the inquiries of her father and mother, replied to them only by tears.
The mother, at length, when searching for something in a dark and
unfrequented closet, found a considerable number of little books, made
of this writing-paper, and filled with rude drawings, and with strange
and apparently illegible characters, which, however, were at once seen
to be the child's work. Upon closer inspection, the characters were
found to consist of the printed alphabet; some of the letters being
formed backwards, some sideways, and there being no spaces between the
words. These writings were deciphered, not without much difficulty; and
it then appeared that they consisted of regular verses, generally in
explanation of a rude drawing, sketched on the opposite page. When
she found that her treasures had been discovered, she was greatly
distressed, and could not be pacified till they were restored; and as
soon as they were in her possession, she took the first opportunity of
secretly burning them.

These books having thus been destroyed, the earliest remaining specimen
of her verse is an epitaph, composed in her ninth year, upon an
unfledged robin, killed in the attempt at rearing it. When she was
eleven years of age, her father took her to see the decorations of a
room in which Washington's birthday was to be celebrated. Neither the
novelty nor the gaiety of what she saw attracted her attention; she
thought of Washington alone, whose life she had read, and for whom she
entertained the proper feelings of an American; and as soon as she
returned home, she took paper, sketched a funeral urn, and wrote under
it a few stanzas, which were shown to her friends. Common as the talent
of versifying is, any early manifestation of it will always be regarded
as extraordinary by those who possess it not themselves; and these
verses, though no otherwise remarkable, were deemed so surprising for
a child of her age, that an aunt of hers could not believe they were