THE DEATH OF MELVILLE CLARK.

The lamented death of Miss Durham was not the only one in our community to be traced to the results of the war.

The period of reconstruction, forcing upon the Southern states the obnoxious Fourteenth Amendment, so humiliating and so unjust, especially at that time, had intensified the prejudices of the negroes against the white people—prejudices already sufficiently aroused by previous abolition teachings and the results of the war.

Several times in this little volume mention has been made of Rev. William Henry Clarke, the staunch patriot and well known Methodist preacher. At this period he had become a resident of Decatur. His son, Melville Clarke, a noble, promising boy, while attempting to rescue a small white child from the abuse of an overgrown negro youth, received wounds from which he died. Memory recalls many other instances of like character, perpetrated at this period, the most disgraceful in the annals of American history.

The subjoined resolutions, passed by the Methodist Sabbath school of which Melville was a beloved scholar, attest the many good traits of his character, and the affection accorded him in the community:

“The committee appointed to draft resolutions on the death of Melville Clarke, one of our scholars, beg leave to submit the following:

“In the wise dispensation of Him that doeth all things well, we are called to pay the last tribute to departed worth. Melville Clark is no more. The vacant seat says he is no more. The hushed voice says he is no more. Yes, the impressive, solemn silence of this moment whispers that another light which shone brightly the brief space allotted it here has flickered out. The body which encased the spirit of the noble Christian boy has been laid away in the silence of the grave, and his spirit, as we trust, escorted by a convoy of angels, has gone to that bright and better world above.

“Therefore, Resolved, That as we gather around the new-made grave and drop a sympathetic tear (which speaks more eloquently than any words mortal lips can utter), we deeply feel the loss of one so full of promise and usefulness—that noble spirit just bursting into manhood, with a mind that would grasp in a moment things that men have passed through life and never comprehended—and a heart lit up with the love of God, and drawn out by the tenderest cords of affection to do little acts of kindness. Language fails us to give utterance to the anguish we feel at sustaining so great a loss. But he has gone. No more shall we hang upon the eloquence of his gentle, kind words, or see that face which was so often lit up with an expressive sweetness that we could but recognize as the reflex of the lamb-like Christian spirit that reigned within. He has gone, and as we turn from the sad, solemn scene in that faith which ‘hopeth all things, believeth all things, endureth all things,’ we can but exclaim: ‘The Lord gave—the Lord hath taken away—blessed be the name of the Lord!’

“Resolved, That in the death of one of our members, so young, we recognize an admonition that the young, as well as the old, are swiftly passing away, and that we should pause and reflect seriously upon this important subject.

“Resolved, That as a school, our warmest sympathy and condolence be tendered to the family of our dear deceased friend in this, their great bereavement, and that a copy of these resolutions be furnished them.”

August 30th, 1868.