University of Virginia Library

CHARLOTTE.

Charlotte was formed in 1794, from Lunenburg. It is 22 miles
long, with a mean breadth of 18 miles. The surface is diversified;
the soil on the river bottoms fertile, but on the ridges mostly barren;
it is watered by numerous creeks and rivulets, all tributary to
Staunton river, except the head branches of the Meherrin, on the
E. and SE. Pop. 1830, 15,252; 1840, whites 5,130; slaves 9,260;
free colored 307; total, 14,595.

Charlotte C. H., or Marysville, 98 miles SW. of Richmond, and
30 SE. of Lynchburg, near the centre of the county, contains I
Baptist, 1 Presbyterian, and 1 Methodist church, and about 50
dwellings. Keysville, and Rough Creek Church, are small places
in the county.

Charlotte has been the residence of three distinguished Virginians,
viz.: Patrick Henry, John Randolph, and the late Judge Paul
Carrington, senr.

Red Hill, the Seat of Patrick Henry.

Red Hill is on the southwest angle of the-county. There lived
and died Patrick Henry; the man who, Jefferson said, "was the
greatest orator that ever lived;" and to whom Randolph applied
the words of sacred writ, as being one "who spake as never man
spake."

Red Hill is now the seat of his son, John Henry, Esq. The
larger part of the main building, shown on the left, has been added
since the decease of its illustrious occupant.[1]

It is beautifully situated on an elevated ridge, the dividing line of Campbell and Charlotte,
within a quarter of a mile of the junction of Falling River with the Staunton. From
it the valley of the Staunton stretches southward about three miles, varying from a
quarter to nearly a mile in width, and of an oval-like form. Through most fertile meadows,
waving in their golden luxuriance, slowly winds the river, overhung by mossy foliage,
while on all sides gently sloping hills, rich in verdure, enclose the whole, and impart
to it an air of seclusion and repose. From the brow of the hill, west of the house, is
a scene of an entirely different character; the Blue Ridge, with the lofty Peaks of Otter,
appear in the horizon at a distance of nearly sixty miles. At the foot of the garden, under
a dense cluster of locust and other trees, enclosed by a wooden paling, are the graves
of Patrick Henry and his wife, overrun with myrtle, and without any monuments over
them.

Under the trees seen on the left of the picture, in full view of the beautiful valley beneath,
the orator was accustomed in pleasant weather to sit mornings and evenings, with
his chair leaning against one of their trunks, and a can of cool spring-water by his side,
from which he took frequent draughts. Occasionally, he walked to and fro in the yard
from one clump of trees to the other, buried in revery, at which times he was never interrupted.
Among the relics in the house is the arm-chair in which he died, and a
knife given to him when a boy by his uncle, Patrick Henry, which he carried through
life, and had in his pocket at the moment of his death. In the parlor hangs his portrait,
a masterly production, by Sully, representing him pleading in the British debt
cause. The dress is black, cravat white, and a red velvet mantle is thrown over the
shoulders.[2] He appears three-quarters face, leaning partly back, with his spectacles
thrown over his forehead; and the expression is one of deep solemnity and impressiveness.

Under the description of Hanover county, the reader will find a succinct memoir of
Henry; and in that of New London, Campbell county, and of the city of Richmond,
are views of buildings memorable as the scenes of some of his celebrated oratorical efforts.
We now give some reminiscences, collected by us from a reliable source while in
this section of the state. They are mainly detached facts, without connection, and must
necessarily be given in that manner.

