to proceed from a small cannon which Ronald had procured, in order to add eclat (which in this case means noise) to his celebration of Washington’s birth-day. He had kept this little secret entirely to himself, intending to surprise the family with this new proof of his patriotism. But the surprise did not prove quite so pleasant as he anticipated; for Marcus quickly took possession of the cannon and ammunition, and the young patriot found himself so severely condemned by all the family for playing with powder without leave, that he burst into tears, and betook himself for a while to the uncensuring society of the cows in the barn. So the bright sun of his hopes went into a cloud before breakfast!

It was noticed by all that Jessie did not eat much at the table that morning, and she did not appear to be in her usual good spirits. Ronald, too, was uncommonly sober, and altogether it did not seem much like a holiday. The flag, however, which was visible for a considerable distance, soon drew together several of the boys and girls of the neighborhood, and Ronald’s lengthened countenance gradually assumed its wonted form. Among the visitors was Henry, Jessie’s brother, who, after a while, inquired for his sister. Ronald went in search of her, but no one could tell him where she was. At length, having looked everywhere else, he ran up stairs, and thoughtlessly opened her chamber door, without asking permission. Jessie was there, and as the door opened, she closed a book that she held, with a startled look, and Ronald saw very plainly that she had been weeping, although she quickly turned her face away. Frightened at the impropriety of which he had been guilty, in thus intruding upon her privacy, he made a ludicrous attempt at apology.

“I—I didn’t know you were here,” he said; “but I’ve been hunting for you all over the house. Henry is down stairs, and wants to see you.”

“You may ask him to come up here,” replied Jessie, without turning her face towards Ronald.

Henry went up to Jessie’s room, and remained with her some time. When he came out, he, too, seemed more sober and silent than usual, and Ronald half suspected, from his looks, that he had been crying. And so he had. The fact was, both he and his sister were suffering from that distressing malady—homesickness. It seems strange that one who has exchanged a poor home for a better one, should pine after what he has relinquished; but so it is. We cannot separate ourselves from the friends with whom we have always lived, and the associations and haunts with which we have for years been familiar, without suffering more or less from homesickness, no matter into how excellent hands we may have fallen. And this feeling is sometimes very prolonged and distressing, especially with those who are exiled from their native land. A few years ago, a German emigrant in Boston became insane from homesickness, and bought a little boat, called a dory, which he fitted up in a peculiar manner, with oars, sails, a canvas covering, and provisions for a fortnight’s subsistence. He intended to put to sea in this frail skiff, hoping, as he said, to reach his fatherland in twenty-two days. When asked how he should supply himself with food, after his stock was exhausted, he said he had a little money to buy more. Perhaps he thought he should find a half-way house on the great deep, or meet a baker’s or butcher’s cart, on the voyage.

Marcus had been sitting for an hour or more before a small portable desk—a parting gift from his late pupils—which lay open upon the table in the sitting-room, with papers and books scattered around it. He had been engaged in studying a Greek lesson; for he intended at some future day to enter college in an advanced class, and with this view was continuing his studies. He was now leaning back in his chair, with his eyes intently fixed upon the ceiling, while his thoughts were busily engaged in trying to devise some way to relieve the melancholy of Jessie, and to dispel the shadows which from sympathy seemed to be stealing over other members of the family. After remaining in this position about ten minutes, he stepped into the kitchen, and held a short consultation with his mother and his aunt. He then went out to the woodshed, where Oscar and Ronald were at work, and accosted them with—

“Boys, what do you say to getting up a little celebration of Washington’s birth-day, this evening?”

“Good! First rate!” cried the impetuous Ronald, without giving Oscar a chance to reply. “What kind of a celebration shall we have? If I were you, I’d have the whole house illuminated, or else I’d build a great bonfire on the hill, that will show off all over town—wouldn’t that be grand, Oscar?”

“That isn’t exactly the kind of a celebration that I was thinking of,” said Marcus. “What I propose is, to invite in a few of our young acquaintances, and have an oration, and some appropriate music, and perhaps a tableau or two. How does that strike you, Oscar?”

“I think it’s a good idea; but who can get an oration ready, in so little time?” inquired Oscar.

“O, we can manage that—the oration will be the easiest part to arrange,” replied Marcus.

“But why couldn’t we have a bonfire, too?—I’ll take the whole care of it,” interposed Ronald, who just now thought more of material than mental illumination.

“I am afraid that might draw together more company than we want,” replied Marcus, “and so interfere with our indoor arrangements. I think you had better give up that idea.”

Ronald readily assented to this, and Marcus appointed him and Oscar a “committee of arrangements,” to invite guests, and make other preparations for the festival, giving them such instructions as he deemed necessary. He afterwards added Jessie to this committee, who entered into the plan with much interest. Marcus then returned to his studies, leaving the affair almost entirely in the hands of the committee.

