September, 1859

I thought I might be able to get away with not writing in this darned journal, but Father found me out and so now I must do it again. I am ten now, and quite grown up, as Mama says. Two more of my brothers have died, tuberculosis killed them. They were my little brothers, I am the third oldest. Only two brothers, one who wishes to become a doctor, are older than me. Mama smiles and hides her tears, but I know it hurts her. And it’s made Papa even more determined to have me in the literary business, if it can even be called a business.

I got in a fight recently. It was the nasty bully, Liar Hans, as I call him, from my new Latin school. He came at me with a skinned cat, and I quickly responded with a horse whip. Father was not happy about it, especially since I’m not doing well in school. It is not my fault, really. My teacher does not like me. But my spelling and grammar has gotten better…I think. Anyway, Father is now having me read books by the American writer, James Fenimore Cooper, and the journal of Charles Dickens, called the All the Year Round. I like it, actually. It is because I read those books that I have made any progress with school. That is what Mama says. Oh, I forgot to mention that we have adopted my cousin, Emma, because her parents died. I am very happy about it. I love Emma, and she is now the best sister I have.

I can smell Mama cooking dinner. I will stop writing.

Jacob Riis