University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER IV.

THERE are those now living in the county who remember
to have seen, on one occasion, a coach and four
coming dashing into the village of Charlotte Courthouse,
with a driver on one of the wheel horses and another
upon one of the leaders. They came whipping with might
and main, and in the height of their rapid career, the table
of a poor old woman, upon which was displayed her choice
stock of cakes, was overturned. Thereupon a shrill voice
issued from the window, cursing and damning the driver for
going at such a rate.

The driver responded: "Why, master, you told us to
drive fast."

There are no coaches and four in the county of Charlotte
now. Mr. Randolph was about the last man that travelled
in that style. His clumsy coach was imported from England,
as was almost his entire stock of furniture and books.
He was the last man that kept a park.

There is a reason for these changes; nor does it consist in
the want of means. There are men now residing in the
county as able to keep parks and drive four horses as Mr.
Randolph was. The reason is that aristocratic feelings, such
as inhabited the breasts of our forefathers of colonial times,

have been extinguished. The gentleman who, in our day,
should venture to keep a park and drive four horses, would
be pronounced an aristocrat, and would hazard his election
to any office within the gift of the people. "Aristocrat" is
an awful cry to be raised against a politician.

The revolution which caused the adoption of the constitution
of Mason, as it is styled, produced a great change in
the manners, customs and sentiments of our people. And
the laws so earnestly advocated by Thomas Jefferson produced
a great change from what we were under the old
constitution. Mr. Randolph was the last man in the State,
of prominent abilities, who made open war upon the prevailing
opinions, who threw himself right across the current
and attempted to arrest its progress. He was unsuccessful,
of course. A single individual had as well undertake to
dike in the Mississippi, as to check a great popular movement.
By skillful management he may, to some extent,
guide it; but never arrest it.

Mr. Randolph's prejudices were too strong to be moulded
by the prevailing opinions. Indeed, he would have been a
much happier man, in all probability, if he had lived in
England.

The old habits and customs had passed away; the law of
inheritance and entail had been repealed; there were no rich
barons living in splendor, as in days gone by; when the father
died the inheritance was equally divided among all the
children; the poor and the rich intermarried and mingled
freely together; the religious forms had undergone an entire
change; the Church of England, which Mr. Randolph never
could renounce, with all its pomp and ceremony, had gone
down with the monarchical form of government, and the
mind, taken from its ancient channel, sought out divers new
modes of worship.

All these changes were deprecated by Mr. Randolph; nor
could he ever tolerate them. His government did not suit
him; his people did not suit him; hence, an everlasting strife
with the surrounding elements.

We are reminded just here of a little incident related to
us by an old lady who was personally acquainted with Mr.
Randolph. She said:

"On one occasion, when he was on a visit to Judge
Thomas T. Bouldin, speaking of his devotion to old things,
he remarked: `Now, if one of these ladies were to sing us
an old song, and a young fellow were to come along, singing,
as he came, one of his own composition, and were to say
it was better, we would not believe him.' "

The old lady who related to us this incident remarked,
that she could see in her mind the fellow singing along as
he came, exactly as he described him, and that the scene
was as fresh in her memory as if it had occurred yesterday.

Other men might describe a scene, and it would make no
more impression than an advertisement in a newspaper; but,
when Mr. Randolph drew the picture, it was as vividly impressed
upon the imagination as if one had seen it with his
own eyes.

During his canvass with Eppes, when he was hard pressed,
Hon. James W. Bouldin states that he courted the support
of the Presbyterian church. "He spoke in high and just
praise of Dr. Hoge, a Presbyterian minister and president of
Hampden Sidney college; no doubt sincerely, but more frequently
perhaps and more openly than he would have done
had he not been a candidate and hard pressed." He frequently
talked about Dr. Hoge and his church, we are informed
by another gentleman, in such a manner that any
one who did not know him might think he had a notion of
joining that denomination; but he invariably wound up by

stating emphatically, that "having been born in the Church
of England, he did not mean to renounce it."