When fourteen years of age, Mr. Henry went with his mother in a carriage to the
Fork church in Hanover, to hear preach the celebrated Samuel Davies, afterwards president
of Princeton college. His eloquence made a deep impression on his youthful
mind, and he always remarked, he was the greatest orator he ever heard. When a member
of the Continental Congress, he said the first men in that body were Washington,
Richard Henry Lee, and Roger Sherman; and later in life, Roger Sherman and George
Mason, the greatest statesmen he ever knew. When governor, he had printed and circulated
in Richmond, at his own expense, Soame Jenyns' View of Christianity, and Butler's
Analogy of Natural and Revealed Religion. Sherlock's sermons, he affirmed, was
the work which removed all his doubts of the truth of Christianity; a copy of which,
until a short time since, was in the possession of his children, filled with marginal notes.
He read it every Sunday evening to his family, after which they all joined in sacred music,
while he accompanied them on the violin. He never quoted poetry. His quotations
were from the Bible, and his illustrations from the Bible, ancient and modern history.
He was opposed to the adoption of the Federal constitution, because he thought
it gave too much power to the general government; and in conversation with the father
of a late venerable senator from Prince Edward, he remarked with emphasis: "The
President of the United States will always come in at the head of a party. He will be
supported in all his acts by a party. You do not now think much of the patronage of the
President; but the day is coming when it will be tremendous, and from this power the
country may sooner or later fall."

In the British debt cause, of which Wirt gives a full account, Mr. Henry made great
preparation. He shut himself up in his office for three days, during which he did not
see his family; his food was handed by a servant through the office-door. The Countess
of Huntington, then in this country, was among the auditors, and remarked, after hearing
the arguments of the several speakers,[3] "that if every one of them had spoken in

Westminster Hall, they would have been honored with a peerage." Mr. Henry had a
diamond ring on his finger, and, while he was speaking, the Countess exclaimed to the
Judge, Iredell—who had never before heard him—"The diamond is blazing!" "Gracious
God!" replied he, "he is an orator indeed." In this cause he injured his voice so
that it never recovered its original power.

The following anecdote was related by President Madison, at the conclusion of the
late war, to a party of gentlemen assembled at his residence in Washington. In the
revolutionary war, certificates were given by the legislature to the Virginia line on
continental establishment, stating the amount due to them, which was to be paid at a
future time. The necessities of the soldiers, in many instances, compelled them to part
with the certificates to speculators for a trivial sum. Madison brought a bill before the
legislature to put a stop to it. He had previously asked Mr. Henry if he was willing to
support it. The reply was "yes;" but having no further communication with him on
the subject, Mr. Madison feared he had forgotten the circumstance. After the bill was
read, he turned to where Mr. Henry sat, with an anxious eye, upon which the latter
immediately arose and addressed the house. Mr. Madison said that upon that occasion
he was particularly eloquent. His voice reminded him of a trumpeter on the field of
battle, calling the troops to a charge. He looked alternately to the house and the audience,
and saw they were with the orator; and, at the conclusion, one of the chief speculators
in tickets, then in the galleries, exclaimed in an audible voice—"That bill ought
to pass!"—it did pass, and unanimously.

We conclude this article by the subjoined extract from "the Mountaineer," a series
of Essays, originally published in 1813 in the Republican Farmer, at Staunton, and
written by Conrad Speece, D.D., pastor of the Augusta church:

Roanoke, the seat of John Randolph.

The residence of the late John Randolph is near the Staunton, in the southern part
of the county, several miles above its junction with the Dan, and about thirteen below
Charlotte court-house.

The name, Roanoke, is derived from a small creek running through the plantation.
The buildings are in a dense forest, which has scarce ever echoed to the woodman's
axe. On leaving the main road, the traveller threads his way through the woods by a
narrow path, for about half a mile, when, a few rods distant, the dwellings and outhouses
suddenly appear through the foliage, without any cultivated land or clearing in
view, seeming, from the wild seclusion and primitive aspect of the spot, to have been
the abode of a recluse, rather than of a statesman, whose fame extended beyond the
limits of his native land.

