There can be no question of the purity of Clayton’s motives, but his openly avowed adherence to the cause of the Pretender involved him in serious troubles. To say nothing of his ministerial suspension, he was, for years afterwards, the target of his townsmen’s malice. Some hated him, but others loved him; and the two united turned his life into a turmoil. Hence the following, taken from a work entitled, “Jacobite and Non-Juring Principles freely examined,” and published, in Manchester, against Dr. Deacon, by J. Owen, in 1748. Speaking of Clayton, Owen asks:—
“If you are the loyal people you represent yourselves to be, whence happens it that there has been such a flush of joy, discovered by your friends, for a little, seditious priest, by virtue of the Act of Indemnity, escaping that justice which was upon the wing to pursue him? Whence was it that the bells rang on the occasion for days together? Was it not by way of grateful Te Deum, for the great and undeserved deliverance? Whence was it that this,—shall I call him Reverend Teacher of Babes,—has such numbers of his young fry, as I am informed he has, clad in the livery of rebellion? Is it not to convince the world that there is no heresy in Scotch plaid, when wore only as a badge of Romish superstition? It must be so, unless you can believe,—and believe it who can!—that plaid, politics, and popery are this gentleman’s aversion.”
Clayton’s school has just been mentioned,—a school, perhaps, commenced in consequence of his clerical suspension.[48] His residence was in Greengate, Salford, and the present well-known Methodist Chapel, in Gravel Lane, stands on what was once his garden. Here he ably conducted his classical academy, not a few of his pupils becoming graduates at the Oxford University. Here he kept a favourite monkey which came to a cruel and untimely end; for his pupils, either in wanton mischief or temporary spite, seized poor Pug, and fastened him to a stake in the vicinity of a hive of bees; and then so exasperated the apiarian insects, that the excited and miserable monkey was literally stung to death. At Kersall Cell, the seat of the Byrom family at Manchester, there is a large original oil-painting representing the interior of Clayton’s School in Salford, and a full-length portrait of Clayton himself, dressed in a blue velvet gown, and surrounded by his scholars.
Little more remains to be said of this sincere and earnest high church clergyman. He was stiff in his churchmanship, but was greatly respected. His Jacobite inclinations might be foolish, but they were not wicked, and were not peculiar to himself. Many of the most learned and pious and useful men then existing entertained the same sentiments and feelings. They were doubtless mistaken; but they were honest, and merited forbearance more than punishment. It is said that, in after years, Mr. Clayton’s opinions were greatly modified; and that, in fact, he became a Hanoverian. Perhaps there is no absolute proof of such a politico-religious change; but a caricature (now extremely scarce) was published, in which he was represented as standing on a pedestal, with two faces looking in opposite directions; on his breast was inscribed, “The art of trimming;” in his left hand was a scroll with “God bless King James III.” upon it; and in his right another, bearing the inscription of “Charles III.” The remainder of the picture consisted of a view of Manchester Old Church, the initials of Prince Charles, sundry portraits, a box and dice, a schoolmaster’s birchen rod, a broken punch-bowl, a dog snatching at a shadow, and finally two fighting cats. At the foot of the engraving was written:—
“Lye on! while my revenge shall be
To speak the very truth of thee.”
For twenty years, Clayton was chaplain of the Collegiate Church of Manchester; and, in 1760, was elected a fellow thereof, in the place of Mr. Crouchley, deceased.[49] Nine years afterwards, in 1769, he preached the sermon at the consecration of St. John’s Church, Manchester, founded by Edward Byrom, Esq., the son of his warmly attached friend, Dr. Byrom. He died September 25, 1773. His funeral sermon was preached by his intimate friend, the Rev. Thomas Aynscough, M.A., from the words, “We took sweet counsel together, and walked unto the house of God in company.” His old pupils erected a monument to his memory, in the Collegiate Church, bearing the following inscription:—
“Sacred to the Memory of the Rev. John Clayton, M.A.,
Successively Chaplain and Fellow of this Church,
Who died September 25th, 1773, Aged 64 Years.
This Monument is erected by his Scholars,
A grateful Token of their Affection and Esteem.
He had endeared himself to them
by his manly Cheerfulness, and strict Integrity,
diffusive Charity, heroic Forgiveness,
and Serenity of Temper under Disappointments;
his judicious Fidelity to guard against
the Dangers of Vice, and Follies of Ignorance,
by forming the Man, the Scholar, and the Christian,
in every Mind submitted to his Cultivation;
his ardent Zeal for true Religion;
warm Attachment to the Church of England;
and unwearied Discharge of all the Labours
of a conscientious Parish Priest;
by the uncommon Lustre of his declining Years,
wherein he bore the sharpest Agonies
of a painful and humiliating Disease,
with the Fortitude of Faith, the Resignation of Hope,
and the strong Consolation of a well-spent Life.”
This is high praise, but not unmerited,—given not by strangers, who never saw him, but by those who knew him best. Old Manchester Methodists used to describe him as being about five feet eight inches in stature, somewhat portly, dignified in gait, wearing an enormous wig, always deeply serious, a rigid disciplinarian among his scholars and choristers, a pattern of canonical regularity in the performance of his ministerial duties, and very venerable in appearance at the close of life.