and loved. His face was seldom hid from her, but leaning towards her, its holy light made her dying chamber the house of God and the gate of heaven. She clung to the last, with a life and death-like grasp, to the passage, " I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day." Some of the last expressions which dropped from her lips were : "If sin be pardon'd, 1 am secure, The last request she made was,— "Pray that my faith fail not." In this frame of feeling her spirit passed away to the abodes of the blest, without a struggle or a groan. We have painted no picture for passing effect, but have given a truthful sketch of a kind sister and an excellent Christian. Few in her position of life have died, whose death has smitten more hearts with real sorrow, and whose memory draws out deeper yearnings of affection. "Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord." MRS. SARAH MCALL, WIDOW OF THE REV. DR. MCALL, THE late Mrs. McAll was born at Macclesfield, February 13th, 1784. Her parents were pious persons, though at a period when few, comparatively, had emerged from the formalism so prevalent in England up to the middle of the last century. An altar to God was raised in their household; and it is said of her father that, in venerable age, when death was near, he sought, with the last remnant of strength, to fall on his knees, finally commending himself to the Divine Head. One of his daughters used significantly to say of an old-fashioned arm-chair which had been placed, for many years, at her father's bed side-"If that chair could speak, what would it tell!" an allusion to parental prayers breathed in secret. The name of Mrs. McAll's brother, Mr. John Whitaker, is yet remembered in Macclesfield with respect and affection. He was the founder of the "Macclesfield Sunday-school;" and when assailed in that noble effort by the ridicule of the young men of his own age, the counsel and encouragement of the eminent Rev. David Simpson greatly aided him. Sarah, the youngest child of Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker, is described as having been thoughtful from very early days. Her religious course appears to have been unmarked by any distinguishable crisis, though none who knew her in maturity could doubt the genuineness of her devotion. In the year 1815, she was united in marriage with the Rev. Robert Stephen McAll, M.A., then of Macclesfield, afterwards Dr. McAll, of Manchester; and in 1823, on the formation of a church of the congregational order, in the chapel newly erected for her husband, became one of its first members. Those who knew her intimately can testify with what humbleness of spirit and undeviating consistency she maintained that confession. In the summer of 1838 she was called to pass through the deep waters of affliction. With but a few days' interval, her only and beloved daughter, at the age of nineteen, and her husband, in his forty-sixth year, were cut down. Yet "grievous" as was the "chastening," the doubly-bereaved widow received grace to bow. Thenceforward she meekly pursued her comparatively unnoticed career, as one for whom impoverished earth told of boundless treasures in heaven. The later years of her life were spent in Sunderland and in Leicester under the roof of her only son. She, evidenced the deepest interest in all things connected with his ministry; and, so long as failing strength allowed, delighted to take her place in the house of God, where her meek and venerable aspect bore to many a silent teaching concerning the Divine Helper, who had "chosen her in the furnace of affliction." For a considerable period she had suffered much from one cause, inability to rest in the persuasion of personal acceptance with God. These sad misgivings seemed often to cloud her prospect. But the converse of Christian friends was not in vain; nor did her merciful Saviour permit that her peace should be thus invaded when the last conflict drew near. Some months had passed, in which she evidenced much tranquillity, and even appeared to have some renewal of bodily strength. Very suddenly, in January last, a slight attack of influenza brought her to the verge of the grave: from that time, a holy calm reigned around her. She did not shrink from the monition, but gently said, "My time has come, I am nearing-nearing the Jordan.” Being exempted from severer pain, and having full possession to the latest moment of every faculty, her converse with sorrowing relations and friends was most touching; many of her expressions were, indeed, beautiful. Alluding, one night, to vicissitudes and sorrows of the past, she said, "Hitherto -hitherto hath the Lord helped us." "Must we be carried to the skies On flow'ry beds of ease; The last Sunday evening of her life she said very sweetly to her son, on his return from evening service, "My dear, dear son, you see God has helped you wonderfully through the duties of this day. As thy days, so shall thy strength be.' May he give you that rest which he giveth to his beloved!” More than once she repeated, with singularly perfect utterance, the stanzas of the hymn commencing, "Abide with me, fast falls the eventide." On the night before her death she again spoke with her son, most earnin the Saviour; and, after he had estly, concerning her hope and interest reminded her of One who "will in no wise cast out," she added, in a mode which never can be forgotten by those who heard the words :- Who humbly comes to Thee? That mercy waits for me? And be of strengthen'd faith possess'd; And give my spirit rest." And truly that prayer was answered. The following morning she