Upon very slight accidents did his destiny hinge. In those days women
worked with thread, and used thread-papers. Now paper was, at that time,
dear: dainty matrons liked tasty thread-papers. A pretty set of
thread-papers, with birds or flowers painted on each, was no mean
present for a friend. Chatterton, a quiet child, one day noticed that
his mother's thread-papers were of no ordinary materials. They were made
of parchment, and on this parchment was some of the black-letter
characters by which his childish attention had been fixed to his book.
The fact was, that his uncle was sexton to the ancient church of St.
Mary Redcliffe, at Bristol; and the parchment was the fruit of theft.
Chatterton's father had carried off, from a room in the church, certain
ancient manuscripts, which had been left about; being originally
abstracted from what was called Mr. Canynge's coffin. Mr. Canynge, an
eminent merchant, had rebuilt St. Mary Redcliffe in the reign of Edward
IV.: and the parchments, therefore, were of some antiquity. The
antiquary groans over their loss in vain: Chatterton's father had
covered his books with them; his mother had used up the strips for
thread-papers; and Thomas Chatterton himself contrived to abstract a
considerable portion also, for his own purposes.

He was ingenious, industrious, a poet by nature, and, wonderful to say,
withal a herald by taste. Upon his nefarious possessions, he founded a
scheme of literary forgeries; purporting to be ancient pieces of poetry
found in Canynge's chest; and described as being the production of
Thomas Canynge and of his friend, one Thomas Rowley, a priest. Money and
books were sent to Chatterton in return for little strips of vellum,
which he passed off as the original itself; and the successful forger
might now be seen in deep thought, walking in the meadows near
Redcliffe; a marked, admired, poetic youth.