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CHAPTER X

Congressional Career (Continued).
Randolph Becomes a Sectional Leader

On Feb. 13, 1819,[1] a bill to enable the people of Missouri
to form a State constitution was taken up in the House in
Committee of the Whole; whereupon James Tallmadge,
of New York, offered an amendment forbidding the further
introduction of slavery or involuntary servitude except
for crime into Missouri, and providing that all slave
children, born within Missouri after its admission into
the Union, should be free, but might be held to service
until the age of twenty-five years.[2] Afterwards a bill to
admit Maine into the Union was also introduced into the
House and met with as much obstruction in the Senate,
where the slave States had a majority, as the Missouri bill
met with in the House, where the free States had a majority.
The result was that the fate of each measure became interlocked
with that of the other, and one of the angriest and
most ominous controversies ever known to Congress was
waged over them under a great variety of parliamentary
forms until a compromise was finally reached between the
two opposing elements in Congress, which provided that
the Senate should give up its attempt to blend the Maine
and Missouri bills; that Maine should be admitted into
the Union; that the House should no longer insist on the
exclusion of slavery from Missouri; and that both Houses


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should agree to pass the pending Senate bill which admitted
slavery into Missouri, but shut it out from all the
rest of the territory ceded by France to the United States
north of the 36° 30′ line. Anxiously scanning the stars
from his lofty observatory at Monticello, the old astrologer,
whose sanguine faith in the mass of men had coaxed so
many bright prophecies from their dim depths, wrote to
John Holmes in the letter from which we have just quoted:
"But this is a reprieve only, not a final sentence. A geographical
line coinciding with a marked principle—moral
and political—once conceived and held up to the angry
passions of man, will not be obliterated; and every new
irritation will make it deeper and deeper."

It is to be regretted that the speeches delivered by Randolph
in the House, before the compromise was reached,
should not have been reported. On one occasion, he spoke
more than three hours, and on another more than four.[3]
A note in the Annals of Congress discloses the fact that on
Mar. 29, 1820, he offered a motion that Gales and Seaton,
the editors of The National Intelligencer, be excluded from
the floor of the House as reporters of its proceedings.[4]
And it is probable that the bad blood, extravasated in this
motion, had existed for sometime before it was made, and
is accountable for the fact that Randolph's speeches on
the Missouri Question were not reported; though it is
possible that they may not have been because the highly
excited and sleepless condition in which we know that he
was at this time kept him from revising them when presented
to him. What Pinkney was in the Senate during
the debates on the Missouri Question to the opponents of
the Missouri restriction, Randolph was in the House. The
influence that he exerted in them is easily read between the
lines of a speech made by Henry Clay in 1838. Touching
upon a grateful acknowledgment by Calhoun, who was
beginning to tread in Randolph's footsteps, of Randolph's


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uncompromising hostility to the Missouri Compromise,
he said:

"I well remember the Compromise Act, and the part taken
in that discussion by the distinguished member from Virginia,
whose name has been mentioned, and whose death I most
sincerely lament. At that time, we were members of the
other House. Upon one occasion, during the night session,
another member from Virginia, through fatigue and the offensive
exhalations from one of the surrounding lamps, fainted in
his seat, and was borne to the rear of the Representatives' Hall.
Calling someone to the Speaker's chair, I left my place to learn
the character and extent of his illness. Returning to the desk,
I was met in one of the aisles by Mr. Randolph, to whom I had
not spoken for several weeks. `Ah! Mr. Speaker,' he said, `I
wish you would leave Congress and go to Kentucky. I will
follow you there or anywhere else.' I well understood what he
meant, for at that time a proposition had been made to the
Southern members, and the matter partly discussed by them,
of leaving Congress in the possession of the Northern members,
and returning home, each to his respective constituents. I
told Mr. Randolph that I could not then speak to him about
the matter, and requested him to meet me in the Speaker's
room early the next morning. With his usual punctuality, he
came. We talked over the Compromise Act, he defending his
favorite position, and I defending mine. Through the whole,
he was unyielding and uncompromising to the last. We parted,
shook hands, and promised to be good friends, and I never met
him again during the session." "Such," continued Mr. Clay,
"was the part Mr. Randolph took in that discussion, and such
were his uncompromising feelings of hostility towards the
North and all who did not believe with him. His acts came
near shaking this Union to the center and desolating this fair land.

The measures before us now and the unyielding and uncompromising
spirit are like them and tend to the same sad and dangerous
end—dissolution and desolation, disunion and ruin."[5]

Just when this interview took place, we have no means of
knowing; but, if before the following letter from Randolph


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to Dr. Brockenbrough, the handclasp mentioned by Clay
certainly could not have been warmed by much genuine
cordiality.

"The anniversary of Washington's birthday," wrote
Randolph, "will be a memorable day in the history of my life,
if indeed any history shall be attached to it. Yesterday, I
spoke four hours and a half to as attentive an audience as ever
listened to a public speaker. Every eye was riveted upon me,
save one, and that was sedulously and affectedly turned away.
The ears, however, were drinking up the words as those of the
royal Dane imbibed `the juice of cursed hebenon,' though not,
like his, unconscious of the leprous distilment; as I could
plainly perceive by the play of the muscles of the face, and
the coming and going of the color, and the petty agitation of
the whole man, like the affected fidget and flirt of the fan,
whereby a veteran coquette endeavors to hide her chagrin
from the spectators of her mortification.

"This person was no other than Mr. Speaker himself, the
only man in the House to whose attention I had a right. He
left the chair, called Cobb to it, paced the lobby at the back of it
in great agitation, resumed, read MSS, newspapers, printed
documents on the table (i.e. affected to read them), beckoned
the attendants, took snuff, looked at his shoe-buckles, at his
ruffles, towards the other side of the House, everywhere but at
me. I had mentioned to him as delicately as I could that,
being unable to catch his eye, I had been obliged (against my
will, and what I thought the rule of order and decorum in
debate) to look elsewhere for support. This apology I expected
would call him to a sense of what was due to himself
and his station as well as to me; but it had none effect. At
last, when you might have heard a pin drop upon the carpet,
he beckoned one of the attendants and began whispering to the
lad (I believe to fetch his snuff-box). `Fooled to the top of my
bent,' I `checked in mid volley' and said: `The rules of this
House, Sir, require, and properly require, every member, when
he speaks, to address himself respectfully to Mr. Speaker; to
that rule, which would seem to imply a correlative duty of
respectful attention on the part of the Chair, I always adhere;


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never seeking for attention in the countenances of the members,
much less of the spectators and auditors in the lobby or the
gallery: as, however, I find the Chair resolutely bent on not
attending to me, I shall take my seat'; which I did accordingly.
The chastisement was so deserved, so studiously provoked,
that it was not in my nature to forego inflicting it. Like `Worcester's
rebellion, it lay in my way and I found it.'

"He replied in a subdued tone of voice, and with a manner
quite changed from his usual petulance and arrogance (for it is
generally one or t'other, sometimes both) (a) `that he had paid
all possible attention' &c., which was not true, in fact; for,
from the time that I entered upon the subject of his conduct
in relation to the bank in 1811 (renewal of old charter), and
in 1816 (the new bank), and on internal improvements, &c.,
(quoting his words in his last speech, that `this was a limited,
cautiously restricted government') and held up the `Compromise'
in its true colors, he never once glanced his eye upon me but to
withdraw it, as if he had seen a basilisk.

"Some of the pretenders to the throne, if not the present
incumbent, will hold me from that day forth in cherished
remembrance. I have not yet done, however, with the Pope
or the pretenders. Their name is legion. . . .

"Remember me kindly to all friends; respectfully to Mr.
Roane [Judge Spencer Roane of Virginia]. Tell him that I
have fulfilled his injunction, and I trust proved myself `a
zealous, and consistent, and (I wish I could add) able, defender
of State Rights.' I have yet to settle with the Supreme
Court. . . ."[6]

When the Compromise was finally adopted, such good
feeling as had been created by the interview between Clay
and Randolph was dissipated by an incident which was
certainly well calculated to spring a temper much less
responsive to touch than Randolph's. It has been narrated
by Randolph in his own graphic fashion; but at
too great length to permit repetition in this place. On the
night that the Compromise Bill was enacted, Randolph,


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"determined" (to use his own words) "to cavil on the
ninetieth part of a hair, in a matter of sheer right, touching
the dearest interests, the life-blood of the Southern
States"; but influenced by the fact that the members of
the House were in a state of exhaustion, and by the desire
of one of his Virginia colleagues, William S. Archer, for a
postponement, obtained from the Speaker an assurance
that it would be in order to move the reconsideration of
the vote on the next day. Relying upon this assurance,
Randolph kept back his motion until the next morning;
but then, through the clever management of the Speaker,
the bill was sent over to the Senate and enacted into law
before the House could decide on the motion whether it
would reconsider its vote or not.[7]

But the Missouri struggle did not end with the famous
compromise law. A convention met in Missouri, and
adopted a constitution, containing one section, which
forbade the Legislature of Missouri ever to pass a law
emancipating slaves without the consent of their masters,
and another which made it the duty of the same legislative
body to prohibit free negroes and mulattoes from
ever entering Missouri under any pretext whatever. When
this constitution came before Congress, it precipitated
another heated conflict between the House and the Senate
on the question as to whether Missouri was or was not a
State, and entitled as such to be declared a member of the
Union. Finally, the issues involved in the controversy were
settled by a second compromise proposed by Henry Clay
which provided that Missouri should be admitted on the
fundamental condition that nothing in her constitution
should ever be construed to authorize the passage of any
laws, and that no laws should ever be passed by her, by
which any citizen of any State would be deprived of any
of the privileges and immunities to which he was entitled
under the Constitution of the United States. However,


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before this conclusion was reached, a debate had arisen as
to whether the vote that Missouri had cast for Presidential
electors should be counted, and, in connection with this
question, Randolph made a speech which showed that he
had divined no less clearly than Jefferson the portentous
significance of the Missouri Compromise.

"You may keep Missouri out of the Union by violence," he
said, "but here the issue is joined. She comes forward in the
person of her Presidential and Vice Presidential Electors instead
of that of her Representative; and she is thus presented
in a shape as unquestionable as that of New York, Pennsylvania,
Massachusetts, or the proudest and oldest State in the Union.
She comes forward by her attorneys, her electors. Will you
deny them admittance? Will you thrust her electors and her
only from this Hall? . . . I made no objection to the votes of New
Hampshire, Maine or Vermont. I have had as good a right to
object to the votes of New Hampshire as the gentleman from
New Hampshire has to object to the votes of Missouri. Who
made thee, Cain, thy brother's keeper? Who put Missouri
into [the] custody of the honorable gentleman from New
Hampshire. The electors of Missouri are as much homines
probi et legales
as the electors of New Hampshire. This is no
skirmish, as it has been called. This is the battle when Greek
meets Greek; it is a conflict now to be decided between the
phalanx and the legion, whether the impenetrability of the one
or the activity of the other shall prevail. Let us buckle on our
armour; let us put aside all this flummery, these metaphysical
distinctions, these legal technicalities, these special pleadings,
this dry minuteness, this unprofitable drawing of distinctions
without difference; let us say now, as we have said on another
occasion, we will assert, maintain and vindicate our rights or
put to every hazard what you pretend to hold in such high
estimation."[8] (a)

One effect of the Missouri controversy and the recovery
of popularity, which it brought to Randolph in the South,
was to arouse Monroe to the importance of attempting to


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regain Randolph's former good will; but his overtures
were coldly received.

"The same two single gentlemen rolled into one [a fat
member of Congress from Virginia]," Randolph wrote to Dr.
Brockenbrough, "told me that M—e expressed a desire to
maintain the relations of peace and amity and social intercourse
with me; that he did not stand upon etiquette; did not
require any gentleman to pay him the respect of a call in the
first instance; gave examples to that effect, some of which I
know to be true (N. B. election coming on), and that he should
have sent his invitations to me as well as to the rest, but that
he thought they would not be acceptable; that I had repelled,
etc., etc., etc.

"Whereupon I said that I had not seen said great man
but once (Friday, the 11th, riding by, after Mr. King's
speech in the Senate) since the Georgetown sheep-shearing,
in the spring of 1812; that I had called more than once
that spring on him and Madame, and not at home was the
invariable reply; that he had invited Garnett, as it were, out
of my own apartment that year, to dine with General Moreau,
Lewis and Stanford, the only M. Cs. that lodged there besides
myself, and omitted to ask me, who had a great desire to see
Moreau; that I lacqueyed the heels of no great man; that I
had a very good dinner at home, which I could not eat, although
served at an hour that I was used to; and that I
was very well, as I was, &c. Hodijah Meade writes Archer
that I am becoming popular, even in Amelia. Perhaps the
great man has heard something to this effect."[9] (a)

Other things, besides the olive branch held out to Randolph
by Monroe, attested the popular favor which the
former's course in the Missouri controversy had acquired
for him. In a letter to Dr. Brockenbrough, he said that it
gave him great satisfaction to find that the good people of
his District were not dissatisfied with it.[10] And, in the


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succeeding year, he wrote to the same correspondent:
"Like the long waists of our mothers, I really believe I am
growing, if not generally, at least somewhat, in fashion."[11]

The next subject of real importance to receive Randolph's
attention was the Apportionment Bill, apportioning
representatives among the States, in accordance with
the recent census of 1820, which had established the fact
that Virginia was no longer the most populous of the
States. This bill gave rise to more than one suggestion
as to the ratio that should exist between representation
and numbers. It is enough to say that the committee, to
which it was referred, reported 1 to 40,000 as the proper
ratio, and that Henry St. George Tucker suggested 38,000.
Under the ratio of the committee, Virginia would lose one
member; under that of Tucker she would lose none.
Randolph, of course, supported the latter, and with such
zeal that he wrote to a correspondent: "Yesterday [the
day the question was taken], I rose at 3 and today at 2
A.M. I cannot sleep; two bottles of champagne, or a
dozen of gas could not have excited me like this Apportionment
Bill."[12] Some of his remarks in support of the
ratio of 1 to 38,000 are worthy of transcription. "We
must take," he is reported to have said, "a number which
is convenient for business, and, at the same time, sufficiently
great to represent the interests of this great empire.
Yes, this empire, he was obliged to say; for the term republic
had gone out of fashion. He would warn, not this
House,—they stood in no need of it—but the good, easy,
susceptible people of this country, against the empiricism
in politics, against the delusion that because a government
is representative, equally representative, if you will, it
must, therefore, be free. Government, to be safe and to be
free, must consist of representatives, having a common
interest and a common feeling with the represented. . . .
In answer to the argument that the first House of Representatives


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consisted of but sixty-five members, Mr.
Randolph said he well remembered that House. He saw
it often. That very fact was, he said, to him a serious
objection to so small a representation on this floor. The
truth is, said he, we came out of the old Constitution,
where we were in a chrysalis state, under unhappy auspices.
The members of the body, that framed that Constitution,
were second in respectability to none. But they had been
so long without power, they had so long seen the evils of a
government without power, that it begot in them a general
disposition to have King Stork substituted for King Log.
They organized a Congress, to consist of a small number of
members, and what was the consequence? Every one, in
the slightest degree conversant with the subject, must
know, that, on the first step in any government, depends,
in a very great degree, the future character and complexion
of that government. What, he repeated, was the consequence
of the then limited number of the representative
body? Many, very many, all that could be called fundamental
laws, were passed by a majority, which, in the
aggregate, hardly exceeded the number of the committee
which was the other day appointed to bring in the bill
now on the table. The case of a State wisely governed by
its legislature, that of Connecticut, for example, would be
preposterously applied to this Government, representing
as it does more than a million of square miles, and more
than twenty millions of people, for such would ere long
be the amount of our population, if it went on increasing
as some predicted. To say that 200 shall be the number
of representation, and then to proportion that number
among the States, would be putting the cart before the
horse; making a suit of clothes for a man and then taking
his measure. The number of representatives ought to be
sufficient to enable the constituent to maintain with the
representative that species of relation without which representative
government was as great a cheat as transubstantiation—he


No Page Number
[ILLUSTRATION]

JOHN RANDOLPH

From an engraving by J. Sartain.

