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The Chariton Patriot
Chariton, Iowa
Thursday, January 1, 1876
A PRODIGY. A Lucas County Girl Only Eleven Years Old, and Nearly Blind Who
is a Contributor for a Number of Magazines, and a Poet by Nature.
------------------------------------------
Our readers have doubtless heard of precocious children whose early mental
development have been considered among the wonders of the world, but they
have not yet heard that Lucas county posesses such a prodigy, and it is this
piece of news that we propose to now give them. A blind child only eleven
years old capable of comprising poetry, containing lofty and sublime ideas,
perfect metre and pleasing rhyme, so much so as to be sought after by
publishers of magazines of general circulation, is not a common object in
the world, and yet it is a fact that there is in Lucas county such a youth
in the person of LILLIEN R. FEARING, a niece of MR. F.C. FEARING, of English
township. This little wonder is the child of a sister of MR. FEARING, who
died recently at Davenport, and has just been brought to this county to make
her home in MR. F's family. We have the promise of some contributions from
her for the Patriot, and shall probably, hereafter, give something more of
her history, but for the present only reproduce the following from the
Washington D.C. Chronicle of August 15th, which contains something of her
ability as a youthful compositor as well as a sample of her poetry:
In one of our western cities there is a frail little girl, who for two or
three years has been almost sightless. She is about eleven years of age --
no more. And yet, the intellectual development of this puny creature,
bereft as she is of the power to take in the glories of the outward creation
is marvelous indeed. Her mother will read to her -- not story books and
ballad literature, but productions of the finest minds -- Shakespeare,
Milton, Bryant, Tennyson and Whittier among the poets, and works of
erudition and magazine articles, such as only scholars take pleasure in
perusing. Now and then, after a season of reflection, in which no
extraordinary mental perturbation is manifested, the mother is called upon
again, and this time to act as amanuensis. Page after page of that child's
thoughts will then be put upon paper, with not the slightest alteration of
phraseology -- for, she will permit nothing of the kind -- as rapidly as the
pen can go. And, this is a scene that occurs very often in the humble
dwelling of the parents. The father will gather these productions, and with
no exalted opinion of his own judgment -- only a kind of indefinite pride in
the undoubted precocity of his daughter -- submits them to the inspection of
educated men and women. In them, with scarcely an exception, will be found
the evidences of a lofty conception, with an aptness of expression and
beauty of imagery, spreak along a continuous and well maintained chain of
thought, so indicative of genius, as to be startling. What its exhibition
may be in years of maturity no one can imagine. Perhaps, for want of proper
physical organization, through which this mind development must have
expression, all may be suddenly hushed. Therefore, considerate friends have
urged that the mental power shall not be developed, at the expense of the
machinery by which it finds expression, but rather that it finds expression,
but rather that the latter shall be cared for and made as perfect as
possible. How far this can be carried out is problematical, as the object
of solicitude is unlike other children, and, although affectionate and
amiable, in many particulars is disposed to have her own way, especially as
regards thinking and composing. What the end will be time will determine;
but she is being watched carefully by many who recognize the fact that there
is lying in this youthful girl a half-developed power, which, when unchained
completely, may, under judicious regulation, produce wonders.
Here is a little gem -- one of a hundred such -- which we find in the
Chicago Young Folk's Monthly. Its perusal has stimulated the foregoing:
WAITING.
~~~~
By LILLIEN R. FEARING.
Oh, the fact that, sad and weary,
Turned towards life's setting sun,
As the golden power is broken,
And its silver waters run;
Courage, courage, weary watcher,
For the day is nearly done.
Oh, the footsteps slow and weary,
Struggling to the threshold bright.
Waiting for the opening portals
Of eternal day and light!
Waiting for the great Redeemer's
Voice across the starless night.
Oh, the hands that white and trembling
Grasping yet life's lingering ray;
Standing 'neath the crimson banner,
Waving ever to the day.
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Copied by Nancee(McMurtrey)Seifert
April 30, 2006
iggy29@sbcglobal.net
http://www.rootsweb.com/~ialucas/Main.htm
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