She trembled from head to foot, escape seemed impracticable, and prayer was her only refuge. As he advanced, she observed that his handkerchief fell and was wafted by the wind to a little distance. She picked it up, he stopped his horse, and she handed it to him in a submissive manner; he looked at her fiercely for a moment, when his countenance softened; he took it, saying, "Well, Clarinda," and passed on.
She was not able to read a word till her sixty-sixth year, but she was in the practice of getting persons to read the Holy Scriptures to her, much of which she retained in her memory with remarkable accuracy. By dint of application, she was at length able to read them herself; and those who visited her in advanced life, found her knowledge of the Scriptures, as well as her growth in grace, very surprising.
When she was one hundred years old, and very feeble, she would, if able to get out of bed, on the Sabbath morning, discharge what she thought to be her duty, by conversing with and exhorting both the white and colored people who came to her house, often standing for half an hour at a time. Her zeal was indeed great, and her faith steadfast.
She said she often wished she could write, that she might in this way also express her anxiety for the good of souls. Then she would have described more of the exercises of her mind upon the depravity of man by nature and by practice, with the unbounded and redeeming love and mercy of God through Jesus Christ.
The person who gives the account of Clarinda's death, says, "I was prevented from seeing her often in her last moments; when I did see her she was always the same—her one theme the love of God to poor sinners, which was always her style of speaking. One day, as I sat by her bedside, she said to me, 'Do you think I am a Christian?' 'Yes,' I answered, 'I do believe you are a Christian.' 'I have tried to be,' she replied, 'but now that I suffer in my body, when I think what an unprofitable servant I have been, I am distressed.' She then wept. 'You know,' I said, 'it is not how much we can do, but what we do sincerely for the love of Christ, that is acceptable.' She seemed comforted, and talked as usual.
"She showed me much affection when I left her, saying, 'I shall not live long, my dear ——,' and, adding a few other words, blessed me, and bid me pray for her. She had frequently expressed her fears of the bodily sufferings of death, but not accompanied with a dread of eternal death. I asked her, when she was ill, if she now feared to die. She said 'No; this fear was taken away some time previous to my illness.'"
She requested that her people, as she called them, might continue to meet at her house, but this was not allowed. I am told they sometimes meet elsewhere, and are called "Clarinda's People." When dying, she told those near her to follow her only as she had followed Christ. Her death occurred in 1832. "Those that be planted in the house of the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God. They shall bring forth fruit in old age."
While perusing this remarkable account of "a brand plucked from the burning," let those who from their earliest years have enjoyed the inestimable privilege of access to the sacred volume, and various other religious means, seriously consider the blessed Saviour's words: "Unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required."