MY visits to the Vicarage were, you will hardly need to be told, always pleasant ones, and though it must be quite forty years, since I played in its pleasant garden, or learned the texts and hymns my kind lady friend loved so well to teach, the happy hours spent there are still fresh in my memory, and I believe the seeds of truth sown in my heart when I was not more than five years of age (for we left Colchester shortly before my sixth birthday) formed a link in the chain by which the Lord in later years drew me to Himself.
I did not go very often, but perhaps I enjoyed my visits all the more because they were so few and far between. Now I am going to give you a peep at my everyday life. There were not many pretty things in our home, and I was by no means rich in toys, yet my childhood was far from being an unhappy one. I loved the song of birds and the scent of flowers, and when on Sundays my father took me to the old garrison church, though I am afraid I thought or cared very little about the service, the music used to fill my whole being with a delight that I could not find words to express. I am glad that I have learned since, that
“No heart but by the Spirit taught,
Makes melody to God.”
But I am telling you of things that happened when I was a very little girl. Sometimes, in fine weather, I used to go with my sisters into the fields and soon learned to fill my small basket with daisies as quickly as any of the party. All through December we used to sing carols at the doors of our richer neighbors; I was often left to sing alone, my voice being even at that early age considered good, and it was very seldom that the "little blind singer" was allowed to go unrewarded by a penny, always claimed by my elders.
When I was about five years old, my father, who worked at home, thought it was time to begin teaching me to read. He had heard of many blind people being taught to read by Dr. Moon's system of raised or embossed letters; and though at the time he had never seen a book printed in that type, he obtained one; it was the fourteenth chapter of the Gospel by John, and having mastered the alphabet for himself, he began to teach me. That old, well-worn copy was for many years the only book I possessed, but it taught me to read; never after do I remember having any difficulty in reading any book printed in the same type. I liked to read it for myself, and would pass my fingers almost lovingly over its pages long after I knew its every word by heart. Oh! how I used to muse about the "many mansions," and wonder what they were like, and if there would be room in them for a poor little blind girl like me. I do not wonder now, for I know the Lord Jesus, who said, "I am the way," as my very own Savior, and when my work on earth is done, He will take me to Himself, and I shall not be blind then, for I shall see Him as He is.
I told you that when about six years of age I removed with my family from Colchester. My next home was London, which at first I did not like at all. Our garden was so small that I could not find room to run and play as I had been used to do at Colchester; I often had gone out alone to do errands for my mother and had never had the slightest fear in crossing the roads; I used to stand on the footpath for a few seconds listening intently, to be sure that I did not hear the rumble of wheels, or the tramp of horses' feet, and when assured that there was no danger would dart across with almost the speed of a frightened hare.
Soon after our removal to London my parents decided that I should be sent to a day-school, in company with seeing children, not so much I think in the hope of my learning much as to keep me out of mischief and to pass the time, which had begun to hang heavily on my hands. Later on it was hoped that I should be able to obtain admission to a blind school, but as I was far from being a robust child and very small for my age, the doctor when consulted said, "Plenty of time for that, just let Maria live and grow for the next half-dozen years.”
I soon began to like going to school, and though of course I could not learn to read from printed books or write in a copy-book, yet I had a good memory, so retained a good deal of what was taught orally. The teacher kindly took some trouble in teaching me to knit, and I cannot tell you how delighted I was when able to help her, as I was often called upon to do, by picking up dropped stitches in the work of seeing pupils. I also attended the Sunday-school and soon grew much attached to my teacher, but though I retained my old fondness for Bible stories, my heart had not opened to the love of Christ; when I thought of God I was afraid, for I remembered naughty things that I had done, and thought He would surely punish me. Yet all the time there was a great, hungry longing for affection, for some one who would understand, and could love, even a naughty little girl. I do not think that at the time, with all my church-going, I had ever heard the gospel of the grace of God. If any one had said to me, "Do you know who Christ died for?" it is quite likely I should have replied, "For good people." Now by the light of the glorious gospel I know that it was for sinners Jesus died, so I am sure it was for me.
There were times when my father and I did not get on very happily together. Perhaps we did not understand each other, but he was never really unkind to me; and all through my life I have been grateful to him for the pains he took in teaching me to read. I do not think any remarkable occurred during the next five or six years of my life. Changes, it is true, came into my home. Sickness and death entered it from time to time, and my two eldest sisters married and went to homes of their own.
When I was between eleven and twelve years of age the doctor said he thought it would be good for me to be admitted as a pupil to the "School for the Indigent Blind,” Southwark, London, and several friends who had taken an interest in my case kindly promised to do all in their power to secure the required number of votes necessary for my election. The next few months was quite a busy time; I was always greatly pleased to hear of fresh votes or promises being obtained, for though I was by no means anxious to leave my home, I felt there were many things I very much wished to learn and which I had been told I should be taught when admitted to "St. George's." I have a great affection still for the old school in which seven very happy years of my life were spent. It is no longer used as a school, as the work of educating poor blind children is carried on in much larger and finer premises with pleasant country surroundings at Leatherhead, in Surrey. But I must not anticipate my story; still I feel sure that old pupils of St. George's will always have a grateful recollection of their school-days.
The election was drawing near and about twenty votes were still wanted to complete the number required for my admission. The friends who had worked hard and written a great number of letters were beginning to feel almost discouraged, when only a day or two before the date fixed a gentleman entered the day-school which I still attended with (the girl who sat next me whispered) an open letter in his hand, and after exchanging a few words with the mistress I was called to her desk, and in a very kind manner he told me that the number of votes was completed by those he had received by that morning's post. My election was, he said, almost beyond a doubt; he asked the teacher as a favor to himself if she would allow me to leave at once and be the bearer of the good news and the votes to my parents. Permission being given, I started off with great delight, holding the precious packet tightly with both hands. My father and mother were greatly pleased and very grateful to the gentleman for the trouble he had so kindly taken.
A few days later the election took place, and I was among the successful candidates. In little more than four weeks I was to leave home for the first time, and though still a school-girl, my surroundings would be so different, that it would seem almost a new life. As the time drew near, it might not have been easy to say how far a strange, nameless dread of the new scenes I was about to enter mingled with my desire to go; but as I knew it had been decided that I should go on the day appointed, I kept my fears to myself, and spoke so cheerfully of the approaching change that no one even guessed that for many nights I had cried myself to sleep at the thought of going to live among strangers who might not be so kind to me as my parents had been.
The day for the parting came at last; my father took me to Southwark, where I was kindly received by the matron, who said that though not the youngest, I was certainly the smallest girl in the school. She was quickly called away, as new and old pupils were arriving in quick succession, but before leaving, she gave me into the care of one of the elder girls, who led me into a long room, with a row of small beds arranged along either side of it where quite a number of girls were taking off their outdoor wraps, or putting their clothes neatly into small lockers.
But my story of school-days and school friends must stand over till my next chapter.