He was too aristocratic in his feelings to unite with the
Presbyterians, although there was no minister of his church
in the county, and although he considered the Presbyterians
the most learned of any of the other religious sects. He
was attached to the old church and all the associations which
clustered around it. He had no idea of substituting new
forms and ceremonies, or rather doing away with all forms
and ceremonies. He could not tolerate the unrestrained
liberty of the camp meeting.

The train of thought which we have been following brings
to mind a little incident which happened in Mr. Randolph's
neighborhood.

But we must first introduce to the reader an old citizen of
the county of Charlotte, upon whom we have drawn largely
for opinions and facts concerning our subject. We refer to
the late Miss Mary Bouldin, an old maiden lady, who lived
to nearly a hundred years of age. She was one of the few
persons we had the pleasure of meeting, when we were
gathering up the materials for this volume, who could take
in Mr. Randolph's whole career. This sensible old lady,
whose mind was stored with an accurate knowledge of the
men and things of her day, told us a great deal about Mr.
Randolph. She might have told us what roused the generous
feelings of resentment in his youthful breast, which
first brought into notice his high and manly courage—the
time when he stood upon the court green and bid defiance
to those who, he charged, had cast a foul aspersion on
the character of his brother. And she could tell the first
time his transcendent genius was waked into life. She remembered
some things that were said when Patrick Henry
made his last speech on earth at Charlotte Court-house, and

when Mr. Randolph, a mere stripling, had the boldness to
answer him—the time when the crowd, filled with the eloquence
of Henry, and indignant that any one should attempt
to answer him, were suddenly arrested and brought back to
the stand by the music of a strange voice which was to enchant
them for many long years to come.

O! that was a glorious scene. And Charlotte Courthouse
is classic ground, and deserves to live in "songs of
distant days." It was there that one sun set in all its glory,
and another of equal splendor rose exactly on the same
spot.

Miss Mary Bouldin watched with no ordinary curiosity
the long and brilliant career of that courageous youth, and
no one could be in her company, when the conversation happened
to turn upon him, without being edified and highly
entertained.

Such was our good fortune one day, when the spirited
old lady was reminded by something that was said of a rencounter
which she herself once had with Mr. Randolph.

Many years ago, she informed us, she passed through Mr.
Randolph's plantation over into Halifax county to attend
religious service at the Episcopal church. On her return
she stopped at Mr. Carrington's to dine. Pretty soon Mr.
Randolph came in. But although, as we are informed by
others, she possessed at that time considerable personal attractions,
his was not the pursuit of the lover. No, "beauty
had no charms" for him. But he had doubtless been brooding
over his troubles in the solitudes of Roanoke ("quiet, to
quick bosoms, is a hell"). He perhaps was suffering, from
the want of mental stimulus, all the horrors of ennui—"that
dreadful scourge and enemy to human repose." His chief
pleasure, no doubt, consisted in the exercise of his mental
faculties, and he was then in pursuit of talents which he

knew would afford him some sport. He was aware, moreover,
that the lady in question would not surrender without
a fight.

The two were seated in the parlor alone. She said she
saw the moment she laid her eyes upon him that he had
some mischief in view, and she determined at a glance to
match him.

The subject of her going over into Halifax to the Episcopal
church was introduced. Mr. Randolph made a thousand
insinuations, to the effect that his fair companion ought to
have stayed at home and attended the "Methodist meeting-house"
in her neighborhood. He put it in every possible
shape. After a while he said something about the folly of
talking about having an Episcopal church in this country.
In England, he maintained, they could have such a church,
but not here. It did not accord with the spirit of our institutions;
and he was proceeding in that disparaging strain,
when the tables were suddenly turned upon him by his fair
companion.

"I suppose then, Mr. Randolph, you are a Methodist,"
said she, in her emphatic style.

He was highly incensed, but said not a word in reply.
Yet, the muscles of his face seemed to contract to the size of
his fist. Indeed, she thought his face at that time very much
resembled a man's fist.