sank rapidly. Her few, broken utterances evidenced a heart calmly awaiting the moment of union with her Saviour and with the loved ones who had gone before. The very last drop that moistened the parched lips was received with manifested regard to the kind hand administering it. Thus, like a wave dying on the shore, she sank to rest: she died at Leicester, February 4th, in the seventy-fourth year of her age, and was interred in the same vault with her husband and daughter in Rushdew Road Cemetery, Manchester. evening-time it was light." "At The foregoing notice is abridged from that appended to the funeral sermon, No; it is those who have come out of preached at Leicester, by the Rev. great tribulation that enter there." Samuel McAll, of Nottingham. VISIT TO DAISY MEAD. FIRST DAY. BEAUTIFUL sights! Who does not love them? He who is not charmed with beauty is destitute of heart, and the man without a heart can neither be happy himself nor minister to the happiness of others. Ask for his sympathy in a case of sorrow; you may as well ask a bundle of icicles to renew the life of a dying fire. Ask for his admiration of a piece of gorgeous scenery; you may as well ask an African bushman to deliver a lecture on astronomy. Ask him to accompany you to such a place as Daisy Mead, to enjoy an evening with such excellent Christians as Emma and her uncle, and if he comply-which we hope he won't! the evening will be a dreary one to all concerned. Why? Because beauty, whether material or spiritual, must be seen with the eyes of the heart. And this is the reason why, like poetry, it cannot be defined. It is felt, realized, apprehended, loved; but no set of words can make an intellectual picture of it so as to convey it to the mind. The living form, the nameless charm, the exquisite fascination of the eye that beams the light of the purified soul upon your heart, are not there. Having given, from my pastoral recollections, "The Pastor's Difficulty," and "Talking and Acting," I now return, according to promise in the sketch headed, "An Incident of Travel," in the March number, to the Old Man and his Niece, whom I had the pleasure to meet on the journey there described. Several months passed before I happened to visit the part of the country where Mr. Philip Graham resided, but the genuineness of his manner, and the circumstances under which we had met in the "Highflier," kept him effectually in memory. There are some persons who make an indelible impression upon the mind at first sight, and he was one of them. "Daisy Mead" was an appropriate name for the thoroughly rural dwelling in which I found my quondam fellow-travellers. It was built upon a gentle slope with a large pasture-field in front, and imbosomed in a nest of splendid trees whose thick foliage broke the rays of the sun, and imparted a delicious coolness to the rooms. The servant had given my card to the master of this silvan retreat, who hastened to greet me with signs of the utmost cordiality. Throwing open the door of a room, at the window of which "Emma" was sitting with a book in her hand, he introduced me, saying, "We thank you, Sir, for this most unexpected, and yet long hoped-for, visit. We have often talked about you, and wondered whether you would ever find us out in these woods." The silvery tones of the speaker's voice were in perfect harmony with the transparent sincerity of his manner, and the spirituality of his looks. There are some Christians of whom, from the atmosphere of purity that seems to surround them, you can predicate much communion with Christ, habitual holy thought, and, consequently, far advancement in the divine life. I felt that Mr. Graham was a puritan of the apostolic school, a man who loved to be much alone with Jesus, and who carried the fragrance of a cheerful holiness with him as the result of frequent interviews with his Master. "I am exceedingly obliged to you, Sir," I said in reply, "for thinking of me at all, and still more for the assurance that this visit is agreeable. Our first meeting was what the world calls a chance' one, but I have not forgotten it, as you plainly see by the fact that I am here." "For that chance' meeting-one of those chances which are brought about by the unerring purpose of Him who worketh all things after the counsel of His own will – -one person, at least, but in all probability several, will bless God for ever!" "Indeed!" said I, "what good news have you to tell me?" "Not now; you shall hear all before you leave. Here comes tea! and after that we shall have some conversation which will I hope be profitable. Indeed it was only this morning I said to my niece that I must send you a long letter, but happily you are now here, and there is nothing like the living voice." During tea we conversed on a number of topics connected specially with the neighbourhood, the social condition of the population, sabbath and day schools, and the preaching of the Gospel. I found the state of matters sufficiently depressing. The parish Church was in a little town about three-quarters of a mile off, the clergyman being a good farmer, a better equestrian, and the best fox-hunter in the county. There was a little shed-like place in which those laborious evangelists, the Primitive Methodists, spoke of the love of Christ to all who would come to hear them, and, as is their wont, they preached in the open air when the weather permitted; but the spiritual state of Turf bury was truly deplorable. The neighbouring parish of Thornton was blessed with the ministrations of an enlightened, zealous, large-hearted, and thoroughly evangelical