The two buildings in front were occupied by Mr. Randolph, and those in the rear by
his domestics. That on the right is clapboarded, and is much the most commodious; it
was the one in which he dwelt in summer. On the ground-floor are two rooms, one
containing his books, the other is the drawing-room, adorned with convenient and neat
furniture. The library is large, well selected, and contains many rare works. Most of
the books bear evidence of careful perusal, and the striking passages are marked with
the pencil. Among the many pictures and portraits in these rooms is one of Pocahontas.
The arms are bare to the elbow, displaying an arm and a hand of exquisite beauty.
The hair and eye are a raven black,—the latter remarkably expressive, and the whole
countenance surpassing lovely, and beaming with intelligence and benignity.

The dwelling on the left was his winter residence, and the one in which he usually
partook of his meals. It is a log structure, which is entered through a shed, paved with
water-worn pebbles and supported by unhewn posts. Notwithstanding its extreme simplicity,
it is richly furnished. These rooms are also hung with portraits. One of them
is a fine drawing of his servant Jupiter—or, as he is commonly called, Juba—dressed
as a sportsman, with a double-barrelled gun on his shoulder. Over the fireplace in the
bedroom is a portrait of Mr. Randolph, when twelve years of age. It is a fine oil
painting, from the easel of the celebrated Gilbert Stuart. In the fresh rosy complexion,
and round chubby face of this beautiful little boy, it would be difficult to trace any resemblance
to the thin, cadaverous lineaments of the original in his latter years. John
and Juba, the favorite servants of Randolph, yet reside in the small huts shown in the
background.

The first is a man of strong mind, and the general expression, and the high, well-developed
forehead, denote an intellect of greater than an ordinary cast; but the latter
—the affectionate and faithful Juba—was more appreciated for the qualities of his heart.
As we mounted our horses, on leaving Roanoke, at the close of a fine summer's day in
1843, we said to him: "Juba, you lost a fine master when Mr. Randolph died." "Ah!"
replied he, "he was more than a father to me."

About 100 yards to the right of where the foregoing view was taken, is the grave of
Randolph. It is in the midst of the forest, with no marble memorial; but two tall pines
hang their rude limbs over the spot, and the wind mournfully sighs through their
branches.

[ILLUSTRATION]

Fac-simile of the signature of John Randolph of Roanok

John Randolph of Roanoke[4] was born June 2d, 1773, at Cawson's, Prince George
county, the family seat of his mother. He was descended in the seventh generation from
Pocahontas, the Indian princess. This lady died at Gravesend, England, in 1617, at
the age of twenty-three. Thomas Rolf, her son, became a citizen of Virginia, and left
at his death a daughter, who married Col. Robert Bolling, by whom she had one son
and five daughters. They married respectively, Col. John Fleming, Dr. Wm. Gay,
Mr. Thomas Eldridge, Mr. James Murray, and Col. Richard Randolph. John Randolph
of Roanoke, was the son of John Randolph, a wealthy country gentleman, who died at
Matoax, his residence on the Appomattox, near Petersburg, where he lies burried. John
Randolph of Roanoke's mother was Frances Bland, daughter of Col. Theodorick Bland,
jun., who was a brother of Richard Bland, a member of the continental congress.
Surviving her first husband, she married secondly, St. George Tucker, the eminent jurist.
John Randolph's half-brothers, now surviving, are Beverley T. Tucker, professor of law
at William and Mary, and Henry St. George Tucker, professor of law at the University
of Va.

The mother of John Randolph was an exemplary and pious member of the Episcopal
denomination, and a lady of sprightliness and talent. She brought up her son strictly,
"teaching him," as he often remarked, "the Lord's prayer and the ten commandments."
John Randolph passed a short time at three colleges: Princeton, Columbia, and William
and Mary; but he used to say, that he acquired all his knowledge from his library at
Roanoke, and by intercourse with the world.

