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
original, and hinted that they might have been copied. The child wept
at this suspicion, as if her heart would break; but as soon as she
recovered from that fit of indignant grief, she indited a remonstrance
to her aunt, in verse, which put an end to such incredulity.
We are told that, before she was twelve years of age, she had read most
of the standard English poets--a vague term, excluding, no doubt, much
that is of real worth, and including more that is worth little or
nothing, and yet implying a wholesome course of reading for such a mind.
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