The principle adopted by them was the same so sublimely adopted
by the church in America in reference to the foreign missionary cause:
"The field is the world." They saw and felt that, as the example and
practice of England had been powerful in giving sanction to this evil,
and particularly in introducing it into America, there was the
greatest reason why she should never intermit her efforts till the
wrong was righted throughout the earth.
Clarkson, to his last day, never ceased to be interested in the
subject, and took the warmest interest in all movements for the
abolition of slavery in America.
At the Ipswich depot we were met by a venerable lady, the daughter of
Clarkson's associate, William Dillwyn. She seemed overjoyed to meet
us, and took us at once into her carriage, and entertained us all our
way to the hall by anecdotes and incidents of Clarkson and his times.
She read me a manuscript letter from him, written at a very advanced
age, in which he speaks with the utmost ardor and enthusiasm of the
first antislavery movements of Cassius M. Clay in Kentucky. She
described him to me as a cheerful, companionable being, frank and
simple-hearted, and with a good deal of quiet humor.
It is remarkable of him that, with such intense feeling for human
suffering as he had, and worn down and exhausted as he was by the
dreadful miseries and sorrows with which he was constantly obliged to
be familiar, he never yielded to a spirit of bitterness or
denunciation.
The narrative which he gives is as calm and unimpassioned, and as free
from any trait of this kind, as the narratives of the evangelists.
Thus riding and talking, we at last arrived at the hall.
The old stone house, the moat, the draw bridge, all spoke of days of
violence long gone by, when no man was safe except within fortified
walls, and every man's house literally had to be his castle.
To me it was interesting as the dwelling of a conqueror, as one who
had not wrestled with flesh and blood merely, but with principalities
and powers, and the rulers of the darkness of this world, and who had
overcome, as his great Master did before him, by faith, and prayer,
and labor.
We were received with much cordiality by the widow of Clarkson, now in
her eighty-fourth year. She has been a woman of great energy and
vigor, and an efficient co-laborer in his plans of benevolence.
She is now quite feeble. I was placed under the care of a respectable
female servant, who forthwith installed me in a large chamber
overlooking the court yard, which had been Clarkson's own room; the
room where, for years, many of his most important labors had been
conducted, and from whence his soul had ascended to the reward of the
just.
The servant who attended me seemed to be quite a superior woman, like
many of the servants in respectable English families. She had grown up
in the family, and was identified with it; its ruling aims and
purposes had become hers. She had been the personal attendant of
Clarkson, and his nurse during his last sickness; she had evidently
understood, and been interested in his plans; and the veneration with
which she therefore spoke of him had the sanction of intelligent
appreciation.
A daughter of Clarkson, who was married to a neighboring clergyman,
with her husband, was also present on this day.
After dinner we rode out to see the old church, in whose enclosure the
remains of Clarkson repose. It was just such a still, quiet, mossy old
church as you have read of in story books, with the graveyard spread
all around it, like a thoughtful mother, who watches the resting of
her children.
The grass in the yard was long and green, and the daisy, which, in
other places, lies like a little button on the ground, here had a
richer fringe of crimson, and a stalk about six inches high. It is, I
well know, the vital influence from the slumbering dust beneath which
gives the richness to this grass and these flowers; but let not that
be a painful thought; let it rather cheer us, that beauty should
spring from ashes, and life smile brighter from the near presence of
death. The grave of Clarkson is near the church, enclosed by a
railing, and marked by a simple white marble slab; it is carefully
tended, and planted with flowers. In the church was an old book of
records, and among other curious inscriptions was one recording how a
pious committee of old Noll's army had been there, knocking off
saints' noses, and otherwise purging the church from the relics of
idolatry.
Near by the church was the parsonage, the home of my friends, a neat,
pleasant, sequestered dwelling, of about the style of a New England
country parsonage.
The effect of the whole together was inexpressibly beautiful to me.
For a wonder, it was a pleasant day, and this is a thing always to be
thankfully acknowledged in England. The calm stillness of the
afternoon, the seclusion of the whole place, the silence only broken
by the cawing of the rooks, the ancient church, the mossy graves with
their flowers and green grass, the sunshine and the tree shadows, all
seemed to mingle together in a kind of hazy dream of peacefulness and
rest. How natural it is to say of some place sheltered, simple, cool,
and retired, here one might find peace, as if peace came from without,
and not from within.