In the spring of 1799, Mr. Randolph presented himself to the electors of Charlotte
as a candidate for Congress, in competition with Mr. Clement Carrington, a federalist,
and Mr. Powhatan Bolling, a democrat. On the same occasion he encountered Patrick
Henry, then a candidate for the state senate, and opposed to those measures Mr. Randolph
advocated. They met at the court-house, and supported a long and animated
discussion. Mr. Henry was then in his 67th year; the measure of his fame was full;
the late proceedings of the Virginia assembly, in relation to the alien and sedition laws,
had filled him with alarm—"had planted his pillow with thorns, and he had quitted his
retirement to make one more, his last, effort for his country." Enfeebled by age and ill-health,
with a linen cap upon his head, he mounted the hustings, and commenced with
difficulty; but as he proceeded, his eye lighted up with its wonted fire, his voice assumed
its wonted majesty; gradually accumulating strength and animation, his eloquence
seemed like an avalanche threatening to overwhelm his adversary. Many present considered
it his best effort. Mr. Moulton remarked, that many of its passages were indelibly
impressed upon his memory. In the course of the speech, Mr. Henry said, "The
alien and sedition laws were only the fruits of that constitution, the adoption of which
he opposed. . . . . If we are wrong, let us all go wrong together," at the same time clasping
his hands and waving his body to the right and left. His auditory unconsciously
waved with him. As he finished he literally descended into the arms of the obstreperous
throng, and was borne about in triumph, when Dr. John H. Rice exclaimed, "the
sun has set in all his glory."

As Mr. Henry left the stand, Mr. Randolph, with undaunted courage, arose in his
place. He was then about 26 years of age—a mere boy from college, who had, probably,
never yet addressed a political assembly—of a youthful and unprepossessing appearance.
The audience, considering it presumptuous for him to speak after Mr. Henry, partially
dispersed, and an Irishman present exclaimed, "Tut! tut! it won't do, it's nothing but
the bating of an old tin pan after hearing a fine church organ." But if "the sun of the
other had set in all his glory," his was about to rise with, perhaps, an equal brilliancy.
He commenced: "his singular person and peculiar aspect; his novel, shrill, vibratory
intonations; his solemn, slow-marching, and swelling periods; his caustic crimination
of the prevailing political party; his cutting satire; the tout ensemble of his public
début, soon calmed the tumultuous crowd, and inclined all to listen to the strange
orator, while he replied at length to the sentiments of their old favorite. When he had
concluded, loud huzzas rang through the welkin.

"This was a new event to Mr. Henry. He had not been accustomed to a rival, and
little expected one in a beardless boy: for such was the aspect of the champion who
now appeared to contend for the palm which he was wont to appropriate to himself.
He returned to the stage and commenced a second address, in which he soared above
his usual vehemence and majesty. Such is usually the fruit of emulation and rivalship.
He frequently adverted to his youthful competitor with parental tenderness; complimented
his rare talents with the liberality of profusion; and, while regretting what he deprecated
as the political errors of youthful zeal, actually wrought himself and audience into
an enthusiasm of sympathy and benevolence that issued in an ocean of tears. The
gesture, intonations, and pathos of Mr. Henry, operated like an epidemic on the transported
assembly. The contagion was universal. An hysterical phrensy pervaded the
audience to such a degree, that they were at the same moment literally weeping and
laughing. At this juncture the speaker descended from the stage. Shouts of applause
rent the air, and were echoed from the skies. The whole spectacle as it really was,
would not only mock every attempt at description, but would almost challenge the imagination
of any one who had not witnessed it. With a recollection of the event, Mr.
Randolph, eighteen years afterwards, in his place in the House of Representatives of the
U. S., speaking of the general-ticket law, which was carried by the democratic party
by a majority of five votes only in the popular branch of the Virginia Assembly, said:
`Had Patrick Henry lived, and taken his seat in the Assembly, that law would never
have passed. In that case the electoral vote of Virginia would have been divided, and
Mr. Jefferson lost his election! Five votes! Mr. Chairman! Patrick Henry was good
for five times five votes.' "[5]

In this contest Mr. Henry was elected to the Senate of Virginia, but did not live to
take his seat; and Mr. Randolph was returned to Congress, in which body he was at
different intervals for more than twenty-four years, including the time he served in the
United States Senate. Well did the people of Charlotte obey the last injunction of
Patrick Henry in the speech above described, when he said, "He is a young man of
promise; cherish him, he will make an invaluable man."