The reader will better understand how much nerve it required
to make the above retort upon Mr. Randolph when
he gets through this volume. We should like to have witnessed
an intellectual battle between them; for, if he was of
the oak, she was not of the willow.

Though Mr. Randolph was proud as Lucifer, and though
the institutions of his country were repugnant to his feelings,
and though he was of all men the least disposed to yield his

prejudices; still, on some occasions he let himself down from
his lofty state. No one can remain in any country for any
considerable time, without having his habits to some extent
modified by public opinion. The spirit of the age is obliged
to have its effect, not only in changing the habits, but
moulding the minds of individuals.

Mr. Randolph once remarked, that "if electioneering were
allowed in heaven, it would corrupt the angels." If forcing
a little civility towards the common people, for whom he
really had scarcely any sympathy, be corruption, why then
it must be admitted that he was slightly corrupted. He was
never so civil as on the eve of an election. It was the Saturday
before the Charlotte election, as we shall learn from
the "Recollections" of Hon. James W. Bouldin, that he
conversed freely and familiarly with the people on various
subjects, and evinced a great desire to make himself agreeable
and acceptable.

But, judging from one little circumstance, which was related
to us by a reverend gentleman, whose mind was stored
with some lively recollections of his peculiar countryman,
we should say he had no civility to waste upon those who
were of no use to him.

Riding from Prince Edward court he overtook a gentleman
on horseback.

"How do you do, Mr. L.?" said Mr. Randolph, in the politest
manner imaginable.

Having exchanged salutations, he informed the gentleman
that he was a candidate again for Congress, and asked him
outright for his vote.

Mr. L. regretted that by the laws of the land he was not
entitled to vote.

"Good morning, Mr. L.," replied Mr. Randolph abruptly,
and rode off.

Some men place themselves in the middle of a stream, to
be wafted smoothly down by a popular gale, but Mr. Randolph
would attempt to go right across, and the present end
in view must be the object of his chief ambition, to induce
him for a moment to humor the current. To ask an humble
voter for his support was galling to his nature; but he
must do it, or else remain in obscurity. And that he could
not endure, for there was "a fire and motion of his soul"
which would not suffer him to dwell in the solitudes of
Roanoke. His unquiet spirit longed for high adventure.

In many respects Mr. Randolph was one of the most fortunate
of men. Nature lavished upon her unhappy child
all the noblest qualities of the head. She seems to have
thought it but just, when she put into one side of the scale
all that could depress the soul, to put into the other all that
elevates the mind. She made him miserable; but she also
made him glorious. More fortunate than Byron, who, says
Macaulay, was born to all that men covet and admire, he
was sprung from a house ancient and noble, but not degraded
by crimes and follies. The parent, to whom was entrusted
the office of moulding his youthful nature, did not
pass from paroxysms of rage to paroxysms of fondness, at
one time stifling him with caresses, at another time insulting
his misfortunes. But she was a kind and gentle
mother, and one who, while perhaps a little too indulgent,
understood thoroughly the nature of her child.

Mr. Randolph was blessed in another respect. Often
men spend years in employments for which they have neither
taste nor talents. The prime of life is frequently
wasted before they are aware of being endowed with a peculiar
genius. Then perhaps it bursts upon them, as it
were by accident, like a flood of light, and a new world is
opened before them, filled with new life, new aspirations,

new hopes. Mr. Randolph engaged at once in those pursuits
best suited to his nature. It has been said that one of
the causes of his unhappiness was, that "he saw other men
of less talent rising far above him in place and position."
We know not to what office he aspired. He must have indeed
been hard to please, if being placed in a position, from
youth to age, where he could attract the eyes of a continent
to the splendor of his genius, was not sufficient for him.

