VERY early on Sunday morning, June 9, 1844, I rose with a desire to inhale the fresh air from the hills of Sherwood, previous to entering on the engagements of my Sunday School. The morning was exceedingly lovely, and recalled to my mind those beautiful lines of Milton: —
“Awake; the morning shines, and the fresh field
Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring
Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove,
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed,
How Nature paints her colors, how the bee
Sits on, the bloom extracting liquid sweet.”
I felt a little harassed, and clinging to worldly cares. I struggled in ardent prayer and supplication, that I might be delivered from them, and that I might experience the blessedness of walking in the Spirit that day. I sat down in one of Nature’s rural bowers, which was beautifully decorated with wild roses and woodbines, and invited me to stay and “breathe the breath of flowers.” I opened the Testament that I held in my hand. I thought the sixth chapter of the Gospel by Matthew presented some useful reading, in connection with my present state of mind, and the lovely scene by which I was surrounded. I began to read at the twenty-fourth verse, and continued to the end of the chapter.
I felt my mind greatly relieved, and sweetly abstracted from worldly cares and anxieties, while reading this precious portion of Divine truth. I arose from my rural bower with joy and renewed faith and strength, and bent my footsteps homeward, not in the same way as I came, but took a circuit towards Mapperley Common. I had not proceeded far when I perceived at some distance, and near to the Common, a gipsy camp. Two females were hanging some clothes on the hedge to dry, which they had been washing. When advancing very slowly towards the camp, these words (2 Tim. 4:22Preach the word; be instant in season, out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort with all longsuffering and doctrine. (2 Timothy 4:2)), “Be instant in season, out of season,” came with great power to my mind. I felt some excitement. I pondered the words over, and wondered what season was alluded to.’ I was drawing near the camp, and the admonition was repeated. I drew near the gipsies, and concluded this to be the season — that I must speak to these people. I first addressed a few words to the elder, who appeared to bend death the load of seventy years, but I could not understand a word she said in reply. I then made some observations to the other, who seemed to be about seventeen, of very interesting and prepossessing appearance — very tidy, though a little remarkable in her costume. She replied to me in the most modest and becoming manner, yet accompanied with a searching and inquiring countenance, and appeared to be much on her guard. I retired a step or two and inclined to withdraw. The poor girl perceived this; and, finding my conversation chaste, she assumed more confidence, and advanced towards me a few steps. I advanced also. I could not help looking at her very steadfastly, and thought I could perceive the outlines of a consumptive habit and a sinking constitution. I made some inquiries respecting her health; and her answers only served to confirm my suspicion. While making these inquiries, she was tastefully assorting and arranging a bunch of beautiful wild roses, which she held in her hand. I observed that these flowers were lively emblems of man — which brought out the following conversation.
GIPSY. — Do you think they are? SUPERINTENDENT. — Yes, most certainly I do, for the Book of God expressly declares of man, that “He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down; he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not” (Job 14:22He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down: he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not. (Job 14:2)). Again the Book of God says, “As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth, over it, and it is dome; and the place thereof shall know it no more” (Psa. 103:15, 1615As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. 16For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more. (Psalm 103:15‑16)).
G. — Oh, what full and great words! and how true! I never heard such words before.
S. — They are indeed great words; and my young friend, if I am not greatly mistaken, I feat your own health is sadly drooping, and will soon, very soon, like these flowers, wither and decay.
G. — Do you really think so?
S. — I do indeed think so. Permit me seriously to counsel you
“To set your heart on better things
Than those on earth that bloom;
The fairest earthly flower that springs
Will find an early doom.
“And though you wander where you will,
Believe me, while you live,
A something will be wanting still,
This world can never give.”
G. — Oh, what sweet words these are How they suit my feelings and condition; and how true they are!
S. — Well, I have the little book with me in which the lines are contained, and as you admire them so much, you shall have it. I have also some other little things, which will afford you some instruction. Here they are — accept them; you are welcome to them all.
G. — Oh, thank you; you are very kind. I am sure I shall love these little books. I am so glad you spoke to me. I have been very unhappy a long time; but I have never said as much to any one before.
S. — Your present mode of life, I think, is not the best to make you happy.
G. — Nor any other. It is not my being a gipsy that makes me unhappy. I feel as if no condition in the world could make me happy. I have no desires after the world; indeed, my heart and feelings are dead to the world. I have never before opened my heart to anyone in this way.
S. — May I be allowed to ask what it is that makes you unhappy, and dead to the world?
G. — Oh, it will make me sorry and ashamed to tell you: but I will tell you. I am wicked. I feel very wrong. I am sure, were I to die, according to my feelings, I could not be with God, for God cannot be wicked. It is true that I am a very dark and ignorant girl, and know very little of what people call religion.
S. — My dear young friend, take encouragement. God has taught you much, and is teaching you now; and I believe and am persuaded, that He will in a short time reveal Himself unto your soul, as a God of love and mercy through Jesus Christ. Almost everybody will confess that he is a sinner, and wicked; but I am afraid very few are unhappy, or have any godly sorrow in consequence thereof. You say you are dark, and know but little about religion. I rejoice that you know so much. God has already caused the light to shine upon your understanding, which makes manifest your darkness, and leads you to lament and deplore your ignorance and condition: and therefore you should be encouraged. Your knowledge of heavenly things will increase, “as the shining light that shineth, more and more unto the perfect day.” May I ask, do you ever feel a disposition to pray?
G. — I really do not know how to answer that question. If at any moment I feel a little happy, or anything like prayer in my heart, it is when I am all alone, and looking up at the blue sky, and thinking about the great God that made me and all I see. I think I should like to know more about Him, and to love Him, and to be with Him, and to tell Him all I feel; but I cannot think this is prayer.
S. — My dear young woman, I in happy to hear you say what you do, and to inform you that there is prayer in what you say.
“Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire,
Uttered or unexpressed;
The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast.
Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear,
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.
Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
Prayer the sublimest strains that reach,
The Majesty on high.”
G. — That is very pretty. What you say does make me so very lightsome.
S. — You admire the streams, and they are sweet, but let me lead you to the fountain itself. “Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with, groanings which, cannot be uttered” (Rom. 8:2626Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. (Romans 8:26)).
G. — That is very encouraging, and makes me feel very lightsome and blithe. Oh, how surprising these things are to me! I am so glad you spoke to me.
S. — I am pleased also. Permit me to read a very encouraging word to every poor broken-hearted sinner, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:2828Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. (Matthew 11:28)). It is Jesus Christ, God’s Son, that gives the invitation; and it is addressed to all such poor, heavy-laden, sin-burdened creatures as you feel yourself to be. Jesus encourages us to come to Him, and to rest upon Him, as our only Refuge; and to confide in Him as the Rock of our salvation. Jesus Christ is the good Shepherd of the sheep, who goeth into the wilderness, seeking out and bringing back that which was lost.
G. — Oh, they are very sweet words, and full of comfort. I am so glad!
(To be continued.)