Jessie

The preceptor of the academy, Mr. Upton, used to say a great deal to the scholars about the importance of good spelling, and was always sure to point out any sins against this virtue which he discovered in the various written exercises of the school. He said that even if a man was well educated in other respects, but deficient in this, his bad spelling would often cause him to be mistaken for an ignorant person. Occasionally, by way of enlivening the exercises of the school, and interesting the pupils in this important branch of study, Mr. Upton would allow them to have a “spelling match,” as it was called. Sometimes the contest was between the girls, arranged on one side of the room, and the boys on the other. A leader was appointed on each side, to give out the words to his or her regiment. A pretty hard lesson was selected, and the leaders, beginning at the heads of their respective bands, took turns in giving out the words. No waiting or hesitation was allowed, but if a scholar could not promptly spell the word given out, he had to return to his seat. The ranks were rapidly thinned out, and the band which retained the largest number, when the exercise closed, were the victors.

These contests became still more exciting, when, as it sometimes happened, the leaders were allowed to “choose sides.” Selecting by turns any one they pleased from the whole school, they picked out the best spellers first, and so kept on till all the scholars were enlisted on one side or the other.

Though these spelling matches were greatly enjoyed by the scholars, and were profitable to them, too, they were liable to some objections, and for this reason, probably, were not often indulged in. On one occasion, when Jessie was one of the leaders, she chose Abby Leonard on her side, when her list was only one-fourth full. She did this, to save Abby the mortification of being left to the last, as she would otherwise have been; for she was a notoriously bad speller, and somebody had said of her, with more truth than kindness, that she ought to count only half of one, in a spelling match. The struggle proved to be a pretty hard one, and after the two bands had been reduced down to the best spellers, they were so equally balanced that it was for a time doubtful whether either would be able to claim a victory over the other. At length, however, one of Jessie’s company missed a word, and the match was decided against them, as the time had come to dismiss the school. The next day, Jessie learned that under the excitement and disappointment of the moment, two or three of the scholars on her side had found much fault with her for choosing Abby instead of a good speller, whom she might have had, and thus gained the day. Thus, in doing an act of kindness to one, she had provoked censure from several of her associates. And, on reflection, she was led to doubt whether she did not deserve blame; for ability to spell, and not favor, was the principle on which the leaders were expected to make their choice.

At the next spelling match, the leaders thought of nothing but getting the best spellers, and Abby sank to her natural level. She was almost the last one called; and when her name was called, she turned a look of scorn upon the young man who conferred this tardy honor upon her, and refused to take her place. Mr. Upton whispered a few words to her, but evidently without changing her mind, for he told the scholars to go on without her. That was the last of “choosing sides” during that term. The preceptor said nothing about the affair, but this unhappy exhibition of temper probably led him to abandon an exercise that had been a favorite one with the scholars generally.

Jessie maintained a high rank as a scholar, although she labored under some disadvantages, no small portion of her time being occupied with her work at home, and her duties as assistant in the school-room. These disadvantages, however, were not so great as they seemed; for what she lost, on account of them, was made up to her in other ways. Those very obstacles to her success served as a spur, inciting her to effort, and leading her to appreciate better the advantages within her reach.

Some of the scholars thought Jessie must be peculiarly gifted, because her lessons were uniformly so perfect. But this was not the case. Study was study, to her, and not play. It was not because she learned easily, but because she worked hard, that her recitations rarely fell below the required mark.

“I’d give anything in the world if I could have such a memory as you’ve got,” said Abby Leonard to Jessie, one day.

“Why, do you think I’ve got a good memory?” inquired Jessie.

“Of course you have,” replied Abby. “You couldn’t learn your lessons so easily, if you hadn’t. And then only think how little time you have to study, too!”

“I think my memory is rather poor,” resumed Jessie. “I get almost out of patience with myself, sometimes, it takes me so long to learn anything. If you knew how hard I work to get my lessons, you wouldn’t think I learned easily. In fact, I shouldn’t wonder if your memory was better than mine, after all.”

“Why, Jessie Hapley, how absurd!—when everybody knows you’ve got such a splendid memory!” exclaimed Abby.

“Then everybody is mistaken,” replied Jessie, “for my memory is no better than the average, if it is as good. What was that long story I heard you telling some of the girls, yesterday noon?”

“Oh, I was telling them the adventures of Lord Adolphus D’Orsay, the hero of a novel I read a few days ago,” said Abby. “He’s a beautiful character, I can tell you—tall, and handsome, and rich, and his father—”

“No matter about that, now,” interrupted Jessie; “what I want to find out, is, how long it took you to commit that story to memory?”

“Commit it to memory?” inquired Abby, with manifest surprise. “You didn’t suppose I committed that novel to memory, did you? Why, I only read it once—and I went through it like lightning, too, and skipped all the uninteresting parts, besides, I was dying so to see how it was going to end.”

“And yet,” added Jessie, “you could relate, several days after, a large part of this story, and give many minute particulars about the characters. I don’t believe my memory would be equal to such a feat as that.”

