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Dr. Joseph Parish, a Quaker physician, was sent for. As he entered the
room, the patient said, "I am acquainted with you, sir, by character. I
know you through Giles." He then told the doctor that he had attended
several courses on anatomy, and described his symptoms with medical accuracy,
declaring he must die if he could not discharge the puriform
matter.

"How long have you been sick, Mr. Randolph?"

"Don't ask me that question; I have been sick all my life. I have
been affected with my present disease, however, for three years. It was
greatly aggravated by my voyage to Russia. That killed me, sir. This
Russian expedition has been Pultowa, a Beresina to me."

The doctor now felt his pulse. "You can form no judgment by my
pulse; it is so peculiar."

"You have been so long an invalid Mr. Randolph, you must have
acquired an accurate knowledge of the general course of practice adapted
to your case."

"Certainly, sir; at forty, a fool or a physician you know."

"There are idiosyncracies," said the doctor, "in many constitutions. I
wish to ascertain what is peculiar about you."

"I have been an idiosyncrasy all my life. All the preparations of camphor
invariably injure me. As to ether, it will blow me up. Not so with
opium; I can take opium like a Turk, and have been in the habitual use
of it in one shape or another for some time."

Before the doctor retired, Mr. Randolph's conversation became curiously
diversified. He introduced the subject of the Quakers; complimented
them in his peculiar manner, for neatness and economy, order, comfort—
in everything. "Right," said he, "in everything except politics—there
always twistical." He then repeated a portion of the Litany of the Episcopal
church with apparent fervor. The following morning the doctor
was sent for very early. He was called from bed. Mr. Randolph apologized
very handsomely for disturbing him. Something was proposed for
his relief. He petulantly and positively refused compliance. The doctor
paused and addressed a few words to him. He apologized and was as
submissive as an infant. One evening a medical consultation was proposed;
he promptly objected. "In a multitude of counsel," he said,

"there is confusion; it leads to weakness and indecision; the patient may
die while the doctors are staring at each other." Whenever Dr. Parish
parted from him, especially at night, he would receive the kindest acknowledgments,
in the most affectionate tones. "God bless you; he does
bless you, and he will bless you."

The night preceding his death, the doctor passed about two hours in his
chamber. In a plaintive tone he said, "My poor John, sir, is worn down
with fatigue, and has been compelled to go to bed. A most attentive substitute
supplies his place, but neither he nor you, sir, are like John; he
knows where to place his hand on anything in a large quantity of baggage
prepared for a European voyage." The patient was greatly distressed in
breathing, in consequence of difficult expectoration. He requested the
doctor at his next visit to bring instruments for performing the operation
of bronchotomy, for he could not live unless relieved. He then directed
a certain newspaper to be brought to him. He put on his spectacles
as he sat propped up in bed, turned over the paper several times,
and examined it carefully, then placing his finger on a part he had
selected, handed it to the doctor with a request that he would
read it. It was headed "Cherokee." In the course of reading,
the doctor came to the word "omnipotence" and pronounced it with a
full sound on the penultimate—omnipotence. Mr. Randolph checked
him and pronounced the word according to Walker. The doctor attempted
to give a reason for his pronunciation. "Pass on," was the
quick reply. The word impetus was then pronounced with the e long,
impetus. He was instantly corrected. The doctor hesitated on the criticism.
"There can be no doubt of it, sir." An immediate acknowledgment
of the reader that he stood corrected, appeared to satisfy the critic,
and the piece was concluded. The doctor observed that there was a great
deal of sublimity in the composition. He directly referred to the Mosaic
account of the creation, and repeated, "Let there be light and there was
light." There is sublimity.

Next morning (the day on which he died), Dr. Parish received an early
and urgent message to visit him. Several persons were in the room, but
soon left it, except John, who was much affected at the sight of his dying
master. The doctor remarked to him, "I have seen your master very low
before and he revived; and perhaps he will again! "John knows better
than that, sir." He then looked at the doctor with great intensity, and
said in an earnest and distinct manner, "I confirm every disposition in my

will, especially that respecting my slaves, whom I have manumitted, and
for whom I have made provision."

"I am rejoiced to hear such a declaration from you, sir," replied the
doctor, and soon after proposed to leave him for a short time, to attend to
another patient. "You must not go" was the reply; "you cannot, you
shall not leave me. John, take care that the doctor does not leave the
room." John soon locked the door, and reported, "Master, I have locked
the door and got the key in my pocket, the doctor can't go now."