Such was Mr. Randolph's youthful appearance, that when he made his first appearance
at the clerk's table of the House of Representatives to qualify, that gentleman could not
refrain from inquiring his age: "Ask my constituents, sir," was the reply. Mr. Randolph
soon became one of the leaders of the republican party in Congress, and a decided
politician of the Jeffersonian school. He later was distinguished by his opposition
to the embargo and non-intercourse acts, and the gun-boat system of Mr. Jefferson.

In Madison's administration, Mr. Randolph opposed the declaration of war with Great
Britain; but when fears were entertained of the invasion of Virginia, at the time of the
burning of Washington, he offered himself to the governor for any post he chose to assign
him. He was given an office in the corps of topographical engineers, which he filled
as long as the corps remained in service. In the administration of Mr. Monroe, he opposed
with ability the Greek resolutions, and the internal improvement system of the
general government. During the administration of J. Q. Adams, he was elected to the
U. S. Senate, where he again arrayed himself in opposition to the friends of the president.
It was then that he used those violent remarks which occasioned the duel between
himself and Mr. Clay.

The account of this duel, which we extract, has been given to the public in a letter
of Gen. James Hamilton, who accompanied Mr. Randolph to the field on this occasion,
in conjunction with Col. Tattnal, then a member of Congress from Georgia:

The magnanimous conduct of Mr. Randolph on the occasion of this duel excited general
admiration. Shortly afterwards he retired from Congress, and in 1829 he was elected
a member of the convention for revising the state constitution. Every morning he
went to the capitol in Richmond, where the convention met, clad in mourning, with a
black suit, and hat and arms bound with crape. "Have you lost a friend?" was the
frequent query. "Oh no!" replied he, in his peculiarly melancholy tones; "I go in
mourning for the old constitution: I fear I have come to witness its death and funeral."
When he returned from the convention, he intended to retire from public life, and made,
as he supposed, his farewell address to his constituents at Charlotte court-house. From
the memory of a gentleman present, we give a slight sketch of his remarks:

He commenced by saying, "he had lately been very unpleasantly situated; that he
was in a convention where Virginian was contending with Virginian for power, and that
he had taken part in the strife. Fellow-citizens, you know brothers never could divide
an estate! The convention agreed to a constitution he had there voted for, and should
presently go into the court-house and vote for again. But he disliked it. They had extended
the right of suffrage; he never could agree to it—never thought it right. There
many plans for a constitution were submitted; every man thought himself a constitutionmaker—every
man thought himself a George Mason. But my main business is to take
leave of you, and what shall I say? Twenty-eight years ago you took me by the hand when
a beardless boy, and led me into Congress Hall. The clerk asked me if I was of lawful
age; I told him to ask you. You said you had a faithful representative; I said no man
ever had such constituents. You have supported me through evil report and through
good report. I have served you to the best of my ability, but fear I have been an unprofitable
servant; and if justice were meted out to me, should be beaten with many
stripes. People of Charlotte! which of you is without SIN?"—at the same time shaking

his long bony finger, "that javelin of rhetoric," (as it has been termed,) at them in
his peculiarly impressive manner. "But I know," continued he, "I shall get a verdict
of acquittal from my earthly tribunal: I see it! I read it in your countenances. But it
is time for me to retire, and prepare to stand before another, a higher tribunal, where a
verdict of acquittal will be of infinite more importance than one from an earthly tribunal.
Here is the trust you placed in my hands twenty-eight years ago"—at the same
time, suiting the action to the idea, bending forward as though rolling a great weight
towards them, and exclaiming—"Take it back! take it back!" He then mounted his
horse and rode off.

