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