He seemed excited and said, "if you do go, you need not return."
The doctor appealed to him as to the propriety of such an order, inasmuch
as he was only desirous of discharging his duty to another patient. His
manner instantly changed, and he said, "I retract that expression." Some
time afterwards, turning an expressive look, he said again, "I retract that
expression."

The doctor now said that he understood the subject of his communication,
and presumed the will would explain itself fully. He replied in
his peculiar way, "No you don't understand it; I know you don't. Our
laws are extremely particular on the subject of slaves. A will may
manumit them, but provision for their subsequent support, requires that
a declaration be made in the presence of a white witness; and it is requisite
that the witness, after hearing the declaration, should continue with
the party, and never lose sight of him, until he is gone or dead. You are
a good witness for John. You see the propriety and importance of your
remaining with me; your patients must make allowance for your situation.
John told me this morning, "Master, you are dying."

The doctor spoke with entire candor and replied, that it was a matter of
surprise that he had lasted so long. He now made his preparations to die.
He directed John to bring him his father's breast button; he then directed
him to place it in the bosom of his shirt. It was an old-fashioned large-sized
gold stud. John placed it in the bosom hole of his shirt-bosom—
but to fix it completely required a hole on the opposite side. "Get a
knife," said he, "and cut one." A napkin was called for, and placed by
John over his breast. For a short time he lay perfectly quiet, with his
eyes closed. He suddenly roused up and exclaimed, "Remorse! Remorse!"
It was thrice repeated, the last time at the top of his voice,
with great agitation. He cried out, "Let me see the word. Get a dictionary,
let me see the word." "There is none in the room, sir." "Write
it down then—let me see the word." The doctor picked up one of his

cards, "Randolph of Roanoke"—"shall I write it on this card?". "Yes,
nothing more proper." The word remorse was then written in pencil.
He took the card in a hurried manner and fastened his eyes on it with
great intensity. "Write it on the back," he exclaimed. It was done so
and handed him again. He was extremely agitated. "Remorse! you
have no idea what it is; you can form no idea of it, whatever; it has
contributed to bring me to my present situation; but I have looked to the
Lord Jesus Christ, and I hope I have obtained pardon. Now, let John
take your pencil and draw a line under the word," which was accordingly
done. "What am I to do with the card?" inquired the doctor. "Put it
in your pocket; take care of it; when I am dead, look at it."

The doctor now introduced the subject of calling in some additional
witnesses to his declarations, and suggested sending down stairs for Edmund
Badger. He replied, "I have already communicated that to him."
The doctor then said, "With your concurrence, sir, I will send for two
young physicians, who shall remain and never lose sight of you until you
are dead; to whom you can make your declarations—my son, Dr. Isaac
Parish, and my young friend and late pupil, Dr. Francis West, a brother
of Capt. West."

He quickly asked, "Capt West of the packet?" "Yes, sir, the same."
"Send for him—he is the man—I'll have him."

Before the door was unlocked he pointed toward a bureau and requested
the doctor to take from it a remuneration for his services. To this the
doctor promptly replied, that he would feel as though he were acting indelicately
to comply. He then waived the subject by saying, "In England it
is customary."

The witnesses were now sent for, and soon arrived. The dying man
was propped up in the bed with pillows, nearly erect. Being extremely
sensitive to cold he had a blanket over his head and shoulders; and he
directed John to place his hat on, over the blanket, which aided in keeping
it close to his head. With a countenance full of sorrow, John stood
close by the side of his dying master. The four witnesses—Edmund
Badger, Francis West, Isaac Parish, and Joseph Parish, were placed in a
semi-circle in full view. He rallied all the expiring energies of mind and
body, to this last effort. "His whole soul," says Dr. Parish, "seemed
concentrated in the act. His eyes flashed feeling and intelligence. Pointing
toward us, with his long index finger, he addressed us."

"I confirm all the directions in my will, respecting my slaves, and direct

them to be enforced, particularly in regard to a provision for their
support." And then raising his arm as high as he could, he brought it
down with his open hand, on the shoulder of his favorite, John, and
added these words, "especially for this man." He then asked each of
the witnesses whether they understood him. Dr. Joseph Parish explained
to them what Mr. Randolph had said in regard to the laws of Virginia,
on the subject of manumission, and then appealed to the dying man to
know whether he had stated it correctly. "Yes," said he, and gracefully
waving his hand as a token of dismission, he said, "The young gentlemen
will remain with me."

