The Story of My Life
the brown leaves." She closes this letter with, "I must go to bed, for
Morpheus has touched my eyelids with his golden wand." Here again, I am
unable to state where she acquired these expressions.
She has always seemed to prefer stories which exercise the imagination,
and catches and retains the poetic spirit in all such literature; but
not until this winter have I been conscious that her memory absorbed the
exact language to such an extent that she is herself unable to trace the
source.
This is shown in a little story she wrote in October last at the home of
her parents in Tuscumbia, which she called "Autumn Leaves." She was
at work upon it about two weeks, writing a little each day, at her
own pleasure. When it was finished, and we read it in the family, it
occasioned much comment on account of the beautiful imagery, and we
could not understand how Helen could describe such pictures without the
aid of sight. As we had never seen or heard of any such story as this
before, we inquired of her where she read it; she replied, "I did
not read it; it is my story for Mr. Anagnos's birthday." While I was
surprised that she could write like this, I was not more astonished than
I had been many times before at the unexpected achievements of my little
pupil, especially as we had exchanged many beautiful thoughts on the
subject of the glory of the ripening foliage during the autumn of this
year.
Before Helen made her final copy of the story, it was suggested to her
to change its title to "The Frost King," as more appropriate to the
subject of which the story treated; to this she willingly assented. The
story was written by Helen in braille, as usual and copied by her in
the same manner, I then interlined the manuscript for the greater
convenience of those who desired to read it. Helen wrote a little
letter, and, enclosing the manuscript, forwarded both by mail to Mr.
Anagnos for his birthday.
The story was printed in the January number of the Mentor and, from a
review of it in the Goodson Gazette, I was startled to find that a very
similar story had been published in 1873, seven years before Helen was
born. This story, "Frost Fairies," appeared in a book written by Miss
Margaret T. Canby, entitled "Birdie and his Fairy Friends." The passages
quoted from the two stories were so much alike in thought and expression
as to convince me that Miss Canby's story must at some time have been
read to Helen.
As I had never read this story, or even heard of the book, I inquired of
Helen if she knew anything about the matter, and found she did not. She
was utterly unable to recall either the name of the story or the book.
Careful examination was made of the books in raised print in the library
of the Perkins Institution to learn if any extracts from this volume
could be found there; but nothing was discovered. I then concluded that
the story must have been read to her a long time ago, as her memory
usually retains with great distinctness facts and impressions which have
been committed to its keeping.
After making careful inquiry, I succeeded in obtaining the information
that our friend, Mrs. S. C. Hopkins, had a copy of this book in 1888
which was presented to her little daughter in 1873 or 1874. Helen and
I spent the summer of 1888 with Mrs. Hopkins at her home in Brewster,
Mass., where she kindly relieved me a part of the time, of the care
of Helen. She amused and entertained Helen by reading to her from a
collection of juvenile publications, among which was the copy of "Birdie
and his Fairy Friends"; and, while Mrs. Hopkins does not remember
this story of "Frost Fairies," she is confident that she read to Helen
extracts, if not entire stories, from this volume. But as she was not
able to find her copy, and applications for the volume at bookstores in
Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Albany, and other places resulted only
in failure, search was instituted for the author herself. This became
a difficult task, as her publishers in Philadelphia had retired from
business many years ago; however, it was eventually discovered that her
residence is at Wilmington, Delaware, and copies of the second edition
of the book, 1889, were obtained from her. She has since secured and
forwarded to me a copy of the first edition.
The most generous and gratifying letters have been received from Miss
Canby by Helen's friends, a few extracts from which are given:
Under date of February 24, 1892, after mentioning the order of the
publication of the stories in the magazine, she writes:
"All the stories were revised before publishing them in book form;
additions were made to the number as first published, I think, and some
of the titles may have been changed."
In the same letter she writes:
"I hope that you will be able to make her understand that I am glad she
enjoyed my story, and that I hope the new book will give her pleasure
by renewing her friendship with the Fairies. I shall write to her in a
short time. I am so much impressed with what I have learned of her that
I have written a little poem entitled A Silent Singer, which I may send
to her mother after a while. Can you tell me in what paper the article
appeared accusing Helen of plagiarism, and giving passages from both
stories? I should like much to see it, and to obtain a few copies if
possible."
