Dr. Carter tells me the story of “Don Pompioso”, one of the early poems, now lost. A young man had hurt Poe's feelings. He held himself too high to associate with the son of an actress and a pauper, and let the high-strung boy understand it. Soon a poem appeared on the street ridiculing this young man unmercifully. The girls at Mrs. MacKenzie's school, then at No. 506 East Franklin street, got hold of the poem and were laughing over it and wondering who its author was. That evening about dusk Poe dropped in at the school, where his sister lived ... A number of young people were in the parlor, and one of the girls asked him to read the poem aloud. This he did by the fading light, reading with a readiness that one could not possibly have shown without really repeating it from memory. “You wrote it!” they all cried, and he did not deny it. When the young man who had drawn the fire appeared on the street, he was peppered with allusions from the poem, with jests and gibes, and at length he was driven from the city.(1)