The scene was now changed. Having disposed of that subject most
deeply impressed on his heart, his keen penetrating eye lost its expression,
his powerful mind gave way, and his fading imagination began to wander
amid scenes and with friends that he had left behind. In two hours the
spirit took its flight, and all that was mortal of John Randolph of Roanoke
was hushed in death. At a quarter before twelve o'clock, on the 24th
day of June, 1833, aged sixty years, he breathed his last."

In 1839, he says, being a student at Hampden Sidney College, I visited,
in company with several fellow students, the residence of John Randolph,
of Roanoke. His will being at that time the subject of litigation, his estate
appeared to be in a condition of neglect. The grounds surrounding
the dwelling were entirely destitute of ornament. The negro, John, who
had been Mr. Randolph's body-servant and constant attendant for many
years, received us and showed us the objects of interest connected with the
place.

There were two buildings, one a log house with two rooms, the floor
raised but a foot or two above the ground, of a style and material the
rudest, and such as belonged to the poorest class of white persons in the
rural districts of Virginia. The single door opened into the sitting room,
which communicated by an inner door with his bed room. The other
building was a small framed house which stood about twenty yards off,
with large, well-glazed windows, containing two rooms on the ground floor,
raised a few feet above the ground, evidently built long after the log

house, of better material and more civilized style of finish. John called
this his master's "Summer House;" the log house his "Winter House."

Entering the log house we found every article of furniture remaining
exactly (John assured us) as it had been left by Mr. Randolph at the time
of his departure for Philadelphia on his last journey.

At this distance of time, many particulars which then interested me
have escaped my recollection. The furniture, with the exception of a few
articles, was very plain. I recollect his fowling pieces, pistols, etc., of exquisite
manufacture; also his fair top boots of the best materials and finish.
But that which I recollect with most distinctness, in regard to this sitting
room, was a small, old fashioned mahogany stand, upon which laid a
plain leather portfolio, a candlestick, and a half-consumed candle, and
one or two books. John informed us that this stand and what was upon
it, remained as it was left by his master when he ceased reading and went
to bed, the night before he started for Philadelphia. One of the books
was open and laid upon the open pages, the back upwards, as if it had
just been put down by the reader. It was a thin duodecimo volume,
bound in discolored sheepskin. On examination, I was surprised to find
this book was McNish on Drunkenness. I opened the portfolio and found
writing paper, some blank and some manuscripts in Mr. Randolph's own
hand writing. I recollect particularly a sheet of foolscap which had not
been folded, with the caption, "A List of my Principal Friends,"
followed by a list of names, numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, &c., the numbers (if my
memory be correct) running as high as 20. The list covered two or three
pages. On the right hand side of the pages, opposite to each name, or to
many of the names, were remarks indicating Mr. Randolph's estimate of
the character of the persons named, or some special circumstance of his
history or friendship. Among the first, if not the first, was the name of
Thomas H. Benton. Near the middle or latter part of the list was the
name of Robert Carrington, with the remark opposite—Mr. Randolph
"admired him for his courage, honor, and manliness," or words to that effect.
I learned at the time and afterwards that this Mr. Carrington had
emigrated from Virginia to Arkansas, with his family, after having lived
many years on a plantation adjoining Mr. Randolph's, and that they had
been at dagger's draw for years, and that no reconciliation had ever taken
place between them.

In the bed room we found the furniture generally of the same simple
description. The garments and personal apparel were in some instances

costly and elegant. The room was ill-lighted and must have been badly
ventilated from the small size of the windows, unless the cracks in the
log walls aided in ventilation. On the wall above the bed, hung a portrait
of Mr. Randolph (in oil.) I have forgotten the name of the artist,
but the painting was well done. I distinctly recollect the beardless boyish
appearance of the face. In the "Summer House" we found a library of
perhaps more than a thousand volumes, embracing many of the standard
authors of pure "English undefiled," of choice editions and binding;
also a number of fine engravings (without frames) and books and prints of
art and science. I saw no musical instruments. There were many manuscript
letters, notes and cards, invitations to dinners, &c., which had been
received by Mr. Randolph—some of them from persons of the highest
distinction both in England and America. Doubtless, many of the like
kind had disappeared before our visit; for John made no objection, but
rather encouraged us, to take away some of the notes, invitations, cards,
etc., as souvenirs of our visit.

The grave of Mr. Randolph was near his dwelling house, at the foot of
a tall pine tree, the shadows of which together with the unfriendly soil,
prevented the growth of grass upon it. It was marked by no monument
save a large unshapely stone, placed at the head. We were told by John
that his master caused the rock to be hauled from another part of the
plantation with considerable labor and difficulty, and commanded that it
should be placed at his grave at his death, and that there should be no
other monument, and no inscription or epitaph.