Taken from Garland's Life.



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was going to say—but, in respect to a
numerous and most respectable class of persons, he would
not; but he would say, as any in priest-craft, king-craft,
or in another craft, which (as great as is the Diana of the
Ephesians) he would not name. When I hear of it as proposed
elsewhere to limit the numbers of the representation
of the people on this floor, I feel disposed to return
the answer of Agesilaus, when the Spartans were asked
for their arms, `Come and take them'! . . . It appeared
to be the opinion of some gentlemen, who seemed to think
that He who made the world should have consulted them
about it, that our population would go on increasing, to
such an extent as to exceed the limits of the theory of our
representative government. He remembered a case in
which it had been seriously proposed, and by a learned
man, too, that, inasmuch as one of his brethren was
increasing his property in a certain ratio, in the course of
time, it would amount by progressive increase, to the value
of the whole world, and this man would be the master of
the world. These calculations would serve as charades,
conundrums, and such matters, calculated to amuse the
respectable class (much interested in this matter of
population) of old maids and old bachelors, of which he
himself was a most unfortunate member. To this objection,
that the number of the House would become too great,
to this bugbear, it was sufficient to reply that, when the
case occurred, it could be provided for. We will not
take the physic before we are sick, remembering the old
Italian epitaph, `I was well, I would be better, I took
physic, and here I am.' "[13] Later in the discussion,
Randolph said that he was in favor of making the House
as numerous as the Constitution would permit; always
keeping within such a number as would not be inconvenient
for the transaction of business. For, in that respect, the
legislature of a little Greek or Swiss republic might be as

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numerous as that of the United Kingdom of Great Britain
and Ireland. The only limit was the capacity to do business
in one chamber; and, in his opinion, it was desirable
to have as great a number as would keep on this side of a
mob.[14]

But there was nothing for Virginia to do but to wrap her
faded purple about her wasting figure and meekly to submit
her throat to the knife. The ratio was fixed at 1 to
40,000. The bill was passed by a vote of nearly 2 to 1, and,
the next day, Randolph unburdened his feelings in this
letter to Dr. Brockenbrough:

"I am now down, abraded, by long-continued stretch of
mind and feeling. We may now cry out `Ichabod,' for our
glory is departed. I made last night my final effort to retrieve
our fortunes, and the Virginia delegation (to do them justice,
sensible when too late of their error) did what they could to
second me. I do them this justice with pleasure. If there
was one, I did not note the exception. Had they supported
me from the first, we could have carried 38,000 or 38,500.
S—e [Smyth] of W—[Wythe County] got alarmed at my
earnest deprecation of the conduct of the majority, of which he
was one, and came to me repeatedly, and tried to retrace his
steps. So did some others (i.e., `try back'), but the mischief
had gone too far to be remedied. Our fathers have eaten
grapes, and my teeth, at least, are set on edge. I am sensible
that I have spoken too much, and, perhaps, my friends at a
distance may think me more faulty in this respect than they
would do, had they been on the spot; for, since my first (also
unpublished) opposition to the `Yazoo' bill, I have never
spoken with such effect upon the House, as on Saturday last:
and I am certain by their profound attention last night that I
lost nothing even with them that divided against me, at least
the far greater part of them. If in this I shall find by the
representation of others that my self-love has deceived me, I
will be more than ever on my guard against that desperately


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wicked and most deceitful of all things, my own heart. I
pray you, therefore, not to have the fear of the Archbishop
of Granada before your eyes, but tell me truly, if I am mistaken.
This you can readily learn through Mr. Ritchie, to
whom please show this letter, or through some of our assembly
men, or others, who have correspondents here. I do not want
to know the source whence your information comes; nor yet
am I setting a clap-trap, vain as I am (for vanity I know is
imputed to me by my enemies, and I fear (as has been said)
that they come nearer the truth of one's character than our
friends do), and, sweet as applause is, (Dr. South says of the
seekers of praise, that they search for what `flashes for a
moment in the face like lightning, and perhaps, says he, it
hurts the man'), I fish for no opinion on the character of my
endeavors to render public service, except as regards their
too frequent repetition; it is rather to obtain the means of
hereafter avoiding censure that this request is made."[15]

A little over two weeks after this letter was written,
Randolph, without any opportunity for premeditation,
arose and delivered his famous eulogy on William Pinkney,
the brilliant advocate.

"I rise," he said, "to announce to the House a fact which
I hope will put an end at least for this day to all further jar or
collision here or elsewhere among the members of this body.
Yes, for this one day at least, let us say, as our first mother
said to our first father,

" `While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps,
Between us two let there be peace.'

I arise to announce to the House the not unlooked for death of
a man who filled the first place in the public estimation in the
first profession, in that estimation, in this, or in any other
country. We have been talking of General Jackson, and a
greater man than him is not here but gone forever! I allude,
Sir, to the boast of Maryland and the pride of the United
States—the pride of all of us, and particularly the pride and


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ornament of the profession, of which you, Mr. Speaker [Philip
P. Barbour], are a member, and an eminent one. He was a
man with whom I lived, when a member of this House, and a
new one too; and ever since he left it for the other—I speak
it with pride—in habits not merely negatively friendly, but of
kindness and cordiality. The last time that I saw him was
on Saturday, the last Saturday but one, in the pride of life and
full possession and vigor of all his faculties, in that lobby. He
is now gone to his account (for as the tree falls so it must lie),
where we must all go—where I must very soon go, and, by the
same road, too—the course of nature; and where all of us, put
off the evil day as long as we may, must also soon go. For
what is the past but as a span; and which of us can look forward
to as many years as we have lived? The last act of
intercourse between us was an act, the recollection of which I
would not be without for all the offices that all the men of the
United States have filled or ever shall fill. He had, indeed,
his faults, foibles, I should rather say, and, Sir, who is without
them? Let such, and such only, cast the first stone. And
these foibles, faults, if you will, which everybody could see,
because everybody is clear-sighted in regard to the faults and
foibles of others, he, I have no doubt, would have been the
first to acknowledge, on a proper representation of them.
Everything now is hidden to us; not, God forbid, that utter
darkness rests upon the grave, which, hideous as it is, is lighted,
cheered, and warmed by fire from heaven; not the impious
fire, fabled to be stolen from Heaven by the heathen, but by
the Spirit of the living God, whom we all profess to worship,
and whom I hope we shall spend the remainder of this day in
worshipping; not with mouth-honor, but in our hearts, in
spirit and in truth; that it may not be said of us also: `This
people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoreth
me with their lips, but their heart is far from me.' Yes, it is
just so; he is gone. I will not say that our loss is irreparable,
because such a man as has existed may exist again. There has
been a Homer, there has been a Shakespeare, there has been
a Milton, there has been a Newton. There may then be
another Pinkney, but there is now none. And it was to announce
this event I have risen. I am almost inclined to believe

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in presentiments. I have been all along as well assured
of the fatal termination of that disease, with which he was
afflicted, as I am now; and I have dragged my weary limbs
before sunrise to the door of his sick chamber (for I would
not intrude upon the sacred sorrow of his family) almost
every morning since his illness. From the first, I had almost
no hope."[16]

Nothing was wanting to the completeness of this eulogy as
a specimen of mortuary eloquence except the actual
decease of Pinkney, who was still living; though he died
shortly afterwards. In announcing his death prematurely,
Randolph relied upon information which had been given
to him a moment before by a Justice of the Supreme Court,
who said that it had been given to him by a member of the
bar, who had told him that he had seen the corpse.[17]
Shortly afterwards, when Pinkney had saved the honor of
elegiac eloquence by really dying, Randolph wrote of him
in these terms to a friend:

"Mr. Pinkney breathed his last about 12 o'clock (midnight).
The void cannot be filled. I have not slept, on an average,
two hours, for the last six days. I have been at his lodgings,
more than half a mile west of mine, every day, by sunrise—
often before—and this morning before daybreak. I heard
from him last night at ten, and sat up (which I have not done
before for six weeks) until the very hour that he expired. He
died literally in harness. To his exertions in the Dudley
cause, and his hard training to meet Tazewell in the Cochineal
Case, as 'tis called, may be fairly ascribed his death. The
void will never be filled that he has left. Tazewell is second
to no man that ever breathed; but he has taken almost as
much pains to hide his light under a bushel as P. did to set his
on a hill. He and the Great Lord Chief are in that par nobile;
but Tazewell, in point of reputation, is far [behind] both
Pinkney and Marshall."[18] (a)


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In an entry in his Diary, relating to Pinkney's death,
Randolph spoke of him as "the unrivalled advocate."

Shortly after the delivery of his eulogy on Pinkney,
Randolph embarked on his first voyage to Europe, waving
his hand, as he left our shores, in this brief address to his
constituents:

"My friends, for such indeed you have proved yourselves
to be, through good and through evil report, I throw myself
on your indulgence, to which I have never yet appealed in
vain. It is now just five years since the state of my health
reluctantly compelled me to resist your solicitations (backed
by my own wishes) to offer my services to your suffrages. The
recurrence of a similar calamity obliges me to retire for a while
from the field of duty.

"Should the mild climate of France and the change of air
restore my health, you will again find me a candidate for your
independent suffrages at the next election (1823).

"I have an especial desire to be in that Congress, which will
decide (probably by indirection) the character of the executive
government of the Confederation for, at least, four years—
perhaps forever; since now, for the first time since the institution
of this government, we have presented to the people
the army candidate for the Presidency, in the person of him
who, judging from present appearances, will receive the support
of the Bank of the United States also. This is an union
of the purse and sword, with a vengeance; one which even the
sagacity of Patrick Henry never anticipated, in this shape
at least. Let the people look to it, or they are lost forever.
They will fall into that gulf, which, under the artificial military
and paper systems of Europe, divides Dives from Lazarus, and
grows daily and hourly broader, deeper, and more appalling.
To this state of things we are rapidly approaching, under an
administration, the head of which sits an incubus upon the
State, while the lieutenants of this new Mayor of the palace
are already contending for the succession; and their retainers
and adherents are with difficulty kept from coming to blows,
even on the floor of Congress. We are arrived at that pitch of
degeneracy when the mere lust of power, the retention of place


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and patronage, can prevail not only over every consideration of
public duty but stifle the suggestions of personal honor, which
even the ministers of the decayed governments of Europe have
not yet learned entirely to disregard."[19]

The ship on which Randolph crossed the Atlantic was
the Amity, Captain Maxwell, and one of his fellow-passengers
was Jacob Harvey, a resident of New York, but an
Irishman by birth, who has left us a series of agreeable
reminiscences of his intercourse with Randolph on the
voyage, and after they landed in England, to which we
shall freely resort hereafter. For the present, we shall
merely bring to the attention of the reader portions of two
letters which Randolph wrote to his niece, Elizabeth T.
Coalter, shortly after he arrived on the other side of the
Atlantic, and to several incidents of a public nature which
occurred while he was abroad. This is a part of the first
of the two letters:

"My Dear Bet: On Saturday, I had the pleasure to receive
your letter of the 10th of last month; and a great one it was;
for, altho' I took somewhat of a French leave of you, I do assure
you, my dear, that `my thoughts, too, were with you on the
ocean.' Among my treasures, I brought a packet containing
all the letters I have ever received from you; and the reading
over these, and talking of you to a young Irish gentleman,
whose acquaintance I happened to make on board the steamboat,
was the chief solace of my voyage. It was a short one,
although a part of it was somewhat boisterous, and the press
of sail carried by our ships (the packets more especially),
when those of other nations are under reefed and double-reefed
topsails, exposes them to greater danger, while it shortens
their voyage; and yet such is the skill of our seamen that
insurance is no higher upon our bottoms than upon European
ones. Indeed, our voyages reminded me of our tobacco crop.
You see I can't `sink the tailor.' The vessel is out so short
a time that she avoids many dangers to which dull sailers are
exposed.


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"We made the coast of Ireland at noon on Good Friday, and,
at twelve, on the following night, we were safe in the Regent's
Dock, in Liverpool. When you consider that we had to come
the North Passage (that is, between the coast of Ireland and
Scotland), and, crooked as our path was, to go out of our way
to Holyhead for a pilot, it was an astonishing run. The first
land we made in Ireland was Runardallah (liquid n, as in
Spanish), or the Bloody Foreland, bearing on our lee (starboard),
bore S.E.E. 6 leagues—an ominous name. Falconer's
beautiful poem, The Shipwreck, will render you mistress of the
sea-phrases. The coast of Donegal, far as the eye can reach,
is lonely, desolate, and naked; not a tree to be seen, and a single
Martello tower the only evidence that it was the dwelling-place
of man. Not even a sail was in sight; and I felt a
sensation of sadness and desolation, for we seemed more forsaken
and abandoned than when surrounded only by the world
of waters. This is the coast to which our honest American
(naturalized) merchants smuggle tobacco, when piracy under
Arligan colors or the slave-trade is dull. Tory Island rises,
like the ruins of some gigantic castle, out of the sea. I presume
that it is basaltic, like the Giant's Causeway, of which we
could not get a distinct view; but Fairhead amply compensated
us. I must not forget, however, the beautiful, revolving
light of Ennistra Hull, which, at regular intervals of time,
broke upon us like a brilliant meteor, and then died away;
while that on the Mull of Cantire (mistaken by our captain,
who had never gone the North Passage before, for Rachlin, or
Rahery, as the Irish call it) was barely visible. It is a fixed
light, and a very bad one. After passing Fairhead, I `turned
in,' and was called up at dawn to see Ailsa Craig, which our
captain maintained would be too far distant to be seen in our
course, while I as stoutly declared we must see it if we had
light. And here, by the way, my dear, I found my knowledge
of geography always gave me the advantage over my companions,
and rendered every object doubly interesting. The
Irish Channel swarmed with shipping, and, as we `neared'
the Isle of Man, and her Calf, I looked out for Dirck Hatteraick
and his lugger. We hugged the Irish shore; Port Patrick,
a nice little white town on our right; but the green hills of


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Erin were as `brown as a berry.' When we came in sight of
the entrance into Strangford Lock, I longed to go ashore and
see Mrs. Cunningham, at Dundrum. Tell this to my friend
Ed. C. [Cunningham], and give my love to Mrs. Ariana, and
the whole firm. Holyhead is a fine object; so is the Isle of
Anglesea. At the first glance, I recognized the Parry's Mine
mountain, with Lord Grosvenor's copper treasures; and Gray's
Bard rushed into my mind at the sight of the Carnarvonshire
hills, with Snowdon overtopping them all; still, not a tree to be
seen. The fields of Man are divided by stone `march-dykes,'
and the houses are without shade, or shelter from the bleak,
easterly winds. The floating light off Hoyle-Sands, which we
passed with the speed of a race-horse—a strong current and
stiff breeze in our favor—was a most striking object. One
view of it represented a clergyman preaching by candlelight,
the centre light being the head; and the two others gave a
lively picture of impassioned gesture of the arms, as they were
tossed up and down.