The committee at once began to discuss the order of arrangements, and the leading features of the celebration were soon decided upon. The work of preparation was then divided among the committee, a particular line of duties being assigned to each member. As the front parlor, usually called “the best room,” was the largest apartment, it was selected as the place of entertainment, and Jessie at once commenced preparing it for the occasion. She removed to this room an engraved portrait of Washington, which hung in one of the chambers, and then despatched Ronald to the woods for some evergreens, with which to adorn its old black frame. She also found an old engraving of the Washington mansion at Mount Vernon, among a large collection of prints in Miss Lee’s closet, which she had liberty to overhaul. When Ronald returned, she made a pretty frame of evergreen for this, and hung it by the side of the portrait. A small work table, intended to serve as the orator’s desk, was placed directly in front of these pictures, so that one would appear on either side of him. The wall back of the table was further ornamented by a large star in evergreen, and several wreaths and festoons were displayed in other parts of the room.

Jessie seemed in better spirits at noon, and talked with much interest of the anticipated celebration. The committee continued their labors in the afternoon, and apparently had about as much on their hands as they could conveniently manage. This was especially true of Ronald, who did not seem content to do less than three or four things at once. Before sunset, however, the business was finished; and when Marcus came home, he found on his desk the following paper, in the handwriting of Jessie, with the exception of one line—the last—which was evidently an interpolation by Ronald:

PROGRAMME

FOR THE

CELEBRATION OF WASHINGTON’S BIRTH-DAY.

1. Music—“Washington’s Grand March”—piano-forte. 2. Reading of a sketch of Washington’s Life, by Jessie Hapley. 3. Music—“Hail Columbia”—sung by the Company. 4. Webster’s Oration on Washington, read by Mr. Marcus Page. 5. Music—“My country, ’tis of thee”—sung by the company. 6. Tableau. 7. Music—“Yankee Doodle”—piano-fort. 8. Going Home with the Girls.

Early in the evening the company assembled, embracing eight or ten lads and misses from the neighborhood, among whom was Henry Hapley. The old parlor never looked more beautiful, with its generous wood-fire blazing upon the hearth, its extra display of lamps disposed around the room, its decorations in evergreen and bunting, (for Ronald’s flag was hauled down at sunset, and now figured as drapery around the “orator’s desk,”) and its rows of smiling faces duly arranged in audience fashion. The programme was carried out in a style that gave the utmost satisfaction. One of the guests, a young lady, furnished the instrumental portion of the music, while all joined in the singing. By way of refreshing the memories of the audience, Jessie read from a book a brief summary of the leading events in Washington’s life, concluding by reading a poem on the same subject, from a popular English authoress, (Miss Eliza Cook,) commencing,

“Land of the west! though passing brief

The record of thine age,

Thou hast a name that darkens all

On history’s wide page!”

The oration, which was well delivered by Marcus, consisted of the principal portion of Webster’s eloquent address on the centennial anniversary of the birth-day of Washington. The tableau was exhibited in an adjoining room, the door being opened to the “audience,” when the figure was arranged. It was a scene that had been enacted at a Christmas party in which most of the people of the town participated, two months previous. The figure represented was “Liberty,” which was personated by a beautiful girl, arrayed in flowing antique drapery, holding with one hand a staff, on the top of which hung a liberty cap, and with the other hand supporting a shield bearing the United States arms. As the company were crowded around the door,—which they were not allowed to pass,—gazing at the tableau, Rover, a handsome spaniel, who had been sleeping all the evening under a table in the room devoted to “Liberty,” now came forth to see what the stir was all about. At a sly signal from his young master, Ronald, he saluted the goddess with one of his loudest barks, at which everybody laughed except the statue-like figure; and it is not improbable that she moved the muscles of her face a trifle, for Rover seemed suddenly to recognize her and, wagging his shaggy tail, he lay down by her side, close to the shield, as much as to say,—

“Ah, yes, I understand it, now. This is Miss Liberty, and I am bound to be her protector and defender.”

This unexpected addition to the tableau was received with a shout that upset the gravity even of Liberty herself, and she joined in the laugh, while the piano-forte struck up “Yankee Doodle” in the liveliest style, and the guests began to hunt up their hoods and caps, in anticipation of the grand finale smuggled into the programme by Ronald, who, by the way, in consideration of his tender years, was excused from any participation in that performance.

So ended the memorable twenty-second. There were half a dozen sound sleepers in the house, that night, but dull Care and the dolorous Blues and Dumps could find no chance to lodge there!

CHAPTER II.
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:

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: