University of Virginia Library

18. POSTSCRIPT.

It has been said of Randolph, that it contains too
much private history. Ah!—how know the people that
there is any private history in it? How came such
private history to be so universally known.

Again. A friend of the author has been asked, a
hundred times, more or less, why certain anecdotes are
mentioned in Randolph;—why he has let fall his iron
retribution, with such tremendous power, upon the innocent
and unoffending. Lo!—his answer.

To those, who never heard any thing of these anecdotes,
till they met with them in Randolph, they will
have no significance---they will pass, for the invention
of a Novel writer. But, if any man should understand
them, it will be because he had heard them before---in
some other shape---misrepresented, as a deadly slander;
and here, he will learn the whole truth. A human creature,
whose worst fault was, that, if he did wrong, no
matter how secretly; no matter, how tempted or provoked---he
could neither eat nor sleep, till he had confessed
the wrong, and made atonement for it; he once told of a
transgression, that no man knew; and prayed to be
forgiven. What was the consequence? Apparent, and
open-hearted forgiveness---but real hatred, and cowardly
vengeance; unspeakable treachery and cruelty;
while he was treated, to his face, like a man---and a
good man. One of the many, who so treated him,
went about, telling of him, confidentially, the most atrocious
lies---lies, I say; because, although there might
be some fact in them, yet, there were combined with it,
so much falsehood, concealment, misrepresentation---
so much detestible malice and folly---perverse and
wicked ingenuity---that the mind and heart of a great
multitude, were secretly prejudiced against a comparatively

innocent man, without giving him any reason, to
imagine, or suspect the cause.

The story never came to his ears—and how was he
to contradict, or explain it? It came not to the ears of
any intimate friend—for no man will venture to say
that, to the intimate friend of another, which he would
not say to that other, himself. Strangers could not be
expected to tell him the tale; or to inquire into the
truth of it. They heard it, confidentially. It was enough
for them, to tell it, confidentially. But, one day—by a
strange accident—the sufferer, himself, came to the
knowledge of it.

What did he? There were persons, whom he would
not injure nor wound, for all that the world could give,
so linked to the slanderer, that, if he suffered, they also
would suffer. But then, how should he defend himself?
He thought much of it—and, at last, came to a resolution:—there
was no other way. He determined to
write a book, which would only be understood for what
it was, (a refutation of the vile and wicked calumny,
which had been secretly poured, like a deadly poison,
into the ears of society, and left to run through all the
channels of life) by them, that had heard the calumny;
and felt only by them, that had felt, or administered, the
poison; while, to all the rest of the world, the book
would pass for a novel—and the remedy, for a cordial.

He did so. Do they complain that the story is known;
that they, and theirs, are dying with shame and terrour.
It is their own fault. Had they told nothing; or told,
what they did tell, true or false, boldly, and like men—
or told the whole truth, in any way, like men, or women;
they never should have been punished; the thunder
should not have fallen. Did they know the author of
Randolph; and could they persuade themselves, that he
would permit his name to go down to his children—or,
to posterity—for they are all as children to him—so
blackened and defaced.

No—he has done righteously—and most righteous
has been the retribution! The poison, like that poured
into the ears of sleeping Denmark, was most deadly.—
But, it was the nature of the remedy, to go only where

the poison had been—was—or would be. What, then,
if the blood vessels were ruptured—and the arteries
exploded—and flashes of fire escaped in the conflict—
what then?—it was not the fault of the physician. His
remedy was innocent, except where it encountered the
evil.

Since Randolph has appeared, hundreds have confessed,
that they had heard the wicked, sneaking fabrication,
whispered about, in confidence, long and long
before; and are perfectly thunderstruck at the truth.—
And, but for Randolph, the injured man would never
have known, nor suspected, the extent of his injury;—
nor ever had an opportunity of confounding the slanderer.

But enough. Let them that will, try the temper of
their blades in this kind of warfare. The spirit of Randolph,
whether he be dead or alive, will not abandon
the undertaking; nor faint, nor rest, till he have rescued
his own reputation, and put to shame the slanderers,
for ever;—and, if there be no other way, he will publish
their names, at full length, men, women, and children.
That, I will promise, for him, and in his name.

Editor.