"Although our pilot, and the captain too, declared the thing
to be impossible, we did get `round the rock,' and, passing a
forest of masts in the Mersey, were safely moored at quarter-past
twelve, in the dock, where ships are put away under lock
and key, like books in a book-case.

"After a very sound and refreshing sleep, I rose and went
ashore, in search of breakfast; for not a spark of fire, not even a
candle or lamp, can be brought into the dock, on any pretext
whatsoever. At the landward gate, I stopped, expecting to be
searched, but the guard did not even make his appearance; so,
on I passed, with little Jem, a wicked dog of a cabin-boy, carrying
my bundle, to the King's Arms, in Castle Street; but I
had hardly commenced my breakfast, when the femme d'affaires,
in the person of a strapping Welsh wench, who had
tried before to put me up two pairs of stairs, entered the room,
and with well dissembled dismay, `begged my pardon, but the
room was engaged' (it was the best in the house) for the `Lord
Bishop of the Isle of Man, and the—the—Dean of—of Canterbury.'
Here again my knowledge of England, to say nothing
of innkeepers, stood me in good stead. I coolly replied that
they would hardly arrive before I had finished breakfast, and


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requested to see her master or mistress, as the case might be.
`Mrs. Jones was sick,' but `her niece would wait on me.' She
came in the person of a pretty, young married woman; and
now the tale varied to `the room being engaged for a family
daily expected.' `The name?' `The name had not been given,
was very sorry for the mistake,' etc. `Mistakes, madam,
must be rectified; as soon as this nameless family arrives, I
will make my bow and give up the parlor.' `Very handsome,
and very genteel, and a thousand thanks,' and a courtesy at
every word. Next day, the arrival of a regiment from Ireland
unlocked the whole mystery. The room was wanted for the
officers. And here, my dear, I am sorry to say that, except by
cross-examination, I have not obtained a word of truth from
any of the lower orders in this country. I think that, in this
respect, as well as in honesty, our slaves greatly excel them.
In urbanity, they are also far superior. Now, don't you tell
this to any body, not even to your father, but keep the fact
to yourself, for a reason that I will communicate to you when
I see you; and a very important one it is.

"After receiving every civility from the collector, Mr. Swainson,
and from my countrymen, Mr. James King, Mr. Maury,
and Mr. Haggerty, and seeing the docks, and the Islington
market, I was impatient to leave Liverpool, which bears the
impress of trade upon it, and is, of course, as dull as dull can
be. The market is of new erection, and, I believe, altogether
unique; far surpassing even that of Philadelphia, not only in
the arrangement (which is that of a square, roofed, well lighted
and unencumbered with carts, and unannoyed by a public
street on each side of it), but in the variety and delicacy of its
provisions. Here, for the first time, I saw a turbot, and Mr.
King bought half a one for our dinner, for which he paid half a
guinea. The variety and profusion of the vegetables, and
the neat, rosy-cheeked `Lancashire witches,' that sprinkled
them with water to keep them fresh, who were critically clean
in their dress and persons, was a most delightful spectacle.
Whatever you buy is taken home for you by women whose
vocation it is; and Mr. King's house is two miles off, at the
beautiful village of Everton, commanding a fine view of the
Mersey and the opposite coast of Cheshire. For a full account


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of Liverpool, see its `Picture,' at Roanoke, where you will
find, if you have them not, the other books referred to in this
letter; and I shall write, by this Packet, to Leigh, to send them
to you. The packets sail with the punctuality of stage-coaches,
and arrive almost as regularly. The Albion formed the first
and most melancholy exception. We were long kept in painful
suspense respecting the names of the passengers. I was
afraid that my unfortunate friend, Tuboeuf, was one of the
`five Frenchmen.' The Mr. Clark and lady I take for granted
is an old acquaintance, George Clark, of Albany, son of a former
royal governor of New York, and a man of very large
estate, returning with his wife to England, after fifteen or
twenty years' absence. Dupont may be another very old
acquaintance, whom I knew thirty-four years ago in New
York, and saw in Charleston in 1796, and a few months ago
in Washington. His name is Victor Dupont, son of D— de
Nemours, and brother of Irénée D. They have a large powder
and woollen manufactory on the Brandywine, in Delaware.
Tuboeuf, I see, had not left the U. S. Both he and Dupont
told me they were about to cross the Atlantic. The history of
the former is the `romance of real life.' In education and
feeling, he is more than half a Virginian. His father was
killed by the Indians, when he was a child, and he knows the
rifle, hunting-shirt and moccasins. His father was the friend
of my near and dear relative, Jack Banister, of Battersea.
When Tuboeuf l'âiné arrived at City Point, he found his young
friend had been dead several years. This connection determined
him to Virginia, and he went out to the Holston country,
where he was killed, and where the son lived until manhood.
But I shall never get off from Liverpool.

"On Wednesday morning, April 10th, I set out alone, in a
post-chaise; and now you must take an extract from my
`log-book.' "[20]

Here follows a long series of journal entries ending with the
words "caetera desunt"; but we shall limit ourselves to an
extract or so from them which shed some little light on
Randolph's personal character:


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"Over Delamere Forest, a rough barren tract for eight
miles. Very likely government have inclosed and planted it;
for the `forest' contained not a tree or shrub; and individuals
also have done much in this way. At present, the trees are
almost knee-high. At Kelsah, we leave the forest and emerge
into the rich pastures and meadows of Cheshire. To Chester
—the Albion Hotel; drive to Eaton Hall, Lord Grosvenor's;
return—dine; misconduct of inn-keeper, who put me into his
own filthy bed-chamber; (town full, it being assize time).
Remove to the Royal Hotel; visit the cathedral, and `let my
due feet never fail to walk the studious cloister's pale,' &c.
At every turn, since I came from Liverpool, I have been breaking
out into quotations from Milton and Shakespeare. Bad
Latin in a bishop; epitaph; and worse scholars in the Royal
School. None of the boys could give the Latin of their coronation
banner, and I offered half a guinea to him who would
complete the following lines: `Vir bonus est quis? Qui consulta
patrum, qui
'—and translate them. Only one boy could
supply `leges juraque servat,' and he began `Vir bonus est quis'
`He is a good man'—so I took up my half guinea and walked
out, thinking of Mr. Brougham and his bill.

"Stopped at a small house of call to beg an idle pin. Old
man and wife showed me their cows; their tenderness to the
motherless lamb, and pity of me. Their gratitude to their
cow, which, said the dame, `when my house was burnt, maintained
our whole family, old and unsightly as she looks, by
making me — pounds of butter a week.' "[21]

The second of the two letters to Elizabeth T. Coalter
was written in the afternoon on the same day as the first;
so smoothly did Randolph's prolific and lively pen glide
over paper:

"My Dear Bet, . . . I left the old farmer (Evans) and his
dame (for he has a small farm under Mr. Whittemore, member
for the borough of Bridgenorth), as well as his ale-house. I
left the old couple fondling their lamb, and caressing it and
their kine; one a Hereford red, with a fine calf, which they had


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been debating about selling to the butcher; but, at last, their
affections got the better of their poverty, and the old man
concluded by saying it would be a pity to kill the poor thing,
and he would e'en keep it for the mother's sake. Although I
stopped for a pin to fasten up the curtain behind the chaise,
yet I asked for a draught of milk, warm from the favorite cow,
which was given to me in a clean porringer, with a face of as
true benevolence as I ever saw. On taking leave, I asked to
contribute towards the rebuilding of the burnt house, telling
them it was the custom in the country I came from. But the
old man, with a face of great surprise, said, `I was kindly welcome
to the milk; it was a thing of nothing'; and they both
rejected the money (only two half-crowns), until I told them
they must oblige me by accepting it, or I should be ashamed
of having such a trifle returned. Whereupon the gude man
said he would give the postillion with the return chaise a skinful
of his best ale, when he came back; and the dame, ascribing
her good fortune to the mercy shown to the calf, promised, at
my request, to remember me, in her prayers, as the sick
stranger to whom she had ministered; and I left them, with
feelings of deep respect for their honest poverty and kind
heartedness. Mr. Whittemore is a great proprietor here.
His great house, on the right, is under repair, and he occupies a
`cottage' in the village; about such a house as Mr. Wickham's.
His poor tenant at Quat is the third instance I have met with
of a person refusing money here. The first was the parish-clerk,
at Battlefield; the next Bourne, the head-waiter at the
Lion; a thing hardly credible in England, where the rapacity
of this class, in particular, is proverbial; for—asking Mr.
Wickham's pardon for making free with his person as well as
his house—you meet with as well dressed persons as himself
who will make you a low bow for sixpence; aye, and beg for it,
to boot. I thought a thousand times of Mr. Wickham's
speech. Plunder is the order of the day. Shopkeepers,
tradesmen, but, above all, innkeepers, waiters, postillions,
hostlers, and chambermaids, fleece you without mercy; all is
venal. Pray remember the boots! Something for the waiter,
sir!—and this at a coffee-house where you have only stopped
in to take a glass of negus, after a play, and have paid double

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price for it. You can't get a reply to the plainest question
without paying for it, unless you go into a shop; and to speak
to one whom you don't know is received with an air as if you
had clapped a pistol to his breast."[22]

Passing by the country seat of St. John Stanley, who
married the eldest daughter of Lord Sheffield, Gibbon's
friend, and Vale Royal, the property of Thomas Cholmondeley,
Lord Delamere, he journalized: "With the
names and proprietors of all these places I was as
familiarly acquainted as if I had lived all my life in the
Palatinate."[23]

Another characteristic entry in the "log-book" is this:
"Dr. Solomon and Gilead House. The doctor dead, but
quackery is immortal."[24]

By Sept. 30, 1822, Randolph had visited Cambridge,
Oxford, Bath, Bristol, Wales, Leamington, the Lakes, and
Scotland, and had returned to London by the East Coast
of England.[25] About the last of November, in the same
year, he was again in the United States, and was present
during the second session of the 17th Congress. But,
during this session, however, nothing of sufficient importance
arose to evoke his powers as a speaker.

Few men in our history, who have had no higher claim
to public notice in Great Britain than that of being a
member of the House of Representatives, have ever
received such general attention in that country as Randolph
did. "Mr. Randolph," Harvey tells us, "was a
very marked `lion' during this his first visit to London.
He received great attention from the most distinguished
nobility, who were delighted with his extraordinary conversational
powers, and these civilities, thus heaped upon
him, gave him very evident satisfaction."[26] One of his


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public appearances was at the meeting of the African
Institution held at London on May 10, 1822. There were
about 1500 persons, mostly ladies, present, and the Duke
of Gloucester presided. A report was read by the Secretary,
stating that there had been a great increase in the
slave trade, since the last annual meeting of the Institution.
The meeting was then addressed by Lord
Calthorpe, the Marquis of Lansdowne, Lord Nugent,
William Wilberforce, and Henry Brougham, the framer of
the immortal phrase, "the wild and guilty phantasy that
man can hold property in man."[27] And, among the
speakers, was Randolph, whose enmity to the slave-trade
Brougham took occasion to panegyrize, when concluding
his speech.

Randolph's speech was thus reported by The London
Times:

"Mr. Randolph, the distinguished American, then rose to
return thanks for this mark of respect towards the United
States of America. He said that, after the eloquence, which
had already been displayed upon this great subject, it would
be an act of presumption, scarcely excusable in any stranger,
but unpardonable in him, to intrude his unpremeditated
expressions upon them, after the able speeches they had not
only heard but felt. (Applause.) He was, however, impelled
by a double motive, which he could not resist, to offer himself
for a few moments to their attention: first, to discharge an act
of duty in behalf of his native land, in the absence of its
official representative; an absence as unexpected by himself as
it was unforeseen, and which had cast upon him a duty he felt
inadequate to perform—that of thanking the meeting for the
grateful sense they had expressed towards America, and also to
assure them that all that was exalted in station, in talent and
in moral character among his countrymen was, as in England,
firmly united for the suppression of this infamous traffic
(loud applause). It was delightful to know that Virginia, the
land of his sires, the place of his nativity, had for half a century


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affixed a public brand, an indelible stigma upon this
traffic, and had put in the claim of the wretched objects of it
to the common rights and attributes of humanity (loud
applause). He repeated his thanks to the meeting for the
flattering reception they had given him."

And this was the editorial comment of The Times: "The
plainness of Mr. Randolph's appearance, his republican
simplicity of manner, and his easy and unaffected address
attracted much attention. He sat down amidst a burst
of applause."[28]

We also find Randolph, during this same visit to England,
speaking at a meeting for the improvement of prison
discipline and for the reformation of juvenile offenders,
held at London early in the month of June, 1822, and
"attended by Dukes, Marquises, Earls, Bishops, Lords,
Baronets, and Right Honorables." In the course of the
meeting, a motion was made by Stephen Livingston, Esq.,
LL.D., M.P., "that the Right Honorable Sir G. W. Rose,
Bart., M.P., and Edward Bootle Wilbraham, Esq., M.P.,
be added to the Vice Presidents of this society." This
motion was seconded by Randolph. What personal
knowledge, growled the New York American, could Randolph
possibly have had of the merits of those two gentlemen.[29]
But then Jacob Harvey had had no chance to tell
the editor of The American how John Randolph, on his
voyage over, had, in his astonishing familiarity with the
geography of Great Britain, though he had never put his
foot on its strand, called the attention of Harvey, an
Irishman, to the fact that on every map of Ireland the
town of Ballin-as-loe had been placed on the wrong side of
the river Suck.[30]

More than one question of uncommon magnitude came
up for discussion in the House during the 18th Congress.
Early during the first session of that Congress, Webster


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offered a resolution declaring that provision ought to be
made by law for defraying the expense incident to the
appointment of an agent or commission to Greece, whenever
the President should deem it expedient to make such
an appointment.[31] The occasion for the resolution was
the desperate effort of Greece at that time to free herself
from the loathsome dominion of the Turks. When the
merits of this resolution had been presented by Webster
with his usual power and eloquence, Clay offered another
resolution, declaring that the American people would not
see, without serious inquietude, any forcible interposition
by the Allied powers of Europe, in behalf of Spain, to reduce
to their former subjection those parts of the Continent
of America which had proclaimed and established for
themselves respectively independent governments, and
had been solemnly recognized by the United States.[32]
This resolution originated in the fact that Spain was still
endeavoring to subdue her former provinces in South
America, despite the recognition extended to them as
independent republics, by the United States, and in the
further fact that it was suspected that the allied powers of
Europe were about to come to her assistance. The next
day Poinsett, of South Carolina, after a lengthy speech,
moved a modification of the resolution offered by Webster
so as to make it merely express the sympathy of the
United States for the Greeks and the interest felt by our
Government in their welfare and success. He was[33]
followed by Clay in a stirring speech, instinct with all the
best qualities of the glowing, generous nature which
compelled even his arch-enemy, Andrew Jackson, to
pronounce him "a magnanimous rascal." Undaunted by
the strains of splendid rhetoric which had just filled his
ears, Randolph took issue with the advocates of the
resolution and delivered two speeches replete with good
sense and sober statesmanship.


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"This," said he in his first speech, "is perhaps one of the
finest and prettiest themes for declamation ever presented to a
deliberative assembly; but it appears to me in a light very
different from any that has as yet been thrown upon it.

"I look at the measure as one fraught with deep and deadly
danger to the best interests and to the liberties of the American
people; and, so satisfied, Sir, am I of this, that I have been
constrained by that conviction to overcome the almost insuperable
repugnance I feel to throwing myself upon the
notice of the House; but I feel it to be my duty to raise my
voice against both these propositions. . . .

"My intention in rising at present is merely to move that the
committee rise and that both of the resolutions may be printed.
I wish to have some time to think of this business; to deliberate,
before we take this leap in the dark into the Archipelago,
or the Black Sea, or into the wide mouth of the La Plata. I
know that the post of honor is on the other side of the House;
the post of toil and of difficulty on this side; if, indeed, any body
shall be with me on this side. It is a difficult and an invidious
task to stem the torrent of public sentiment, when all the
generous feelings of the human heart are appealed to. But,
Sir, I was delegated to this House to guard the interests of the
People of the United States; not to guard the rights of other
people; and, if it was doubted, even in the case of England—
that land fertile above all other lands (not excepting Greece
herself) in great men—if it was doubted whether her interference
in the politics of the Continent, though separated from
it only by a narrow firth, were either for her honor or advantage;
if the effect of that interference has been a monumental
debt that paralyzes the arm, that certainly would have struck
for Spain, can it be for us to seek, in the very bottom of the
Mediterranean, for a quarrel with the Ottoman Porte? And
this while we have an ocean rolling between? while we are in
that sea without a single port to refit a ship; and while the
Powers of Barbary lie in succession in our path. Shall we open
this Pandora's box of political evils? . . . Are we prepared
for a war with these pirates? Not that we are not perfectly
competent to such a war, but does it suit our finances? Does
it suit, Sir, our magnificent project of roads and canals? Does


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it suit the temper of our people? Does it promote their
interests? Will it add to their happiness? Sir, why did we
remain supine while Piedmont and Naples were crushed by
Austria? Why did we stand aloof while the Spanish peninsula
was again reduced under legitimate government? If we did
not interfere then, why now? . . .

"This Quixotism, in regard either to Greece or to South
America, . . . is not what the sober and reflecting minds of
our people require at our hands. Sir, we are in debt as individuals,
and we are in debt as a nation; and never, since the
days of Saul and David, or Cæsar and Cataline, could a more
unpropitious period have been found for such an undertaking.
The state of society is too much disturbed. There is always
in a debtor a tendency either to torpor or to desperation;
neither is friendly to such deliberations. But I will suspend
what I have further to say on this subject. For myself, I see
as much danger, and more, in the resolution proposed by the
gentleman from Kentucky, as in that of the gentleman from
Massachusetts. The war that may follow on the one is a
distant war; it lies on the other side of the ocean. The war
that may be induced by the other, is a war at hand; it is on the
same Continent. I am equally opposed to the amendment
which has been since offered to the original resolutions. Let
us look a little further at all of them. Let us sleep upon them
before we pass resolutions, which, I will not say, are mere
loops to hang speeches on, and thereby commit the nation to
a war, the issue of which it is not given to human sagacity to
calculate."[34]

After this speech, action on the resolutions was postponed,
and later they were laid on the table; but not
before Randolph had drawn more blood from them.

"It is with serious concern and alarm," he declared in his
second speech, "that I have heard doctrines broached in this
debate fraught with consequences more disastrous to the best
interests of this people than any that I ever heard advanced,
during the five and twenty years since I have been honored


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with a seat on this floor. They imply, to my apprehension, a
total and fundamental change of the policy pursued by this
Government, ab urbe condita—from the foundation of the
Republic to the present day. Are we, sir, to go on a crusade,
in another hemisphere, for the propagation of two objects as
dear and delightful to my heart as to that of any gentleman in
this, or in any other assembly—Liberty and Religion—and, in
the name of those holy words, by this powerful spell, is this
nation to be conjured and beguiled out of the highway of
Heaven; out of its present comparatively happy state into all
the disastrous conflicts arising from the policy of European
Powers; with all the consequences which flow from them?
Liberty and Religion, Sir! Things that are yet dear in spite
of all the mischief that has been perpetrated in their name.
I believe that nothing similar to this proposition is to be found
in modern history, unless in the famous decree of the French
National Assembly, which brought combined Europe against
them, with its united strength; and, after repeated struggles,
finally effected the downfall of the French power.[35] . . .

"There was another remark that fell from the gentleman from
Massachusetts, of which I shall speak, as I shall always speak
of anything from that gentleman, with all the personal respect
which may be consistent with freedom of discussion. Among
other cases forcibly put by the gentleman why he would
embark in this incipient crusade against Mussulmen, he stated
this as one—that they hold human beings as property. Ah,
Sir, and what says the Constitution of the United States on this
point?—unless, indeed, that instrument is wholly to be excluded
from consideration; unless it is to be regarded as a
mere useless parchment, worthy to be burnt, as was once
actually proposed. Does not that Constitution give its sanction
to the holding of human beings as property? Sir, I am
not going to discuss the abstract question of Liberty or Slavery,
or any other abstract question. I go for matters of fact.
But I would ask gentlemen in this House, who have the misfortune
to reside on the wrong side of a certain mysterious
parallel of latitude, to take this question seriously into consideration:
whether the Government of the United States is


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prepared to say that the act of holding human beings as property
is sufficient to place the party so offending under the ban
of its high and mighty displeasure?[36] . . .

"Sir, I am afraid, that, along with some most excellent
attributes and qualities, the love of liberty, jury trial, the
writ of habeas corpus, and all the blessings of free government
that we have derived from our Anglo-Saxon ancestors, we have
got not a little of their John Bull, or rather John Bull-dog,
spirit; their readiness to fight for anybody, and on any occasion.
Sir, England has been for centuries the game-cock of
Europe. It is impossible to specify the wars in which she has
been engaged for contrary purposes; and she will with great
pleasure see us take off her shoulders the labor of preserving the
balance of power. We find her fighting, now for the Queen of
Hungary, then for her inveterate foe, the King of Prussia, now
at war for the restoration of the Bourbons, and now on the eve
of war with them for the liberties of Spain.

"These lines on the subject were never more applicable than
they have now become:

`Now Europe's balanced—neither side prevails,
For nothing's left in either of the scales.'

"If we pursue the same policy, we must travel the same road,
and endure the same burdens, under which England now
groans. But, glorious as such a design might be, a President
of the United States would, in my apprehension, occupy a
prouder place in history who, when he retires from office, can
say to the people who elected him: `I leave you without a
debt' than if he had fought as many pitched battles as Cæsar,
or achieved as many naval victories as Nelson. And, what,
Sir, is debt? In an individual it is slavery. It is slavery of the
worst sort, surpassing that of the West India Islands; for it
enslaves the mind as well as it enslaves the body; and the
creature who can be abject enough to incur, and to submit to,
it, receives in that condition of his being, perhaps, an adequate
punishment. Of course, I speak of debt, with the exception of
unavoidable misfortune. I speak of debt caused by mismanagement,


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by unwarrantable generosity, by being generous
before being just. I know that this sentiment was ridiculed
by Sheridan, whose lamentable end was the best commentary
upon its truth. No, sir; let us abandon these projects. Let
us say to those seven millions of Greeks: `We defended ourselves
when we were but three millions, against a power, in
comparison to which the Turk is but as a lamb. Go and do
thou likewise.' And so with respect to the Governments of
South America. If, after having achieved their independence,
they have not valor to maintain it, I would not commit the
safety and independence of this country in such a cause. I
will, in both these cases, pursue the same line of conduct which
I have ever pursued, from the day I took a seat in this House
in '99; from which, without boasting, I challenge any gentleman
to fix upon me any colorable charge of departure.[37] . . .

"Let us adhere to the policy laid down by the second as well
as the first founder of our Republic; by him who was the
Camillus, as well as the Romulus, of the infant State, to the
policy of Peace, Commerce, and honest Friendship with all
nations, entangling alliances with none; for to entangling
alliance we must come, if you once embark in projects such
as this. And, with all my British predilections, I suspect I
shall, whenever that question shall present itself, resist as
strongly an alliance with Great Britain as with any other power.
We were sent here to attend to the preservation of the peace
of this country, and not to be ready, on all occasions, to go to
war, whenever anything like what, in common parlance, is
termed a turn up, takes place in Europe. . . .

"What is our situation? We are absolutely combatting shadows.
The gentleman would have us to believe his resolution
is all but nothing; yet, again, it is to prove omnipotent, and
fill the whole globe with its influence. Either it is nothing, or
it is something. If it is nothing, let us lay it on the table and
have done with at once; but if it is that something, which it
has been on the other hand represented to be, let us beware
how we touch it. For my part, I would sooner put the shirt
of Nessus on my back than sanction these doctrines—doctrines
such as I never heard from my boyhood till now. They go the


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whole length. If they prevail, there are no longer any Pyrenees;
every bulwark and barrier of the Constitution is broken
down; it is become tabula rasa, a carte blanche, for every one
to scribble on it what he pleases."[38]

How effective the speeches of both Webster and Randolph
were, was gracefully recognized by Mr. Fuller, of Massachusetts,
who, in following them, said that he was in the
situation of Poor King Richard when

"As, in a theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well graced actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next."[39]

Then ensued the great debate over an appropriation to
defray the expenses of a survey of the country, as a preliminary
step towards the establishment by the Federal
Government of an extensive system of roads and canals.
Two years before, President Monroe had vetoed a bill
"for the preservation and repair of the Cumberland
Road" on the ground that the Federal Constitution conferred
neither the express nor the incidental power on
Congress to enact such a bill; but, now, he, too, like
Jefferson and Madison before him, was to furnish an illustration
of the fact that, under the pressure of practical
necessities, a paper constitution is not unlike a lady's
fan—a thing which can be expanded or contracted almost at
pleasure; though he was about to sign a bill which was to
efface some of the most prominent landmarks of the
Federal Constitution as originally construed by the
Republican party. Randolph, it is hardly necessary to
say, with his views of State Sovereignty, could not be
induced to countenance such a measure, and he not only
opposed this bill because of its immediate tendencies, but
also because of the readiness with which, if enacted, it


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might be cited as a precedent for the authority of Congress
to emancipate every slave in the United States.

"With the argument of the President, however," he said,
"I have nothing to do. I wash my hands of it, and will leave
it to the triumph, the clemency, the mercy of the honorable
gentleman from Kentucky—if, indeed, to use his own language,
amid the mass of words in which it was enveloped, I have
been able to find it. My purpose in regard to the argument of
the gentleman from Kentucky is to show that it lies in the
compass of a nut shell; that it turns on the meaning of one of
the plainest words in the English language. I am happy to be
able to agree with that gentleman in at least one particular, to
wit: in the estimate the gentleman has formed of his own
powers as a grammarian, philologer, and critic; particularly as
those powers have been displayed in the dissertation with
which he has favored the committee on the interpretation of
the word `establish.'

" `Congress,' says the Constitution, `shall have power to
establish (ergo, says the gentleman, Congress shall have power
to construct) post-roads.'

"One would suppose, that, if anything could be considered
as settled by precedent in legislation, the meaning of the
words of the Constitution must, before this time, have been
settled by the uniform sense in which that power has been
exercised from the commencement of the Government to the
present time. What is the fact? Your statute-book is loaded
with acts for the `establishment' of post-roads, and the Postmaster
General is besieged with petitions for the `establishment'
of post-offices; and yet we are now gravely debating on
what the word `establish' shall be held to mean! A curious
predicament we are placed in; precisely the reverse of that of
Molière's citizen, turned gentleman, who discovered, to his
great surprise, that he had been talking `prose' all his life
long without knowing it—a common case. It is just so with
all prosers, and I hope I may not exemplify it in this instance.
But, Sir, we have been for five and thirty years establishing
post-roads, under the delusion that we were exercising a power
specially conferred upon us by the Constitution, while we


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were, according to the suggestion of the gentleman from
Kentucky, actually committing treason, by refusing, for so long
a time, to carry into effect that very article of the Constitution.[40]

. ,. . . . . .

"Miserable, indeed, would be the condition of every free
people, if, in expounding the charter of their liberties, it
were necessary to go back to the Anglo-Saxon, to Junius and
Skinner, and other black-letter etymologists. Not, Sir, that
I am very skilful in language: although I have learned from
a certain curate of Brentford, whose name will survive when
the whole contemporaneous bench of Bishops shall be buried
in oblivion, that words are the counters of wise men, and the
money of fools, and that it is by the dexterous cutting and
shuffling of this pack, that is derived one-half of the chicanery,
and more than one-half of the profits, of the most lucrative
profession in the world. And, Sir, by this dexterous exchanging
and substituting of words, we shall not be the first nation
in the world which has been cajoled, if we are to be cajoled, out
of our rights and liberties.

"In the course of the observations, which the gentleman
from Kentucky saw fit to submit to the Committee, weresome
pathetic ejaculations on the subject of the sufferings of our
brethren of the West. Sir, our brethren of the West have
suffered [from the same cause] as our brethren throughout the
United States, although with them the cause exists in an aggravated
degree, from the acts of those to whom they have
confided the power of legislation, by a departure—and we have
all suffered from it—I hope no gentleman will understand me
as wishing to make any invidious comparisons between different
quarters of our country—by a departure from the
industry, the simplicity, the economy, and the frugality
of our ancestors. They have suffered from a greediness of
gain that has grasped at the shadow while it has lost the
substance; from habits of indolence, of profusion, of extravagance;
from an apery of foreign manners and of foreign
fashions; from a miserable attempt at the shabby genteel,
which only serves to make our poverty more conspicuous.


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The way to remedy this state of suffering, is to return to
those habits of labor and industry, from which we have thus
departed.[41]

"With these few remarks, permit me now to recall the attention
of the committee to the original design of this Government.
It grew out of the necessity, indispensable and unavoidable
in the circumstances of this country, of some general
power, capable of regulating foreign commerce. Sir, I am old
enough to remember the origin of this Government; and,
though I was too young to participate in the transactions of
that day, I have a perfect recollection of what was public
sentiment on the subject. And I repeat, without fear of
contradiction, that the proximate, as well as the remote,
cause of the existence of the Federal Government was the
regulation of foreign commerce. Not to particularize all the
difficulties which grew out of the conflicting laws of the States,
I will refer to but one, arising from Virginia taxing an article
which Maryland then made duty-free; and to that very policy
may be attributed, in a great degree, the rapid growth and
prosperity of the town of Baltimore. If the old Congress had
possessed the power of laying a duty of ten per cent. ad valorem
on imports, this Constitution would never have been called
into existence.

"But we are told that, along with the regulation of foreign
commerce, the States have yielded to the General Government,
in as broad terms, the regulation of domestic commerce—I
mean the commerce among the several States—and that the
same power is possessed by Congress over the one as over the
other. It is rather unfortunate for this argument that, if it
applies to the extent to which the power to regulate foreign
commerce has been carried by Congress, they may prohibit
altogether this domestic commerce, as they have heretofore,
under the other power, prohibited foreign commerce.

"But why put extreme cases? This Government cannot go
on one day without a mutual understanding and deference
between the State and General Governments. This Government
is the breath of the nostrils of the States. Gentlemen
may say what they please of the preamble of the Constitution;


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but this Constitution is not the work of the amalgamated
population of the then existing confederacy, but the offspring
of the States; and, however high we may carry our heads and
strut and fret our hour, `dressed in a little brief authority,' it is
in the power of the States to extinguish this Government at a
blow. They have only to refuse to send members to the other
branch of the Legislature, or to appoint electors of President
and Vice-President, and the thing is done. I hope gentlemen
will not understand me as seeking for reflections of this kind;
but, like Falstaff's rebellion—I mean Worcester's rebellion—
they lay in my way and I found them.[42] . . .

"I remember to have heard it said elsewhere that, `when
gentlemen talked of precedent, they forgot they were not in
Westminster Hall.' Whatever trespass I may be guilty of
upon the attention of the Committee, one thing I will promise
them, and will faithfully perform my promise. I will dole out
to them no political metaphysics. Sir, I unlearned metaphysics
almost as early as Fontenelle, and he tells us, I think,
it was at nine years old. I shall say nothing about that word
municipal. I am almost as sick of it as honest Falstaff was
of `security'; it has been like ratsbane in my mouth ever since
the late Ruler of France took shelter under that word to
pocket our money and incarcerate our persons, with the most
profound respect for our neutral rights. I have done with the
word municipal ever since that day. Let us come to the
plain, common sense construction of the Constitution. Sir,
we live under a government of a peculiar structure, to which
the doctrines of the European writers on civil polity do not
apply; and, when gentlemen get up and quote Vattel as applicable
to the powers of the Congress of the United States, I
should as soon have expected them to quote Aristotle or the
Koran. Our Government is not like the consolidated monarchies
of the Old World. It is a solar system; an imperium in
imperio;
and when the question is about the one or the other,
what belongs to the imperium and what to the imperio, we gain
nothing by referring to Vattel. He treats of an integral
government; a compact structure, totus teres atque rotundus.
But ours is a system composed of two distinct governments;


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the one general in its nature, the other internal. Now, Sir, a
government may be admirable for external, and yet execrable
for internal, purposes. And, when the question of power in
the government arises, this is the problem which every honest
man has to work. The powers of government are divided in
our system between the General and State Governments, except
some powers which the people have wisely retained to
themselves. With these exceptions, all the power is divided
between the two Governments. The given power will not lie
unless, as in the case of direct taxes, the power is specifically
given; and, even then, the States have a concurrent power.
The question for every honest man to ask himself is, to which
of these two divisions of Government does the power in contest
belong?[43] . . . This then is the problem we have to settle:
Does this power of internal improvement belong to the General
or to the State Governments, or is it a concurrent power?
Gentlemen say we have power, by the Constitution, to establish
post-roads; and, having established post-roads, we should
be much obliged to you to allow us, therefore, the power to
construct roads and canals into the bargain. If I had the
physical strength, Sir, I could easily demonstrate to the
committee that, supposing the power to exist on our part, of all
the powers that can be exercised by this House, there is no
power that would be more susceptible of abuse than this very
power. Figure to yourself a committee of this House determining
on some road, and giving out the contracts to the
members of both Houses of Congress, or to their friends, &c.
Sir, if I had strength, I could show to this Committee that the
Asiatic plunder of Leadenhall street has not been more corrupting
to the British Government than the exercise of such a
power as this would prove to us.[44]

"I said," Randolph further declared, "that this Government,
if put to the test, a test it is by no means calculated to
endure, as a government for the management of the internal
concerns of this country, is one of the worst that can be conceived,
which is determined by the fact that it is a government
not having a common feeling and common interest with the
governed. I know that we are told, and it is the first time that


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the doctrine has been openly avowed, that, upon the responsibility
of this House to the people, by means of the elective
franchise, depends all the security of the People of the United
States against the abuse of the powers of this Government.

"But, Sir, how shall a man from Mackinaw, or the Yellow
Stone River, respond to the sentiments of the people who live
in New Hampshire. It is as great a mockery—a greater mockery
than it was to talk to these colonies about their virtual
representation in the British Parliament. I have no hesitation
in saying that the liberties of the colonies were safer in the
custody of the British Parliament than they will be in any
portion of this country, if all the powers of the States, as well
as those of the General Government, are devolved on this
House; and, in this opinion, I am borne out, and more than
borne out, by the authority of Patrick Henry himself.[45] . . .

"It is not a matter of conjecture merely, but of fact, of
notoriety, that there does exist on this subject an honest
difference of opinion among enlightened men; that not one or
two, but many States in the Union see, with great concern and
alarm, the encroachments of the General Government on their
authority. They feel that they have given up the power of the
purse, and the sword, and enabled men, with the purse in one
hand and the sword in the other, to rifle them of all that they
hold dear. . . . We, too, now begin to perceive what we have
surrendered; that, having given up the power of the purse and
the sword, everything else is at the mercy and forbearance of
the General Government. We did believe there were some
parchment barriers—no! what is worth all the parchment
barriers in the world—that there was, in the powers of the
States, some counterpoise to the power of this body; but, if
this bill passes, we can believe so no longer.[46]

"There is one other power," further said Randolph, fingering
the string, to which Fear and Passion were as obedient as wild
beasts to the lyre of Orpheus, "which may be exercised, in
case the power now contended for be conceded, to which I ask
the attention of every gentleman who happens to stand in the
same unfortunate predicament with myself—of every man who
has the misfortune to be, and to have been born, a slaveholder.


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If Congress possesses the power to do what is proposed by this
bill, they may not only enact a sedition law—for there is
precedent—but they may emancipate every slave in the
United States, and with stronger color of reason than they can
exercise the power now contended for. And where will they
find the power? They may follow the example of the gentlemen
who have preceded me, and hook the power upon the first
loop they find in the Constitution. They might take the
preamble, perhaps the war-making power, or they might take a
greater sweep, and say, with some gentlemen, that it is not to
be found in this or that of the granted powers, but results from
all of them, which is not only a dangerous, but the most dangerous
doctrine. Is it not demonstrable that slave labor is the
dearest in the world, and that the existence of a large body of
slaves is a source of danger? Suppose we are at war with a foreign
power, and freedom should be offered them by Congress,
as an inducement to them to take a part in it; or, suppose the
country not at war, at every turn of this federal machine, at
every successive census, that interest will find itself governed
by another and increasing power, which is bound to it neither
by any common tie of interest or feeling. And, if ever the time
shall arrive, as assuredly it has arrived elsewhere, and, in all
probability, may arrive here, that a coalition of knavery and
fanaticism shall, for any purpose, be got up on this floor, I ask
gentlemen, who stand in the same predicament as I do, to look
well to what they are now doing; to the colossal power with
which they are now arming this Government. The power to
do what I allude to is, I aver, more honestly inferable from
the war-making power than the power we are now about to
exercise. Let them look forward to the time when such a
question shall arise, and tremble with me at the thought that
that question is to be decided by a majority of the votes of
this House, of whom not one possesses the slightest tie of common
interest or of common feeling with us."[47]

It was rallying cries like these which soon fixed public
attention throughout the country upon Randolph as the
real protagonist of the State-Rights cause. But his voice


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was powerfuless to prevent the bill from being ordered to
be engrossed for a third reading by a vote of 115 to 86.

About this time, a decided impetus was given to the
progress of Federal Consolidation by the opinion of Chief
Justice Marshall in the case of Gibbons vs. Ogden [9
Wheaton 1.] holding that the powers of Congress comprehend
navigation within the limits of every State in the
Union, so far as it may be in any manner connected with
"commerce with foreign nations or among the several
States, or with the Indian tribes." Discussing this
opinion, Randolph wrote to Dr. Brockenbrough as follows:

"It is the fashion to praise the Chief Justice's opinion in the
case of Ogden against Gibbons. But you know I am not a
fashionable man; I think it is unworthy of him. Lord Liverpool
has set him an example of caution in the last speech of the
king; one that shames our gasconading message. I said it was
too long before I read it. It contains a great deal that has no
business there, or indeed anywhere. Mr. Webster's phrase
`unity,' which he adopts, is a conceit (concetto), and a very poor
one, borrowed from Dr. Rush, who with equal reason pronounced
disease to be a unit. Now, as this theory of the
Doctor had no effect whatever upon his practice, and that alone
could affect his patients, it was so far a harmless maggot of
the brain. But, when that theory was imbibed at a single
gulp by his young disciples, who were sent out annually from
Philadelphia, it became the means of death not to units, or
tens, or hundreds, but thousands, and tens of thousands.

"A judicial opinion should decide nothing and embrace nothing
that is not before the court. If he had said that `a vessel,
having the legal evidence that she has conformed to the
regulations, which Congress has seen fit to prescribe, has the
right to go from a port of any State to a port of any other with
freight or in quest of it, with passengers or in quest of them,
non obstante such a law as that of the State of New York under
which the appellee claims,' I should have been satisfied.

"However, since the case of Cohen vs. Virginia, I am done
with the Supreme Court. No one admires more than I do the


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extraordinary powers of Marshall's mind; no one respects more
his amiable deportment in private life. He is the most unpretending
and unassuming of men. His abilities and his
virtues render him an ornament not only to Virginia, but to
our nature. I cannot, however, help thinking that he was too
long at the bar before he ascended the bench; and that, like our
friend T—, he has injured, by the indiscriminate defence
of right or wrong, the tone of his perception (if you will allow
so quaint a phrase) of truth or falsehood."[48]

Hardly more admiration was entertained by Randolph
for John Marshall than for Spencer Roane, the celebrated
judge of the Court of Appeals of Virginia, whom Jefferson
would probably have made Chief Justice of the United
States if John Adams had not turned the last sands in his
hourglass to such effective account, and of whom John
Randolph wrote to Dr. Brockenbrough in connection
with the Presidency:

"I differ from you about `his being a Virginian'; not that I
doubt the fact, but take my word for it he is becoming every
day more and more known out of the State and occupies a
large space in the public eye. I think he can be elected easily
against anyone yet talked of."[49]

Having been informed shortly after the decision in Gibbons
vs. Ogden that Miss Roane, the daughter of Judge
Roane, who was then dead, was expected to visit Washington,
Randolph gave expression to the pleasure, with
which he received the information, in the following letter:

"If Miss Roane should honor our metropolis with her
presence, I shall make it a point to call upon her, if, for no
other cause, from the very high respect in which I held her
father whilst living, and hold his memory, being dead. I consider
him as a great loss to his country, not only in his judicial
character, but as a statesman, who formed a rallying-point for


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the friends of State-rights. Besides, he had the judgment to
perceive, and the candor to acknowledge, the consistency of
my public conduct with my avowed principles; and he had too
much greatness of mind to lend himself to the long and bitter
persecution with which I was assailed by two governments, by
the press, by a triumphant party (many of whom were old
sedition-law federalists), until, Sertorius-like, after having
waged a long war upon my own resources, I was vanquished
as much by treachery in my own camp as by the courage or the
conduct of the enemy. My hopes (plans, I never had any)
have been all blasted, and here I am, like Huddlesford's oak.

" `Thou, who, unmoved, hast heard the whirlwind chide,
Full many a winter, round thy craggy bed,
And, like an earth-born giant, hast outspread
Thy hundred arms, and Heaven's own bolts defied,
Now liest, along thy native mountain's side,
Uptorn! yet deem not that I come to shed
The idle drops of pity o'er thy head,
Or, basely, to insult thy blasted pride.
No, still 'tis thine, though fallen, imperial Oak,
To teach this lesson to the wise and brave—
That 'tis far better, overthrown and broke,
In Freedom's cause to sink into the grave,
Than in submission to a tyrant's yoke,
Like the vile Reed, to bow and be a slave.' "[50]

The Tariff Bill of 1824 gave Randolph another opportunity
to exhibit his insight into the bearing of the recent
industrial growth of the Northern States upon the material
prosperity of the Southern. The South produced five-sixths
of the raw exports of the country, and, being an
amost exclusively agricultural community, it was a matter
of vital concern to it that freedom of exchange with the
European purchasers of its cotton and other productions
should be as little restricted or burdened as possible. The
more it bought abroad, the more of its staples it could sell


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abroad, and, under the economic conditions which prevailed
in Europe, especially as respected the cost of labor, Europe
could supply the South with finished products more
cheaply than the Northern States. Inevitably, therefore,
as the utter futility of any attempt to build up a great
manufacturing interest upon the basis of slave labor became
more and more manifest to Southern statesmen,
they became more and more inimical to the policy of
American protection, which tended to make every commodity
bought by the South dearer without conferring
upon it any of the incidental benefits of governmental
patronage. As yet, however, the South was only beginning
fully to realize the effect that the encouragement of
domestic manufactures was certain to have under the
dominion of the despotic institution, which stunted its
growth, and doomed it to laws of development wholly
different from those of the rest of the United States, in
rendering it tributary to the looms and furnaces of the
North. As yet also, Massachusetts was too partial to
her maritime interests to exchange the trident for the
distaff (to use Randolph's phrase); though the time was
near at hand when, irritated by her accession to the protective
system, advocated by Henry Clay, Randolph was
to denounce "the meretricious alliance between old
Massachusetts and that bawd Kentucky."[51]

The coöperation between purely agrarian regions in
the West and the Middle States in behalf of protection
gave Randolph an opening for the picturesque ridicule in
which he excelled.

"May I be pardoned," he said, "for adverting to the fact—
I know that comparisons are extremely odious—that, when we
look to Salem and Boston, to parts of the country, where skill
and capital and industry notoriously exist, we find opposition
to this bill; and that, when we look to countries, which could


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sooner build one hundred pyramids such as that of Cheops than
manufacture one cambric needle or a paper of White Chapel
pins or a watch spring, we hear a clamor about this system for
the protection of manufactures. The merchants and manufacturers
of Massachusetts, New Hampshire, the province of
Maine and Sagadahock repel this bill, whilst men in hunting
shirts with deer-skin leggings and moccasins on their feet want
protection for manufacturers—men with rifles on their shoulders
and long knives in their belts, seeking in the forests to lay
in their next winter's supply of bear meat."[52]

How successful the North had been in turning its
political opportunities to its pecuniary profit, while the
South was dogmatizing about constitutional points, no
one discerned more clearly than Randolph. By the
assumption of the State debts by the Federal Government,
and the purchase of these debts for a mere song by monied
men and speculators beyond the limits of the South, a
capital of eighty millions of dollars, he contended, had
been poured in a single day into the coffers of the North;
and he claimed that nearly the whole amount of the pension
list was disbursed in the Eastern States besides. He
also claimed that the result had been a complete revolution
in the relative situations of the two sections, as they stood
at the time of the adoption of the Federal Constitution.
Then, the South was comparatively rich; and the North
positively poor. Now the North was flourishing and
rich, and held the South in bonds of dependency.[53] On
another occasion, Randolph said that the stream of pensions
ran northeast as steadily as the waters of the Gulf
Stream.[54]

The Tariff speech, though both too violent and excursive,
at times abounds in striking passages. It contains
one of those quotations which Randolph was in the habit
of employing so appositely to point or grace his own
thoughts. "We are the eel," he said, "that is being


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flayed while the cook-maid pats us on the head and cries
with the clown in King Lear, `Down wantons, down.' "[55]

But the speech is especially worthy of notice because in
it once again Randolph manifested his readiness to put
the fate of the South to the touch, "to win or lose it all."

"If," he said, "under a power to regulate trade you prevent
exportation; if, with the most approved spring lancets, you
draw the last drop of blood from our veins; if secundum artem
you draw the last shilling from our pockets, what are the
checks of the Constitution to us? A fig for the Constitution!
When the scorpion's sting is probing us to the quick shall we
stop to chop logic? Shall we get some learned and cunning
clerk to say whether the power to do this is to be found in the
Constitution, and then, if he, from whatever motive, shall
maintain the affirmative, like the animal, whose fleece forms
so material a portion of this bill, quietly lie down and be
shorn."[56]

This reference to a sheep reminds us of his assertion that
he detested the duty on wool so deeply that he would go a
mile out of his way at any time to kick one.[57]

Two of Randolph's best utterances during the debate
over the Tariff of 1824, however, are not contained in the
speech from which we have been quoting, but in briefer
efforts. One was a short speech on a motion to reduce the
duties on coarse woolens. In connection with this motion,
Randolph said:

"I am surprised that the votaries of humanity—persons
who cannot sleep, such is their distress of mind at the very
existence of negro slavery—should persist in pressing a measure,
the effect of which is to aggravate the misery of that
unhappy condition, whether viewed in reference to the slave,
or to his master, if he be a man possessing a spark of humanity;
for what can be more pitiable than the situation of a man,


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who has every desire to clothe his negroes comfortably, but
who is absolutely prohibited from so doing by legislative
enactment? I hope that none of those who wish to enhance
to the poor slave (or what is the same thing—to his master) the
price of his annual blanket, and of his sordid suit of coarse,
but, to him, comfortable woollen cloth, will ever travel through
the Southern country to spy out the nakedness, if not of the
land, of the cultivators of the soil. It is notorious that the
profits of slave labor have been, for a long time, on the decrease;
and that, on a fair average, it scarcely reimburses
the expense of the slave, including the helpless ones, whether
from infancy or age. The words of Patrick Henry, in the
Convention of Virginia, still ring in my ears: `They may liberate
every one of your slaves. The Congress possess the power,
and will exercise it.' Now, Sir, the first step towards this
consummation, so devoutly wished by many, is to pass such
laws as may yet still further diminish the pittance which their
labor yields to their unfortunate masters. To produce such a
state of things as will insure, in case the slave shall not elope
from his master, that his master will run away from him. Sir,
the blindness, as it appears to me—I hope gentlemen will
pardon the expression—with which a certain quarter of this
country—I allude particularly to the Seaboard of South Carolina
and Georgia—has lent its aid to increase the powers of the
General Government on points, to say the least, of doubtful
construction, fills me with astonishment and dismay. And I
look forward, almost without a ray of hope, to the time, which
the next census, or that which succeeds it, will assuredly bring
forth, when this work of destruction and devastation is to
commence in the abused name of humanity and religion, and
when the imploring eyes of some will be, as now, turned
towards another body, in the vain hope that it may arrest the
evil, and stay the plague."[58]

Randolph delivered another brief speech in reply to
Louis McLane, of Delaware, who, irritated by Randolph's
allegation that one of his arguments was felo de se, had,
notwithstanding Randolph's assurance that he had meant


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no disrespect, declared that the gentleman from Virginia
had displayed a good head, but that he would not accept
his head, were he obliged to take his heart along with it.
This attack was wholly unexpected by Randolph. McLane
was an able and upright man, who was destined to a
highly distinguished and useful career, and it so happened
that, shortly after he had become a member of the House,
Randolph, who had an unfailing ear for the ring of good
coin, had written to a friend a letter describing him and
giving his origin and history, and concluding with these
admiring words: "He is the first fellow I have seen here
by a double distance."[59] Wholly unheralded as the attack
was, Randolph met it with a retort as perfect as the
memorable one made by Lord Thurlow when he was
twitted with his humble birth by a member of the House
of Lords:

"It costs me nothing, Sir," he said, "to say that I very much
regret that the zeal which I have not only felt, but cherished,
on the subect of laying taxes in a manner which, in my judgment,
is inconsistent, not merely with the spirit, but the very
letter, of the Constitution, should have given to my remarks,
on this subject, a pungency, which has rendered them disagreeable,
and even offensive, to the gentleman from Delaware.
For that gentleman, I have never expressed any other
sentiment but respect—I have never uttered, or entertained,
an unkind feeling towards that gentleman, either in this House
or elsewhere, nor do I now feel any such sentiment towards
him. I never pressed my regard upon him; I press it upon no
man. He appears to have considered my remarks as having a
personal application to himself. I certainly did not intend to
give them that direction, and I think that my prompt disclaimer
of any such intention ought to have disarmed his
resentment, however justly it may have been excited. He has
been pleased, Sir, to say something, which, no doubt, he thinks
very severe, about my head and my heart.

"How easy, Sir, would it be for me to reverse the gentleman's


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proposition, and to retort upon him that I would not, in return,
take that gentleman's heart, however good it may be, if
obliged to take such a head into the bargain.

"But, Sir, I do not think this. I never thought it; and,
therefore, I cannot be so ungenerous as to say it; for, Mr.
Speaker, who made me a searcher of hearts? of the heart of a
fellow-man, a fellow-sinner? Sir, this is an awful subject!
better suited to Friday or Sunday next (Good Friday and
Easter Sunday), two of the most solemn days in the Christian
calendar, when I hope we shall all consider it, and lay it to
heart as we ought to do.

"But, Sir, I must still maintain that the argument of the
gentleman is suicidal. He has fairly worked the equation,
and one-half of his argument is a complete and conclusive
answer to the other. And, Sir, if I should ever be so unfortunate
as, through inadvertence, or the heat of debate, to fall
into such an error, I should, so far from being offended, feel
myself under obligation to any gentleman who would expose
its fallacy, even by ridicule, as fair a weapon as any in the
whole Parliamentary armory. I shall not go so far as to maintain,
with my Lord Shaftesbury, that it is the unerring test of
truth, whatever it may be of temper; but, if it be proscribed as
a weapon as unfair as it is confessedly powerful, what shall
we say (I put it, Sir, to you and to the House) to the poisoned
arrow?; to the tomahawk and the scalping-knife? Could the
most unsparing use of ridicule justify a resort to these weapons?
Was this a reason that the gentleman should sit in
judgment on my heart?; yes, Sir, my heart, which the gentleman
(whatever he may say) in his heart believes to be a frank
heart, as I trust it is a brave, heart. Sir, I dismiss the gentleman
to his self-complacency; let him go; yes, Sir, let him go,
and thank his God that he is not as this publican."[60]

The moderation not less than the pungency of this reply
won much praise at the time[61] ; and it would be hard to find
its equal in the history of parliamentary bodies.

After fighting the bill tooth and nail, Randolph finally


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gave up all hope of defeating it in the House. "I am
satisfied now," he wrote to a friend, "that nothing can
avail to save us. Indeed, I have long been of that opinion.
`The ship will neither wear nor stay, and she may go
a shore, and be d—d!', as Jack says."[62]

Later, he gave in a letter this account of the end:

"The tariff is finished (in our House at least), and so am I.
I was sent for on Tuesday in all haste to vote upon it; when I
got there, the previous question was taking, and the clerk
reading the yeas and nays.

"At the end, Gilmore (a fine fellow, by the way, although
a Georgian and a Crawford man) moved for a call of the House.
When that was over, Wilde, from Georgia, moved to amend
the title. I, as big a fool as he, got up to tell him what an
ass he was. (By the way, for `Smith's verses on the old continental
money,' which the reporter put into my mouth—why
or wherefore he only can tell—read what I actually did say:
Swift's verses on the motto upon Chief Justice Whitshed's coach.)
So much for reporters. That over, Drayton, of S. C., who is
the Purge of the House, got up to make another motion to
amend. By this time, the noisome atmosphere overcame me,
and I left the hall; Mr. D. on his legs; but a copious effusion of
blood from the lungs has been the consequence. It came on in
about thirty minutes after I got home; so that the debate on the
amendment of the tariff bill has the honor of my coup de grâce."[63]

At this session of Congress, Randolph served upon a
committee appointed to investigate a charge of official
laxity against William H. Crawford, the Secretary of
the Treasury, made by Ninian Edwards. In a letter to
his constituents written on the Nestor at sea, on May 17,
1824, when he was on his second voyage to Europe, he
refers to this matter in these terms:

"Fellow-citizens, Friends and Freeholders! A recurrence
of the same painful disease, that drove me from my post some
two years ago, again compels me to ask a furlough; for I cannot


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consent to consider myself in the light of a deserter. But no
consideration whatever would have induced me to leave
Washington, so long as a shadow of doubt hung over the
transactions of the Treasury; which I was (among others)
appointed to investigate. . . .

"I confess that I was not without some misgivings that
all was not right. Holding myself aloof from the intrigues and
intriguers of Washington, I had remained a passive spectator
of a scene, such as I hope never again to witness. Not that I
was without a slight, a very slight, preference, in the choice of
the evils, submitted to us for our acceptance. I inclined
towards Mr. Crawford for some reasons which were private
and personal, and with which it is unnecessary to trouble you;
but, chiefly, because you preferred him to his competitors, and
because, if elected, he should, in a manner, be compelled to
throw himself into the hands of the least unsound of the
political parties of the country; that he would, by the force of
circumstances, be constrained to act with us (the People);
whilst the rival candidates would, by the same force of circumstances,
be obliged to act against us and with the tribe of
office-hunters and bankrupts that seek to subsist upon our
industry and means. The number of these that infest Washington,
especially during a first session of Congress, and, above
all, about the termination of an administration, is inconceivable
to those who have not seen the swarm.

"I said that I had some misgivings that all was not as it ought
to be. But, when I read the reply of Mr. Crawford, I had not
a shadow of doubt remaining in my mind. It is the most
triumphant and irresistible answer that ever met the accusation
of a base and perjured informer."[64] . . .

Jacob Harvey gives us an amusing account of the
untoward circumstances under which this address was
written. Of Harvey himself, Randolph had written to his
niece from London after his first voyage in these terms:

"His name is Jacob Harvey, son of Joseph Massey H., a
Limerick merchant, attached to the Society of Friends—what


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is called a gay Quaker. His grandfather, Reuben H., was a
merchant of Cork and, during the war of 1776, received a letter
under General Washington's own hand, returning his thanks
and those of Congress for his kindness to our countrymen in
Ireland, prisoners and others. He was introduced to me by
Mr. Colden as we left the quay."[65]

To this we might add only that, when Randolph first
became acquainted with Harvey, the latter was a New
York merchant of high standing in point of both capacity
and integrity[66] ; and that his lively papers about Randolph
in the New Mirror, a New York publication of his time,
show him to have been a capital good fellow with considerable
literary gifts. The day before Randolph sailed
from New York on his second voyage to Europe, Harvey,
after assisting him in making his preparations for it, left
him at Bunker's, and promised to call upon him the next
morning at half-past nine o'clock for the purpose of
accompanying him to the steamboat, The Nautilus, which
was to convey him to the packet. The next morning,
when Harvey did call at the hour named, expecting to
find him ready to leave for the dock, he found him sitting
at a table in his dressing-gown with a large Bible open
before him, and engaged in the composition of a letter;
while John, his servant, was on his knees busy at the task
of emptying one trunk and filling another. The rest of
the story we shall give in Harvey's own words:

"In the name of heaven," said I, "Mr. Randolph, what is
the matter? Do you know that it will soon be ten o'clock and
the steamboat waits for nobody? You promised me last night
to have everything packed up and ready when I called, and
here you are not even dressed yet!"

"I cannot help it, Sir," replied he. "I am all confusion this
morning; everything goes wrong; even my memory has gone
`a good wool gathering.' I am just writing a farewell letter to


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my constituents, and would you believe it, Sir?; I have forgotten
the exact words of a quotation from the Bible which I
want to use and, as I always quote correctly, I cannot close my
letter until I find the passage; but, strange to say, I forget both
the chapter and verse. I never was at fault before, Sir; what
shall I do?"

"Do you remember any part of the quotation?", said I.
"Perhaps I can assist you with the rest, as time is precious."

"It begins," replied he, `How have I loved thee, oh Jacob,'
but, for the life of me, I can not recollect the next words. Oh!
my head! my head! Here do you take the Bible and run your
eye over that page, whilst I am writing the remainder of my
address."

"My dear sir," said I, "you have not time to do this now,
but let us take letter, Bible and all on board the steamboat
where you will have ample time to find the passage you want
before we reach the packet."

To this suggestion Randolph assented, though with
reluctance, but the address appeared without the Biblical
quotation.[67]

As the Nestor was casting off, Randolph shouted a farewell
to Harvey, and assured him that he would land at the
Cove of Cork, the dangers of the sea always excepted, and
go over to Limerick and spend a day or two at the house of
Harvey's father; and to Harvey's surprise he afterwards
received a letter from his old home telling him that Randolph
had been there, and had made himself extremely
agreeable.[68]

One result of this visit to Ireland was a conversation
with Harvey on Randolph's return to the United States
in which Randolph gave him his impressions of that
country.

"Sir," said he, "much as I was prepared to see misery in
the south of Ireland, I was utterly shocked at the condition
of the poor peasantry between Limerick and Dublin. Why,


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Sir, John never felt so proud at being a Virginia slave. He
looked with horror upon the mud hovels and miserable food of
the white slaves and I had no fear of his running away. The
landlords and the clergy of the Established Church have a
fearful account to give some day or other, Sir, of the five and
ten talents entrusted to them. I could not keep silence, Sir,
but, everywhere in the stage-coaches and hotels, I expressed
my opinions fearlessly. One morning, whilst breakfasting at
Morrison's, in Dublin, I was drawn into an argument with half-a-dozen
country gentlemen; all violent tories who seemed to
think that all the evils of Ireland arose from the disloyalty of
the Catholics. I defended the latter on the ground that they
were denied their political rights; and I told them very plainly
in the language of Scripture that, until they `unmuzzled the ox
which treadeth out the corn,' they must expect insurrections
and opposition to the Government. I had no sooner uttered
these words than they all endeavoured to silence me by clamour,
and one of them insinuated that I must be `a foreign spy.'
I stood up at once, Sir, and, after a pause, said: `Can it be
possible that I am in the metropolis of Ireland, in the centre
of hospitality, or do I dream? Is this the way that Irish
gentlemen are wont to treat strangers who happen to express
sympathy for the wrongs of their countrymen? If, gentlemen,
you can not refute my arguments, at least do not drown my
voice by noisy assertions which you do not attempt to prove.
If ever any of you should visit old Virginia, I shall promise
you a fair hearing at all events; and you may compare our
system of slavery with yours—aye, and be the judges yourselves!'
This pointed rebuke had the desired effect; the
moment they discovered who I was they instantly apologized
for their rudeness, insisted upon my dining with them, and
never did I spend a more jovial day. The instant politics were
laid aside, all was wit and repartee and song. So ended my
first and last debate with a party of Irish tories."[69]

His convictions, however, were not to be blarneyed away.
On his return to the United States, he is reported by Harvey
as saying:


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"There never was such a country on the face of the earth
as England; and it is utterly impossible that there ever can
be any combination of circumstances hereafter to make such
another country as old England now is—God bless her! But
in Ireland the Government and the church, or the lion and the
jackal,
have divided the spoils between them, leaving nothing
for poor Pat but the potatoes."[70]

While abroad, Randolph not only traveled over parts of
Great Britain but also in France, Switzerland, Germany,
and Belgium; returning to the United States from Liverpool
in the Cortez, Capt. DeCost, in October, 1824.[71]
During his travels, he kept a journal of his movements,
but it is a very disappointing one; being nothing more
than a series of hasty jottings intended for his own eye
only, and having little value beyond its chronology. Once,
at any rate, it is marked by the combination of "energy
and bitterness" which John Quincy Adams found in his
speeches.[72] At Secherons, he says, he was "stunned by
noise, stifled by dust, tormented by flies, and devoured by
fleas," in one of the first hotels in Europe. Fortunately,
a letter, written by him from Paris to Dr. Brockenbrough,
ekes out to a limited extent the scantiness of the Journal.
It is anti-Gallican enough to remind us of his saying that
he would rather be a frog than a Frenchman, except for
the fact that, if he were a frog, he might be eaten by a
Frenchman.[73]

"This date says everything. I arrived here on Sunday
afternoon, and am now writing from the Grand Hotel de Castile,
Rue Richelieu and Boulevard des Italiens; for, as the
French say, it `gives' upon both, having an entrance from
each.

"I need not tell either of you that it is in the very focus of
gayety and fashion; and, if the maître d'hotel may be credited, it
is always honored by the residence of `M. le Duc de Davuansaire,'


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whenever his Grace pays a visit to his birthplace. The
civilities, which, through the good offices of my friend, Mr.
Foster, were tendered to me two years ago, from `Davuansaire
House,' and `Chisonig,' would render this circumstance
a recommendation, if the neatness and comfort of my apartments
did not supersede all necessity for any other recommendation.
. . .

"But how do you like Paris?"

"Not in the least. And I stay here only waiting for my letters,
which are . . . to the return of this day's post from London.
To you I need not say one word of the Lions of Paris, but will,
in a word, tell you that crucifixes, and paintings of crucifixions,
and prints of Charlotte Corday and Marie Antoinette &c., are
the fashion of the day; that the present dynasty is infirmly
seated in the saddle; and that, by little and little, every
privilege, acquired not by the designs of its authors, but by
the necessary consequences of such a Revolution, will be taken
from the People; nay, I am persuaded that the lands will be
resumed, or (what is the same thing) an ample equivalent will
be plundered from the public, to endow the losers with. At
the next session of the deputies, the measure of reimbursing
the emigrants—a measure, the very possibility of which was
scouted only three years ago [will be enacted]. The Marquis
de La Fayette had sailed for the United States about ten days
before my arrival here. I am sorry he has taken the step.
It will do no good to his reputation, which, at his time of life,
he ought to nurse. I take it for granted that Ned Livingstone,
or some other equally pure patriot will propose another donation
to him; the last, I think, was on the motion of Beau
Dawson. I hope I may be there, to give it just such another
reception as M. Figaro had at my hands; although it is certainly
a species of madness (and I hear that this malady is
imputed to me) to be wearing out my strength and spirits,
and defending the rights (whether of things or of persons) of a
people who lend their countenance to them that countenance
the general plunder of the public, in the expectation either that
they may share in the spoil, or that their former peculations
will not be examined into.

"I consider the present King of France and his family to be as


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firmly seated on the throne of the Tuileries as ever Louis XIV
was at Versailles. All possibility of counter-revolution is a
mere chimera of distempered imagination. It would be just
as possible to restore the state of society and manners which
existed in Virginia half a century ago. I should as soon expect
to see the Nelsons, and Pages, and Byrds, and Fairfaxes living
in their palaces, and driving their coaches and sixes; or the
good old Virginia gentlemen in the assembly drinking their
twenty and forty bowls of rack punches, and madeira, and
claret, in lieu of a knot of deputy sheriffs and hack attorneys,
each with his cruet of whiskey before him, and puddle of tobacco-spittle
between his legs.

"But to return to Paris. It is wonderfully improved since
you saw it; nay, since the last restoration, but it is still the
filthiest hole, not excepting the worst parts of the old town of
`Edinboro,' that I ever saw out of Ireland. I have dined, for
your sake, chez Beauvilliers, and had bad fare, bad wine, and
even bad bread, a high charge and a surly garçon. Irving,
whom you know by character, (our ex-minister at Madrid),
was with me. He says all the Traiteurs are bad, and the crack
ones worst of all. I have also dined with Very, the first restaurateur
of the Palais Royal, four times; on one of which occasions
I had a good dinner and a fair glass of champagne—next
door to Very, once, at the Café de Chartres—with Pravot—
Pastel; all in the Palais Royal; all bad, dear, and not room
enough, even at Beauvilliers' or Very's, to sit at ease. I can
have a better dinner for half a guinea at the Traveller's, in a
saloon fit for a prince, and where gentlemen alone can enter,
and [with] a pint of the most exquisite Madeira than I can get here
for fifteen francs. I have dined like a marketman for 5 fr., 10
sous; that is the cheapest. All the wine, except le vin ordinaire,
is adulterated shockingly. The English made every thing
dear, and spoiled the garçons and filles, whose greediness
is only equalled by their impudence. Crucifixes, madonnas,
and pictures and prints of that cast, with Charlotte Corday
&c. &c., are the order of the day. Paris swarms with old
priests who have been dug up since the Restoration, and they
manufacture young ones (Jesuits especially) by hundreds at a
single operation.


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"Monsieur, whom you saw at Edinburgh, is remarkable, as
I hear, for consuming a hat per day, when one is each morning
put upon his toilet. Hats were not so plenty then. . . .

Adieu,
"J. R. of R."

"Except a few of the English, with which people Paris swarms,
I have not seen, either in the streets or elsewhere, anything
that by possibility might be mistaken for a gentleman. The
contrast in this respect with London is most striking; indeed I
would as soon compare the Hottentots with the French as
these last with the English. No Enquirer yet received, and I
pine for news from home."[74]

When Randolph reached the United States, the Presidential
election of 1824 had taken place without any
decisive result; consequently it was thrown into the
House of Representatives, and John Quincy Adams was
elected by the joint votes of his friends and the friends of
Henry Clay, who had received the lowest number of
electoral votes, over Andrew Jackson who had received
the highest. The election in the House afforded Randolph
an opportunity to reassert his nice scruples about
State Rights. When the count was had, Daniel Webster
was appointed by the Tellers, who sat at one table, and
Randolph by the Tellers, who sat at another, to announce
what it had disclosed. Webster announced that the
Tellers, for whom he acted, had found the vote to be as
follows: for John Quincy Adams of Massachusetts, 13
votes; for Andrew Jackson, of Tennessee, 7 votes; and for
William H. Crawford, of Georgia, 4 votes. On the other
hand, Randolph announced the same result, but took care
to say that Adams, Jackson and Crawford had received the
votes of so many states, instead of so many votes.[75]

In the spring of 1825, Randolph again became a candidate
for the House. On April 5, 1825, he wrote to Dr.


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Brockenbrough: "Much against my will—I do not
deceive myself—I am involved in another election. Two
more years, if I live as long in that bear-garden, the House
of Representatives!"[76]

It was on the 18th day of the same month that Hugh A.
Garland, Randolph's biographer, then a lad at Hampden-Sidney
College, heard him for the first time. It was on
the day of the election at Prince Edward Court House.
Randolph was dressed in his old uniform of blue and buff,
with knee buckles and long fair-top boots; and, when
urged to make a speech, he pleaded his wretched health
and begged to be excused; but the Mortons, the Prices, the
Watkinses, and the Venables, of Prince Edward County,
the county which was his Tenth Legion, would not accept
the plea. He accordingly retired to an open bench in the
corner of the Court House yard, and, resting his head on
the handle of his umbrella, remained buried in deep
reflection for 10 or 15 minutes. He then ascended the
stile near by and delivered a speech which left an indelible
impression upon Garland's memory.[77]

He was elected to the House, but, before he took his
seat, he was elected to the United States Senate besides to
fill out an unexpired term. At this time, owing to his
zealous advocacy of Southern interests, his popularity was
in perihelion, and his election was achieved, it has been
thought, with less real, than apparent, opposition. The
contestants for the favor of the Virginia Legislature were
Henry St. George Tucker, Randolph's half-brother, Wm.
B. Giles, John Floyd, and Randolph. On the first ballot,
the vote stood Tucker 65, Randolph 63, Giles 58, and Floyd
40. Floyd, being the last in the poll, was then dropped,
and, on the second ballot, the vote stood, Tucker 87,
Randolph 79, and Giles, 60. Giles, being the last in the poll,
was then dropped, and, on the third ballot, the vote stood
Randolph, 104, Tucker, 80. There would seem to be no


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foundation for the impression that Randolph actually
owed his election to the generosity of Henry St. George
Tucker. After the members of the Legislature had
deposited their ballots on the third vote, Jackson, one of
Tucker's friends, did rise and state that it was Tucker's
desire that, in no event, should he be placed in competition
with Randolph; that, believing that Randolph had no
chance of being elected, Tucker's friends had on their own
responsibility put Tucker in nomination, but that, as the
election had now narrowed down to a contest between
Tucker and Randolph, they thought it due to Tucker that
he should be withdrawn; and accordingly Tucker was
withdrawn. It was then suggested that the ballot boxes
ought to be emptied and the election gone through with
anew; and, at this point, Jackson declared that he did not
know that the ballots had been deposited on the third
vote, or he should have withdrawn Tucker earlier. Then,
another gentleman observed that, under the circumstances,
the person, who had been last dropped, that is Giles, ought
to be restored to his former position as one of the contestants;
but the chairman decided that, since the ballots on
the third vote had all been actually deposited in the ballot
boxes, and there had been no irregularity of any sort to
vitiate them, they must be counted.[78] On learning the
result of the election through Dr. Brockenbrough, Henry
St. George Tucker wrote to him:

"I have barely time, before the closing of the mail, to
acknowledge the receipt of your friendly letter, and to express
my hearty concurrence in the gratification you feel at the
election of my brother. I could wish, indeed, that my name
had been withheld, yet hope that its withdrawal, even at the
time it took place, was not too late to manifest my deference
to him. God preserve him long as an honor to his station and
the old Dominion. I cannot but think that this occurrence
will reanimate his spirit and restore him to that activity in the


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public councils for which he was always remarkable until he
thought himself unkindly treated by his native State. He will
now I trust see in himself her favorite son."[79]

Generous and affectionate words, indeed, to have issued
from the heart of a man who was himself fully equal in
every respect to the duties of the office to which Randolph
had been chosen.