We have a county pride (the writer was born and raised
in Charlotte), a State pride, and a national pride in Mr. Randolph,
but we do not regret that he was not made President
of the United States. If, by nothing else, he was disqualified
for that office by his misanthropy. Whatever pearls
there may be in the head, if poison be in the heart, the man
is unfit. One of his biographers might say he ought never
to have occupied the presidential chair, "because he wanted
the profound views of a great statesman." His views, we
submit, were profound upon every subject he touched.
That is not what was the matter. His affections were too
contracted. His views were indeed profound, but he wished
to turn them to the advantage of his own State only. His
mind was expanded, but he could never expand his soul, so
as to include the entire nation. It is natural and well for
one to desire the prosperity and glory of his own State; but
if his feelings be as intensely Virginian, as Mr. Randolph's,
his ambition should be limited to the highest position which
that State can confer. And here we take occasion to remark,
that the only act which mars the beauty of Mr. Randolph's
political life was his acceptance of a foreign mission.

We repeat he was not qualified for a high executive
office, nor do we imagine that he was much disappointed
at not being made President of the United States.

In his young days he obtained a license to practice law;

but we are quite confident he could never have succeeded at
the bar. It would have been impossible for him to have
endured the necessary application to business. The field of
politics afforded him the best opportunity of displaying his
brilliant parts. The halls of Congress and the hustings permitted
him to show to the world that he was not only a
statesman but an orator of the first magnitude. Public life,
moreover, suited his moody and restless temperament. He
was not obliged to speak when the spirit did not move, nor
to exert his body when he did not feel disposed.

In view of this state of things we cannot blame Mr. Randolph
much for deviating even from his own high standard
of political integrity, and for doing to the extent that he did,
what he owned would corrupt the angels in heaven.

The feeling described by the poet in the following lines
was never experienced by John Randolph:

He was doomed to great mental anguish from many
causes, and to much bodily suffering; but the pangs of the
want of appreciation he never knew. The world at once
acknowledged his preëminent abilities, and he looked as if
he felt that the eyes of the world were upon him. At an
age when most politicians have scarcely taken the first step
upon the ladder he had ascended the summit. He was not
compelled to climb slowly, step by step, but by a single leap
mounted to the top. He was called before the public as it
were by accident, and, as he says himself, elected by "sheer
accident." In this instance opportunity conspired with his
tastes and talents to develop the resources of his great
mind. And he not only was following the natural bent of
his genius, but his constituents had taken the advice of

Patrick Henry, and commenced with him in time. And if,
when they elected him to Congress, the clerk before administering
the oath of office inquired what was his age, they
were not the least chagrined, for they felt entirely confident
that the boy in years was a man in mature reflection.

We intimated that we knew not in what other profession
Mr. Randolph could have distinguished himself. We forgot
that Mr. Baldwin says he is the only man he ever heard of
who could have written Childe Harold. There are indeed
passages in that poem which breathe the same spirit of misanthropy
and despair which pervade all the private letters of
Mr. Randolph. Such as the following:

"I can no longer imagine any state of things under which
I should not be wretched." "I am sick of both (men and
measures) and only wish to find some resting place where I
may die in peace." "What a fate ours would have been, if
we had been condemned to immortality here." "Whichever
way I look around me I see no cheering object. All is dark
and comfortless and hopeless." "Language cannot express
the thousandth part of the misery I feel." "They have
dried up (his resources) one by one, and I am left in the
desert alone."

Such are a few extracts from the voluminous correspondence
of Mr. Randolph with his most intimate friends. They
are filled with gloomy sentiments like those we have quoted.
But we cannot impose any more upon the reader; the heart
sickens at the repetition of such unmitigated woe.

How much these expressions of Mr. Randolph remind us
of Lord Byron, when he sings of—

Again:

And again:

We agree with Mr. Baldwin that Mr. Randolph could
have written Childe Harold; but we are glad he did not
turn his attention to poetry. If the muses had taken up
their abode at Roanoke, a strain of bitterness and despair
would have issued from its native wilds compared with which
the song "To Inez" would be gay and happy.