University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER IX.

THE following little incident was told to us by Honorable
James W. Bouldin. It amused us, and may the reader.
He says:

Mr. Randolph once rode up to his house, saying he had
lost his way. (They lived about fifteen miles apart.) He
dismounted, and made himself highly entertaining. Mr.
Bouldin says he knew it was all put on about his missing his
way, and he determined to retaliate. So he went to Mr.
Randolph's soon afterward and inquired for the overseer.
After sitting an hour or two in high chat, he reminded his
host of the object of his visit. Mr. Randolph caught his
meaning in an instant. Said he, pulling out his watch: "If
you really want to see my overseer, he may be found at this
hour in a certain part of my plantation," naming it.

"I was once deputed," said Mr. Bouldin, "to ask him whether
we ought to send from our county delegates to the
Charlottesville Convention on the subject of internal improvement."

Said he: "Sir, I am against cabals of all sorts. As to internal
improvement it begins here—striking his breast."

Said I: "How do you account for wise men meeting to
deliberate what to do with the fund for internal improvement
when that fund has no money?"

"Very easily."

"How, sir?"

"They are not wise men."

"The Chief Justice was there, I think, with many other
able men—men that he always admitted to be able."

The foregoing little incidents were thrown in without any
relation to the remarks which follow.

The reader can but remember the impression made upon
him from reading Mr. "Garland's Life of John Randolph"—
how the latter complained of the want of society—how
dreary and lonely he was at Roanoke.

From the developments already made, it cannot be a matter
of surprise that he had very few visitors. We have
heard, and we believe truly, that when some of his friends
from a distance designed to pay him a visit, they would
stop at a neighbor's house to find beforehand what sort of
humor Mr. Randolph was in. If he was in an agreeable
mood they paid the visit; if not, they returned to await a
more favorable frame of mind.

He visited very little himself. When he did visit his
neighbors, who were plain, unpretending people, but highly
cultivated, and some of them wealthy, he created quite a
sensation. He was helped out of his carriage, escorted into
the house, and the whole plantation placed at his command,
from the services of the landlord to those of the humblest
slave; from the bed-chamber of the landlady to a room in
the garret. He has been known to accept the bed-chamber
of his hostess repeatedly. Yet he never regarded the inconvenience
he was putting people to; seemed to think it
all right that he should be waited upon as no other man was,
forsooth, because there was no other man equal to him.

And this reminds us of a very interesting scene which the
late Dr. William A. Fuqua, of Charlotte county, described
to us.

He says on one occasion Mr. Randolph drove up in his
coach-and-four to the house of his friend Mr. A., on his way
to Buckingham. He was attended by two servants. The
most unusual attentions were paid to the distinguished guest.
Such a brushing of rooms; such cooking in the kitchen,
and stir generally among all on the plantation, white and
black, never was seen. Nothing could be clean enough for
him; nothing too good for him. His friends, whom he
visited, were afraid not to know what food suited his fastidious
taste. Hence, at the table they always handed him
something he was fond of. If it happened to be fish, the
modest hostess was overwhelmed with compliments, and he
would talk about fish for perhaps a half an hour.

His arrival at Mr. A.'s excited the curiosity of some nice
young ladies, residing near by, to see the strange and unaccountable
man. They sent over to know if Mr. Randolph
could be seen; the host sent to know of his guest.

After spending some time at his toilet, and when everything
was ready for the curtain to rise, the young ladies were
ushered in. Mr. Randolph was reclining upon a sofa, with
his head leaning upon one of his hands, and looking as if
he was ready to expire. He showed off handsomely before
the spectators. His polished manners and fine address
charmed them.

But before the performance concluded, he said something
to make the company feel that they were "handled." He
rang the changes on the name of one of the young ladies to
her great embarrassment, and wound up by telling her to
tell her mother to change her name, for she had named her
after "a very great rascal." But, nevertheless, the young
ladies went home highly gratified at having seen John Randolph.

Dr. Joel W. Watkins was once fox hunting: his dogs ran

on Mr. Randolph's plantation; his overseer informed him
he was sorry he should have to report him, his orders were
imperative from Mr. Randolph, whose land was posted.
That night Mr. Randolph sent a servant with a note, saying
he did not post his land against gentlemen who rode Roanoke
horses, but against those who rode grass-g—ted horses.
His (Dr. W.'s) horse could jump over any fence his (Randolph's)
d—n lazy overseer would make.

An old lady who resided for years near Mr. Randolph's
solitary abode, on the banks of the Staunton, informed us
that she was one day sitting alone in her chamber, when
suddenly appeared before her a woman dressed in white in
the dead of winter. She was described as a beautiful creature,
but she had lost the bloom of youth, and was as pale
as death itself. She talked about her lover. She said, "he
would never prove false to his plighted faith; Mr. Randolph
would marry her yet."

When told that she had better cease to think of him, for
that he would never marry her, "Yes, he will," she replied.

She talked incessantly of him, nor could she be induced
to believe that he did not love her. Presently there came
riding by a young gentleman leading a horse with a side
saddle on. She darted out of the house and asked permission
to ride a few miles. The young man politely gave his
consent; but what was his astonishment when she mounted
astride like a man and rode off. Though greatly embarrassed,
he had nothing to do but to escort his strange companion
to the end of her journey.

We are informed by the same truthful lady that this same
strange woman occasionally visited Mr. Randolph from time
to time for several years. There was no doubt upon the
mind of our informant that Mr. Randolph was greatly annoyed
by his fair visitor. He sometimes rid himself of her

by putting her on a horse with a servant to escort her, and
sending her away in that manner.

Had the poor creature lost her mind? We had not supposed
that any woman ever loved Mr. Randolph to that
extent. An old lady once remarked to us that she never
heard any of her female acquaintances acknowledge that
she aspired to the hand of Mr. Randolph, or speak of him
in the light of a beau. The thought of "catching" him
never seemed to occur to them. Nor had we ever associated
Mr. Randolph in our mind with love scrapes and
adventures such as are indulged in by most other men.
When therefore we were informed that a young lady had
fallen desperately in love with him, so as either to have
dethroned her reason, or made her take extraordinary
means of counterfeiting derangement, in order to procure
an interview with him, we were surprised. And yet there
was nothing unnatural about the story.

Mr. Baldwin expresses the opinion that Mr. Randolph
might have been the author of Childe Harold. We agree
with him. But brilliant as was his imagination he never
could have written Don Juan. There are thoughts and
scenes described in that poem which he could not have
painted, because he had no conception of them. The pleasures
of illicit love were the bane of Byron—Randolph
never knew them. The love of the one, was ardent, passionate;
that of the other, pure, Platonic. How could he
have been the author of the scene commencing—

He might have sung:—

All this he had doubtless felt, and might have sung as
well as Byron himself. But how could he have concluded
this long catalogue with the following outburst of feeling:

The fair and fading woman, who left her distant home,
and wandered in the dead of winter in search of her lover,
returned from the shades of Roanoke as pure and undefiled
as she came.