Under date of March 9, 1892, Miss Canby writes:
"I find traces, in the Report which you so kindly sent me, of little
Helen having heard other stories than that of 'Frost Fairies.' On page
132, in a letter, there is a passage which must have been suggested by
my story called 'The Rose Fairies' (see pp. 13-16 of 'Birdie') and on
pages 93 and 94 of the Report the description of a thunderstorm is very
much like Birdie's idea of the same in the 'Dew Fairies' on page 59 and
60 of my book. What a wonderfully active and retentive mind that gifted
child must have! If she had remembered and written down accurately,
a short story, and that soon after hearing it, it would have been a
marvel; but to have heard the story once, three years ago, and in such
a way that neither her parents nor teacher could ever allude to it or
refresh her memory about it, and then to have been able to reproduce it
so vividly, even adding some touches of her own in perfect keeping with
the rest, which really improve the original, is something that very few
girls of riper age, and with every advantage of sight, hearing, and even
great talents for composition, could have done as well, if at all. Under
the circumstances, I do not see how any one can be so unkind as to call
it a plagiarism; it is a wonderful feat of memory, and stands ALONE, as
doubtless much of her work will in future, if her mental powers grow and
develop with her years as greatly as in the few years past. I have known
many children well, have been surrounded by them all my life, and love
nothing better than to talk with them, amuse them, and quietly notice
their traits of mind and character; but I do not recollect more than one
girl of Helen's age who had the love and thirst for knowledge, and the
store of literary and general information, and the skill in composition,
which Helen possesses. She is indeed a 'Wonder-Child.' Thank you very
much for the Report, Gazette, and Helen's Journal. The last made me
realize the great disappointment to the dear child more than before.
Please give her my warm love, and tell her not to feel troubled about
it any more. No one shall be allowed to think it was anything wrong; and
some day she will write a great, beautiful story or poem that will make
many people happy. Tell her there are a few bitter drops in every one's
cup, and the only way is to take the bitter patiently, and the sweet
thankfully. I shall love to hear of her reception of the book and how
she likes the stories which are new to her."
I have now (March, 1892) read to Helen "The Frost Fairies," "The Rose
Fairies," and a portion of "The Dew Fairies," but she is unable to throw
any light on the matter. She recognized them at once as her own stories,
with variations, and was much puzzled to know how they could have been
published before she was born! She thinks it is wonderful that two
people should write stories so much alike; but she still considers her
own as original.
I give below a portion of Miss Canby's story, "The Rose Fairies," and
also Helen's letter to Mr. Anagnos containing her "dream," so that the
likenesses and differences may be studied by those interested in the
subject:
THE ROSE FAIRIES
[From"Birdie and his Fairy Friends," by Margaret T. Canby]
One pleasant morning little Birdie might have been seen sitting quietly
on the grass-plat at the side of his mother's house, looking very
earnestly at the rose-bushes.
It was quite early; great Mr. Sun, who is such an early riser in summer
time, had not been up very long; the birds were just beginning to chirp
their "good-mornings" to each other; and as for the flowers, they were
still asleep. But Birdie was so busy all day, trotting about the house
and garden, that he was always ready for HIS nest at night, before the
birds and flowers had thought of seeking THEIRS; and so it came to
pass that when Mr. Sun raised his head above the green woods and smiled
lovingly upon the earth, Birdie was often the first to see him, and
to smile back at him, all the while rubbing his eyes with his dimpled
fists, until between smiling and rubbing, he was wide awake.
And what do you think he did next! Why, the little rogue rolled into his
mamma's bed, and kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, and her mouth, until
she began to dream that it was raining kisses; and at last she opened
her eyes to see what it all meant, and found that it was Birdie, trying
to "kiss her awake," as he said.
She loved her little boy very dearly, and liked to make him happy, and
when he said, "Please dress me, dear mamma, and let me go out to play
in the garden," she cheerfully consented; and, soon after, Birdie went
downstairs in his morning-dress of cool linen, and with his round face
bright and rosy from its bath, and ran out on the gravel path to play,
until breakfast was ready.
He stood still a moment to look about him, and think what he should do
first. The fresh morning air blew softly in his face, as if to welcome
him and be his merry playmate; and the bright eye of Mr. Sun looked at
him with a warm and glowing smile; but Birdie soon walked on to find
something to play with. As he came in sight of the rose-bushes that grew
near the side of the house, he suddenly clapped his hands, and with a
little shout of joy stopped to look at them; they were all covered with
lovely rosebuds. Some were red, some white, and others pale pink, and
they were just peeping out of the green leaves, as rosy-faced children
peep out from their warm beds in wintertime before they are quite
willing to get up. A few days before, Birdie's papa had told him that
the green balls on the rose-bushes had beautiful flowers shut up within
them, but the little boy found it hard to believe, for he was so young
that he did not remember how pretty the roses had been the summer
before. Now he found out that his father's words were true, for a few
days of warm weather had turned the green balls into rosebuds, and they
were SO beautiful that it was enough to make Birdie stand still before
them, his blue eyes dancing with delight and his little hands clasped
tightly together.
After awhile he went nearer, and looking closely at the buds, found that
they were folded up, leaf over leaf, as eyelids are folded over sleeping
eyes, so that Birdie thought they must be asleep. "Lazy roses, wake up,"
said he, giving the branches a gentle shake; but only the dew fell off
in bright drops, and the flowers were still shut up. At last Birdie