University of Virginia Library

RANDOLPH'S ONE GREAT ANCHOR.

Randolph once wrote to a friend: "I am a fatalist. I
am all but friendless. Only one human being ever knew
me. She only knew me."

That one and only human being was the one and only
of many sensitive, harassed lives—his mother. She died
before he was fifteen years of age and when she herself was
but thirty-six, leaving behind the pervading fragrance of a
gentle wisdom and piety, as well as of a rare wit and beauty
of person. She was the one great anchor of his being and
it was the application of her counsels which saved his fame

from total wreckage. She it was who inspired him with the
ambition to become an orator "as great a speaker as Jerman
Baker or Edmund Randolph," and during his early years
taught him from the masters of eloquence herself. "That
gave a bent to my disposition," he continues. "At Princeton
college, where I spent a few months, the prize of elocution
was borne away by mouthers and ranters. I never would
speak if I could possibly avoid it, and, when I could not,
repeated, without gesture, the shortest piece that I had committed
to memory. I remember some verses from Pope,
and the first anonymous letter from Newberg, made up the
sum and substance of my spoutings and I can yet repeat
much of the first epistle (to Lord Chatham) of the former
and a good deal of the latter. I was then as conscious of
my superiority over my competitors in delivery and elocution,
as I am now that they are sunk in oblivion; and I
despised the award and the umpires in the bottom of my
heart. I believe there is nowhere such foul play as among
professors and schoolmasters; more especially if they are
priests. I have had a contempt for college honors ever
since."

It was long before this, when the boy was about eight
years of age, that his mother had planted in his breast the
determination to bind himself for life to the family estate.
When riding over the great Raonoke plantation one day she
took John up behind her and waving her hand to cover
the broad view, said: "Johnny, all this land belongs to
you and your brother Theodorick; it is your father's inheritance.
When you get to be a man you must not sell
your land. It is the first step toward ruin for a boy to

part with his father's home. Be sure to keep it as long as
you live. Keep your land and your land will keep you."

And thus it proved. Roanoke, with its wild, primeval
solitude—virtually his only white companion a young relative,
Theodore Dudley—was his one great anchor and held
his brilliant mind from being buffeted hither and thither by
the insane promptings of his passions. Here he could and
did often retire from the world, only receiving and corresponding
with a few friends.