Early in the administration of President Jackson, he was appointed a minister-plenipotentiary
to Russia. He suddenly returned from his mission, came into Charlotte, and
raised his standard in opposition to the executive. Death, however, soon terminated his
labors. He died at Philadelphia, May 24th, 1833, whither he had gone to embark on
board of a vessel for Europe, for the benefit of his health. His physician published a
long and thrilling narrative of his last days. We have, however, but sufficient space to
quote the concluding scene:

"After the lapse of about an hour or more, and about 50 minutes before his decease,
I returned to his sick room; but now the scene was changed. His keen, penetrating
eye had lost its expression; his powerful mind had given way, and he appeared totally
incapable of giving any correct directions relative to his worldly concerns. To record
what now took place may not be required, further than to say, that almost to the last
moment some of his eccentricities could be seen lingering about him. He had entered
within `the dark valley of the shadow of death,' and what was now passing within his
chamber was like the distant voice of words which fell with confusion on the ear. The
further this master-spirit receded from view, the sounds became less distinct, until they
were lost in the deep recesses of the valley, and all that was mortal of Randolph of
Roanoke was hushed in death."

Mr. Randolph never married. He was once engaged to a distinguished heiress; but
when the day appointed for the wedding arrived, he declined, and she subsequently married
a gentleman of distinction. Yet, from the following anecdote, it would seem that
he had no great predilections for a life of celibacy. Respecting an epistle to a friend,
congratulating him upon his marriage, written by Mr. Randolph early in life, one who
saw it has said: "a letter of more beautiful simplicity and feeling, I never read. I
recollect that while the writer dwelt upon the happiness and advantages to be expected
from a wedded life, he spoke feelingly of never expecting to enjoy them himself."

The portrait of Mr. Randolph when a boy, shows him to have been a beautiful child.
When a young man, he was tall, ungainly, flaxen-haired, and his complexion of a parchment
hue. The expression was unprepossessing; but when animated, his countenance
changed in a moment, and that which was before dull and heavy, flashed up with the
brightest beams of intellect. His personal appearance late in life is here given from a
published account, omitting the extravagances of the original:

I had frequently heard and read descriptions of Randolph: and one day, as I was
standing in one of the public streets of Baltimore, I remarked a tall, thin, unique-looking
being, hurrying towards me with a quick impatient step, evidently much annoyed by a
crowd of boys following close upon him, absorbed in silent and curious wonder. He
stopped to converse with a gentleman, which gave me an opportunity, unnoticed, to
observe the Roanoke orator for a considerable length of time, and really he was the most
remarkable looking person I ever beheld.

His limbs, long and thin, were encased in a pair of small-clothes, so tight that they
seemed part and parcel of the limbs of the wearer. Handsome white stockings were
fastened with great tidiness at the knees by a small gold buckle, and over them, coming
about half-way up to the calf, were a pair of what I believe are called hose, coarse and
country-knit. He wore shoes: they were old-fashioned, and fastened only with buckles
—huge ones. In walking, he placed his feet in the straight-forward Indian manner. It
was then the fashion to wear a fan-tailed coat, with a small collar, and buttons far apart
behind, and a few on the breast. Mr. Randolph's were the reverse of this; the coat
was swallow-tailed, the collar immensely large, and the buttons crowded together. His
waist was remarkably slender, and around it his coat was buttoned very tight, and held
together by one button. His neck was enveloped in a large high white cravat, without
any collar being perceptible, although it was then the fashion to wear them very large.
His complexion was dark and cadaverous, and his face exceedingly wrinkled. His lips
were thin, compressed, and colorless; the chin, beardless as a boy's, was broad for the
size of his face, which was small; his nose was straight, with nothing remarkable in it,
except it was too short. He wore a fur cap, which he took off, standing a few minutes

uncovered. I observed that his head was quite small; a characteristic which is said to
have marked many men of talent—Byron and Chief Justice Marshall, for instance.