clergyman; but Thornton Church was four miles from Turfbury, so that none but the handful that knew the truth and prized it, ventured to travel so far. Mr. Graham had been only a short time at Daisy Mead, but he had done something to supply the want of religious instruction and to improve the moral tone of the district. He had established a library at the nominal charge of a halfpenny per week, and on the unique principle that even that sum was to be charged only in cases where the book was kept a day beyond the proper time. The punctual, therefore, had the use of the books gratis, and by this device the valuable habit of punctuality was in some measure formed. He had also succeeded in gathering together about fifty children on the Sunday afternoon in a room in the town. Of this Sundayschool Emma was the soul; she was teacher, superintendent, secretary, and everything else, obtaining such occasional assistance as she could from any who were qualified and disposed to help in the blessed work. Moreover, Mr. Graham had opened his house for a week-evening lecture; but let him explain this himself. We were walking in the garden after tea, when he said, "How long do you stay with us, my dear Mr. -, a month ?" "That is impossible," said I, "for you must know I am an 'Independent', which, though it implies happy freedom from state control in religious matters, does not imply absolute liberty to dispose of one's time without reference to pastoral duties." "I understand," said he smiling. “Well, I am a Churchman,-so at least people say, and yet my conduct has created doubts on this head in the minds of far-seeing ones, especially since I opened my house for a religious service. Whenever I can lay my hand on a minister of Christ's gospel, willing to engage in this service, be he Independent, Baptist, Methodist, or any other name,— (for I am sorry to say that our national Church frowns upon these private efforts to do good)-I send my bellman round to the cottagers and villagers, and we generally have a good meeting." "Your bellman? "Yes. Emma acts in that capacity." "Oh, uncle!" she exclaimed, while her face and eye revealed the pleasure she felt in this work of "gathering the people." "Well, to-morrow evening, all being well, you shall be our teacher, and if Emma have not a room full to hear you, it will be her first failure as a recruiting sergeant." "What odd titles you give me, uncle!” said she, at the same time looking anxiously to me for my answer. "I had no intention of staying more than one night, Mr. Graham," I said, "as I have very much to do; but from such work as you propose I cannot shrink. Therefore, be it so. And, as I cannot doubt that the bellman and the recruiting sergeant will both do their duty, it will be a joy to me to speak to your neighbours on the best of all topics." We spent an evening of real happiness-one of those rare evenings upon which memory looks back without experiencing any sting of regret. During its progress Mr. Graham gave me the following narrative : 66 My parents were Unitarians; and though professedly very liberal in their feelings towards the Orthodox'-as they were called in our circle, with what, boy as I was, I knew to be a feeling of proud derision,-yet they could not endure their sentiments, branding them as absurd,irrational,idolatrous,and so forth. Freethinkers, or men who consider themselves at liberty to caricature the most sacred doctrines of revelation, and to make sport of all serious conviction on the character and destiny of man, were habitual visitors at my father's house; and as I grew up to manhood I embraced their views without any difficulty; first because I could scarcely discern a shade of difference between them and those held by my parents; and secondly, because I concluded that there could not be any material difference, seeing that the Freethinkers and my parents were on such intimate terms. Alas! that the golden hours of youth should have been spent amidst such heart-withering associations; but darkness of a December night, which grasped me in the act of leaping from the brink of a fearful precipice, my poor soul and body both would have perished by self-murder. The deliverer, thus mysteriously sent to save me from so great a death, was shortly afterwards honoured by Him who sent him as the happy instrument of opening my eyes, and turning me from darkness to light and from the power of Satan unto God. Of the region of wonders that opened before me when this great change took place of the new and surprising light shed upon all the affairs of men-of the hitherto inconceivable wonders of redeeming love-and of the glorious attributes of God, as I saw them blending, as it were, in the covenant rainbow above the throne, I cannot speak. There are certain experiences and states of mind of which words cannot give a correct idea,-visions of which language was never intended to be the exponent, and hopes too ethereal to be tied to mortal speech. Any attempt at description would, on the one hand, insult the sublime reality, and, on the other, expose the describer to ridicule as a wild fanatic. Yet I am quite sure of this, that the knowledge and wisdom, of the possession of which I had previously felt proud, seemed to me, at the period to which I allude, incredible ignorance and folly, the retrospect of which filled me with shame. I now understood a multitude of divine sayings which, in the days of my imaginary intellectual freedom, I had treated with contempt, as unworthy of God and a libel on man; such, for example, as 'The natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned.' |