“Oh, well,” said Abby, “that was only a story, and it’s easy enough to remember stories. But take such a lesson as our class had this morning—that hateful list of irregular verbs—I can’t learn it, and I wont try. I should think Mr. Upton would know better than to tell us to learn such a stupid mess of words—what good would it ever do us, if we did learn them?”

“I learned the list of irregular verbs two years ago, and I did not find it half so hard as I thought it would be,” said Jessie. “I remember all about it, as well as though it was last week. I thought it was a hard lesson, and so I studied it just before I went to bed, and then repeated it over two or three times, after I was in bed.”

“Why, is that a good way to learn a hard lesson?” inquired Abby.

“I think it is,” replied Jessie, “and I’ve heard others say that if you want to remember words, it is a good rule to fix them in the memory just before you go to bed. They say the best way to teach a parrot to talk, is to darken his cage, and keep repeating the words he is to learn while he is going to sleep. I kept saying over the irregular verbs until I fell asleep, and the next morning I found I knew them by heart, and I haven’t forgotten them yet.”

“Oh, well, that just proves what I said, that you’ve got a better memory than I have,” added Abby.

“No, Abby, it proves no such thing,” replied Jessie. “You say you can’t learn the list, and you wont try; I said, I can learn it, and I will—and I did. That is all the difference between us. I have no doubt you could commit the list to memory without much trouble, if you would only think so, and would try. That’s the secret of good lessons.”

“I don’t believe I could learn that lesson, if I should study it a week—it’s a long string of words, without any sense or reason, and I can’t learn such things,” said Abby.

“Oh, yes, you can learn it if you will only determine to do so,” replied Jessie.

“But I know I never could learn it—it isn’t in me,” said Abby, and she declined further conversation on the subject by walking off.

Jessie was on the right track, in attributing the difference between her memory and that of Abby to a will and a wont. She might have carried the comparison still farther, and something like the following, I think, would have been the result:

It was by a diligent improvement of her time, and a concentration of her mind on her studies, that Jessie mainly owed her high standing in the academy. When she studied, she studied in earnest. It is no easy thing to fix the mind attentively upon one subject, and exclude every thing else. Martin Luther says: “Let any one try how long he can rest on one idea he proposed himself, or take one hour and avow that he will tell me all his thoughts. I am sure he will be ashamed before himself, and afraid to say what ideas have passed through the head, lest he should be taken for a mad dog, and be chained.” And to illustrate this, he relates an anecdote of St. Bernard, who once complained to a friend that he found it very difficult to pray aright, and could not even pronounce the Lord’s prayer once without a host of strange thoughts. His friend was astonished, and gave it as his opinion that he could fix his thoughts on his prayer without any difficulty. Bernard offered him the wager of a fine horse, on condition he should commence forthwith. The friend commenced, “Our Father,” etc., but before he had finished the first petition, it occurred to him, if he should gain the horse, whether he would also receive saddle and bridle. In short, he was so entangled in his own thoughts, that he had to quit, and give up the prize.

It should be added, that this difficulty, which every student encounters, can in a great measure be overcome, by early culture and discipline. The best scholars are those who can control and direct their thoughts, and keep them fixed upon a subject as long as they please. The extent to which this power may be acquired is wonderful. There is a school in New England in which many of the pupils have accomplished the feat of multiplying nine figures by nine figures, mentally, or “in the head;” and the teacher thinks any child of ordinary capacity can learn to do this.

Some of the scholars wondered that two girls so little alike as Jessie and Abby, should be such good friends as they seemed to be. The intimacy, however, appeared greater than it really was, because Abby, by her upstart ways and her bad temper, had alienated nearly all the other girls, and had no bosom friends among them. Jessie’s forbearance and kindness had won her affection, and the poor drunkard’s daughter, whom she at first treated with contempt, and then regarded with a patronizing air, she now looked upon as her superior, whose friendship was to be prized. On the part of Jessie, it is true, there was no particular partiality for Abby. There was little, either in the manners or the character of the young scion of aristocracy, that was attractive, and if Jessie had not been guided by the golden rule, and influenced by a kindly heart, her intercourse with Abby would have been very slight.

Abby was a great novel reader. She eagerly devoured everything in the shape of fiction that she could lay her hands on. In fact, her reading was wholly confined to this class of books. She would often read an entire novel in one or two days, neglecting everything else, except attendance at school, until it was finished. This habit interfered so much with her studies, and was so manifestly injuring both her mind and heart, that Mr. Upton tried to induce her to break it up. He told her that her devotion to novels would destroy her taste for useful reading and study; would give her false views of life; would weaken her intellect, deaden her sympathy for real sorrow, and harden her heart; would corrupt her principles, and break down the distinction in her mind between vice and virtue, shame and glory; and would disincline and unfit her for the duties of actual life. All his arguments and warnings, however, were of no avail. The spell was already so strongly upon her, that she could not, or would not, break from it, and her exploits, in the way of novel-reading, were limited only by the somewhat meagre supply which that small town afforded. She occasionally tried to tempt Jessie to read one of her favorite tales, but never succeeded. Jessie had no time to waste over such books, even had not her principles and inclination stood in the way of novel-reading.