To accurately delineate the character of Mr. Randolph, would require the pen of a
master, and a long acquaintance with him. While in Congress, he had but few personal
friends, but those few, it has been said, "he riveted to his heart with hooks of steel."
His attachments and hatred were alike strong. His affection for his servants was great;
and his treatment, kind and generous, excited that gratitude which is a marked feature
in the African race. The return of "Massa Randolph" from Congress was greeted with
the utmost demonstration of joy.

The conversational powers of Mr. Randolph were extraordinary, and when he chose,
there was irresistible fascination in his voice and manner. His knowledge of books and
men too was extensive. A friend on board the steamboat with him, on his passage from
Baltimore to Philadelphia, a few days before his death, stated to the writer, that among
the crowd that at one time surrounded him, as he reclined upon a settee in the cabin,
was a gentleman, now a foreign minister; an individual who, as a writer, has done more
to enhance the reputation of American literature abroad than any other. Him, the
statesman, enfeebled in body and mind by disease, was addressing. He hung upon his
lips as if drawn by a charm, and appeared like a child before its teacher.

It has been said, that when in the halls of legislation, "he never spoke without commanding
the most intense interest. At his first gesture, or word, the house and galleries
were hushed into silence and attention. His voice was shrill and pipe-like, but under
perfect command; and in its lower tones, it was music. His tall person, firm eye, and
peculiarly `expressive fingers,' assisted very much in giving effect to his delivery. His
eloquence, taking its character from his unamiable disposition, was generally exerted in
satire and invective; but he never attempted pathos without entire success. In quickness
of perception, accuracy of memory, liveliness of imagination, and sharpness of wit,
he surpassed most men of his day; but his judgment was feeble, or rarely consulted."

The aphorism, "a prophet is not without honor save in his own country," did not apply
to him. He was always an object of wonder and curiosity to all. He often stopped at
the hotel of Wyatt Cardwell, Esq., at Charlotte C. H. On those occasions, the multitude,
though frequently seeing him, would crowd the windows and doors to get a glimpse of
that man, about whose genius, eccentricities, and physical aspect, there was so much of
the incomprehensible.

Mr. Randolph was opposed to that feature in the Federal constitution which gave so
much power to the president. To that, by his friends, has been ascribed his opposition
to every executive.

He went for the independence of the representative. A quotation from one of his
speeches, supplied by the memory of one present, is here in point. "I was at Federal
Hall. I saw Washington, but could not hear him take the oath to support the Federal
constitution. The constitution was in its chrysalis state. I saw what Washington did
not see; but two other men in Virginia saw it—George Mason and Patrick Henry—the
poison under its wings."

Mr. Randolph had a great veneration for religion, and a most intimate knowledge of
the Bible. His strongest illustrations were often from Sacred writ, and he could converse
upon it in the most interesting manner. He was peculiarly a being of impulse,
often reminding one, by his eccentricities, of the saying of Cicero, "that there was but
a hair's-breadth between a great genius and a madman." When excited, he sometimes
inadvertently used the name of the Almighty irreverently, upon which, instantly checking
the torrent of his impetuosity, he would with deep humility ask forgiveness, exclaiming,
"God forgive!" Towards the latter part of life, he was accustomed to call his
servants together on Sundays, when he would preach to them with almost surpassing
eloquence. He was charitable to the poor in his neighborhood, and beloved by them.
He was wealthy, and left 318 slaves and 180 horses. At different times he made several
wills, both written and nuncupative, by some of which he liberated slaves. They have
become the subject of litigation the most complicated, expensive, and interminable.

Mr. Randolph has been described as one who "possessed a mind fertilized by every
stream of literature; but the use he made of his great acquirements, was calculated
to make enemies rather than friends; and, as he once said, `no man ever had such
constituents'—a fact which, of itself, speaks volumes in his praise. If he originated no
great national benefits, nor did any great positive national good, he prevented many evils;
and in doing so, he became the benefactor of his country, although not to the extent he
might otherwise have been." Much of his eccentricity was, doubtless, owing to his
exquisitely sensitive nervous organization, which became morbidly susceptible by disease.