Almost as a matter of course, Randolph was soon assailing
the administration of John Quincy Adams in the
Senate as violently as he had assailed that of John Adams.
"I bore some humble part," he said, "in putting down
the dynasty of John the First, and, by the Grace of God,
I hope to aid in putting down the dynasty of John the
Second."[80] Speaking of the two, during the Presidency of
the son, he said:

"I was in New York when he [John Adams] first took his
seat as Vice President. I recollect—for I was a schoolboy at
the time—attending the lobby of Congress when I ought to
have been at school. I remember the manner in which my
brother was spurned by the coachman of the then Vice President
for coming too near the arms emblazoned on the escutcheon
of the Vice Regal carriage. Perhaps, I may have some of
this old animosity rankling in my heart, coming from a race,
who are known never to forsake a friend or forgive a foe. I am
taught to forgive my enemies; and I do, from the bottom of
my heart, most sincerely, as I hope to be forgiven; but it is my
enemies not the enemies of my country, for, if they come here
in the shape of the English, it is my duty to kill them; if they
come here in a worse shape—wolves in sheep's clothing—it is
my duty and my business to tear the sheep-skins from their
backs, and, as Windham said to Pitt, open the bosom and expose
beneath the ruffled shirt the filthy dowlas. This language was
used in the House of Commons where they talk and act like
men; where they eat and drink like men; and do other things
like men, not like Master Bettys. Adams determined to take


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warning by his father's errors; but, in attempting the perpendicular,
he bent as much the other way. Who would believe
that Adams, the son of the Sedition-Law President, who held
office under his father, who up to Dec. 6, 1807, was the undeviating
staunch adherent to the opposition to Jefferson's
administration, then almost gone, who would believe he had
selected for his pattern the celebrated Anacharsis Cloots,
`orator of the human race'? As Anacharsis was the orator of
the human race, so Adams was determined to be the President
of the human race, when I am not willing that he should be
President of my name and race; but he is and must be till the
third day of March, 18—I forget when. He has come out with
a speech and a message and with a doctrine that goes to take
the whole human family under his special protection. Now, sir,
who made him his brother's keeper? Who gave him, the
President of the United States, the custody of the liberties or
the rights or the interests of South America or any other
America, save only the United States of America, or any other
country under the sun? He has put himself we know into the
way, and I say God send him a safe deliverance, and God send
the country a safe deliverance from his policy."[81]

In one of his earlier speeches, Randolph referred to
Samuel Adams and John Adams as Samuel Adams "and
t'other Adams."[82] His scent was warmer when, in his
letter to Lloyd, he spoke of John Adams as "this political
Malvolio." He disliked John Adams because he was
a Federalist; but he regarded John Quincy Adams with a
shade of increased aversion because he deemed him a
turn-coat Federalist. He said that, when Barnabas Bidwell
and John Quincy Adams went into the White House by the
back door, he went out by the front.[83] "The cub," he
declared in 1821, "was a greater bear than the old one."[84]
"This," he said on still another occasion when John
Quincy Adams was President, "is the last four years of the


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Administration of the father renewed in the person of the
son." In the debate on the Panama Mission, Randolph
concluded one of his speeches by repeating his story of
the simpleton who was sent to search the vaults of Parliament
at the time of the Gunpowder Plot and reported that
he had found fifty barrels, had removed 25 of them, and
hoped that the rest would do no harm.

"The step you are about to take," he added with a characteristic
protrusion of his long forefinger, "applies the match
to the powder; and, be there 25 barrels or 50 barrels, there is
enough to blow not the first of the Stuarts but the last of another
dynasty
sky-high, Sir! Yes, Sir, sky-high!"[85]

And sky-high, Josiah Quincy, who heard this speech, tells
us, "rose the voice of Mr. Randolph, as if to follow Mr.
Adams in his aerial flight."[86]

"Meanness is the key-word that deciphers everything
in Mr. Adams' character," he once said in a letter to Dr.
Brockenbrough[87] ; but in John Quincy Adams Randolph
possessed an enemy with a tongue hardly less corrosive
than his own. Rufus Choate once said that Adams had
the instinct of a wild beast for the carotid artery, and
there was not a little truth in the observation. In the
case of Randolph, it was to no small extent so justly
exasperated that no fault can be found with him at times
for gratifying it to the full extent of his ability.

One of the first debates, in which Randolph attacked
the administration of John Quincy Adams, was the debate
on the Panama Mission. The occasion for this debate
was an invitation which had been extended to the United
States by the new-born South American Republics to send
a representative to the Congress, which they proposed
to hold at Panama, for the purpose of considering various
important subjects of concern either to them alone or to


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North, as well as South, America. Both John Quincy
Adams and Henry Clay, whose appointment as Secretary
of State by Adams had been passionately scored by the
friends of Andrew Jackson as a corrupt bargain, sprung
from the succor brought by Clay to Adams in the Presidential
contest in the House, were bold and enterprising
statesmen. Accordingly, in the annual message, that
Adams sent to Congress in December, 1826, he announced
that the South American invitation had been accepted,
and that Ministers, on the part of the United States, would
be commissioned to attend the Congress. But Randolph
had no mind to see the United States represented in a
congress where its delegates were as likely to find themselves
seated beside mulatto generals and statesmen as
white men, and he therefore held up the project to scorn.
He even went so far as to express a suspicion that the paper
containing the invitation to the United States to attend
the Congress had been manufactured in the office of the
Secretary of State. When the President first communicated
the documents, relating to the mission, to the
Senate, several resolutions were adopted by that body at
the instance of Martin Van Buren, declaring that it ought
to act upon the question with open doors, unless it should
appear that the publication of the more important of the
documents would be prejudicial to existing negotiations,
and requesting the President to inform the Senate whether
the publication of any portions of the documents would be
objectionable, and, if so, what.[88] The President replied
by saying that all his communications to the Senate in
regard to the Panama Congress had been made in confidence,
and that, believing that the established usage of
free confidential communications between the Executive
and the Senate ought for the public interest to be preserved
unimpaired, he deemed it his indispensable duty to
leave to the Senate itself the decision of a question,

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involving a departure (previously, so far as he was informed,
without example) from that usage, and upon the
motives for which (not being informed of them) he did not
feel himself competent to decide.[89] When this message
was received by the Senate, it aroused Randolph to a high
pitch of resentment.

"I did maintain," said he, "the rights of the President; but
from the moment he sent us this message, from that moment,
did my tone and manner to him change; from that moment was
I an altered man, and, I am afraid, not altered for the better.

"Sir, if he would leave to the Senate the decision of the question,
I would agree with him; but the evil genius of the
American House of Stuart prevailed. He goes on to say that
the question `involves a departure, hitherto, so far as I am
informed, without an example, from that usage, and upon
the motives for which, not being informed of them, I do not feel
myself competent to decide.' If this had been prosecuted for a
libel, what jury would have failed to have found a verdict on
such an innuendo? That we were breaking away from our
own usages to gratify personal spleen? I say nothing about
our movements, because he was not informed of them. The
innuendo was that our motives were black and bad. That
moment did I put, like Hannibal, my hand on the altar, and
swear eternal enmity against him and his, politically. From
that moment I would do any thing within the limits of the
Constitution and the law; for, as Chatham said of Wilkes, `I
would not, in the person of the worst of men, violate those
sanctions and privileges which are the safeguard of the rights
and liberties of the best; but, within the limits of the Constitution
and the law, if I don't carry on the war, whether in
the Peninsula or any where else, it shall be for want of
resources.' "[90]

Then were spoken the scathing words involving an
attack upon the private character of Henry Clay, who was


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addicted to the hazards of the card-table, to which no
Kentuckian at that time could answer satisfactorily except
with the lips of a pistol:

"Who made him a judge of our usages? Who constituted
him? He has been a professor, I understand. I wish he had
left off the pedagogue when he got into the Executive chair.
Who made him the censor morum of this body? Will anyone
answer this question? Yes or no? Who? Name the person.
Above all, who made him the searcher of hearts, and gave him
the right, by an innuendo black as hell, to blacken our motives?
Blacken our motives! I did not say that then. I was more
under self-command; I did not use such strong language. I
said, if he could borrow the eye of Omniscience himself, and
look into every bosom here; if he could look into that most
awful, calamitous, and tremendous of all possible gulfs, the
naked unveiled human heart, stripped of all its coverings of
self-love, exposed naked, as to the eye of God, I said, if he
could do that, he was not, as President of the United States,
entitled to pass upon our motives, although he saw and knew
them to be bad. I said, if he had converted us to the Catholic
religion, and was our Father Confessor, and every man in this
House, at the footstool of the confessional had confessed a bad
motive to him by the laws of his Church, as by this Constitution,
above the law and above the church, he, as President
of the United States, could not pass on our motives, though we
had with our own lips told him our motives, and confessed they
were bad. I said this then, and I say it now. Here I plant
my foot; here I fling defiance right into his teeth before the
American people; here I throw the gauntlet to him and the
bravest of his compeers, to come forward and defend these
miserable dirty lines: `Involving a departure, hitherto, so far
as I am informed, without example, from that usage, and upon
the motives for which, not being informed of them, I do not
feel myself competent to decide.' Amiable modesty! I
wonder we did not all at once fall in love with him, and agree
una voce to publish our proceedings, except myself; for I quitted
the Senate ten minutes before the vote was taken. I saw what
was to follow; I knew the thing would not be done at all, or


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would be done unanimously. Therefore, in spite of the remonstrances
of friends, I went away, not fearing that any one
would doubt what my vote would have been, if I had staid.
After twenty-six hours' exertion, it was time to give in. I was
defeated, horse, foot, and dragoons—cut up, and clean broke
down by the coalition of Blifil and Black George—by the
combination, unheard of till then, of the puritan with the
blackleg."[91]

The challenge was delivered to Randolph by General
Jesup, Clay's second, whose narrative of the circumstances,
under which it was delivered, is interesting reading:

"I was unable to see Mr. Randolph until the morning of the
1st of April, when I called on him for the purpose of delivering
the note. Previous to presenting it, however, I thought it
proper to ascertain from Mr. Randolph himself whether the
information which Mr. Clay had received—that he considered
himself personally accountable for the attack on him—was
correct. I accordingly informed Mr. Randolph that I was the
bearer of a message from Mr. Clay, in consequence of an attack
which he had made upon his private as well as public character
in the Senate; that I was aware no one had the right to question
him out of the Senate for anything said in debate, unless he
chose voluntarily to waive his privileges as a member of that
body. Mr. Randolph replied that the Constitution did protect
him but he would never shield himself under such a subterfuge
as the pleading of his privilege as a Senator from Virginia;
that he did hold himself accountable to Mr. Clay; but he said
that gentleman had first two pledges to redeem; one that he
had bound himself to fight any member of the House of
Representatives who should acknowledge himself the author
of a certain publication in a Philadelphia paper; and the other
that he stood pledged to establish certain facts in regard to a
gentleman whom he would not name; but he added he could
receive no verbal message from Mr. Clay—that any message
from him must be in writing. I replied that I was not authorized
by Mr. Clay to enter into or receive any verbal


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explanations—that the inquiries I had made were for my own
satisfaction and upon my own responsibility—that the only
message of which I was the bearer was in writing. I then
presented the note and remarked that I knew nothing of Mr.
Clay's pledges; but that, if they existed, as he (Mr. Randolph)
understood them, and he was aware of them, when he made the
attack complained of, he could not avail himself of them—that
by making the attack I thought he had waived them himself.
He said he had not the remotest intention of taking advantage
of the pledges referred to; that he had mentioned them merely
to remind me that he was waiving his privilege not only as a
Senator from Virginia but as a private gentleman; that he was
ready to respond to Mr. Clay and would be obliged to me, if I
would bear his note in reply; and that he would, in the course of
the day, look out for a friend. I declined being the bearer
of his note but informed him my only reason for declining was
that I thought he owed it to himself to consult his friends
before taking so important a step. He seized my hand, saying,
`You are right, Sir. I thank you for the suggestion; but, as
you do not take my note, you must not be impatient, if you
should not hear from me today. I now think of only two
friends; and there are circumstances connected with one of
them which may deprive me of his services, and the other is in
bad health. He was sick yesterday, and may not be out today.'
I assured him that any reasonable time, which he might
find necessary to take, would be satisfactory. I took leave of
him; and it is due to his memory to say that his bearing was
throughout the interview that of a high-toned, chivalrous
gentleman of the old school."[92]

The member of the House, to whom Randolph referred,
in connection with the two unredeemed pledges, was
George Kremer of Pennsylvania, who, during the late
Presidential contest in the House, had avowed himself the
author of an anonymous publication, the writer of which
Clay had declared that he would call to account were his
identity ever disclosed, and yet had not been so good as


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his word. The "great man" was President Adams, with
whom Clay had had a newspaper controversy turning upon
a question of fact; which had become shelved. After
Jesup left Randolph, the latter went to Benton's room at
Brown's Hotel, and, without explaining the reason for his
question, asked him whether he was a blood-relation of
Mrs. Clay. Benton answered that he was, and then
Randolph, remarking that this fact put an end to a request
which he had desired to make of him, told Benton that he
had received the challenge, had accepted it, and would
apply to Col. Tatnall to be his second. Before leaving
Benton, Randolph also communicated to him the fact,
which he said that he would divulge to no other person,
that he did not intend to fire at Clay; and he enjoined
inviolable secrecy upon Benton in regard to this fact until
the duel should be over. Later, he sent by the hand of
Col. Tatnall a formal acceptance of the challenge in these
words:

"Mr. Randolph accepts the challenge of Mr. Clay. At the
same time, he protests against the right of any minister of the
Executive Government of the United States to hold him
responsible for words, spoken in debate as a Senator from
Virginia in crimination of such minister or the administration
under which he shall have taken office. Colonel Tatnall, of
Georgia, the bearer of this letter, is authorized to arrange with
General Jesup (the bearer of Mr. Clay's challenge) the terms
of the meeting to which Mr. Randolph is invited by that
note."[93]

The terms of this note, suggesting as they did a question of
constitutional immunity, led to an interchange of notes
between the seconds which dispelled the impression that
had been formed by Clay that Randolph had in his speech
itself waived his parliamentary privilege—an act, of course,
which could have been set down to nothing but a spirit of


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personal defiance, and would have been tantamount to an
invitation to Clay to challenge him.

For a time, it looked as if the duel would be averted;
for the seconds of the parties, with the aid of Benton, who
was friendly to both Randolph and Clay, contrived to
defer it for a week, in the hope that an accommodation
might be effected. With a view to giving Randolph an
opportunity to make an explanation that might salve
Clay's wounded honor, Jesup wrote to Tatnall that the
injury of which Clay complained was that he had been
charged by Randolph with having forged or manufactured
a paper connected with the Panama Mission, and had been
termed a blackleg by him. Jesup ended by saying that
the explanation, which he considered necessary, was that
Randolph should declare that he had had no intention of
charging Clay, either in his public or private capacity,
with forging or falsifying any paper or misrepresenting any
fact; and also that the term "blackleg" was not intended
to apply to Clay. To this note Tatnall replied as follows:

"Mr. Randolph informs me that the words used by him in
debate were as follows: `That I thought it would be in my
power to show evidence sufficiently presumptive to satisfy a
Charlotte (County) jury that this invitation was manufactured
here—that Salazar's letter [The Mexican Minister's
letter inviting the United States to the Congress] struck me as
bearing a strong likeness in point of style to the other papers.
I did not undertake to prove this but expressed my suspicion
that the fact was so. I applied to the administration the
epithet, `puritanic—diplomatic—black-legged administration.'
Mr. Randolph, in giving these words as those uttered by him
in debate, is unwilling to afford any explanation as to their
meaning and application."[94]

Benton, who had heard the speech and was certain that
no such words as "forging and falsifying" had been used


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by Randolph, urged at the conferences of the parties, to
which he was freely admitted, a construction of the words
avowed by Randolph which he thought should render a
hostile meeting unnecessary.

"I heard it all," he says, "and, though sharp and cutting,
I think it might have been heard had he been present without
any manifestation of resentment by Mr. Clay. The part
which he took so seriously to heart, that of having the Panama
invitations manufactured in his office, was to my mind nothing
more than attributing to him a diplomatic superiority which
enabled him to obtain from the South American Ministers the
invitations that he wanted; and not at all that they were
spurious fabrications. As to the expression `blackleg and puritan,'
it was merely a sarcasm to strike by antithesis, and which,
being without foundation, might have been disregarded."

These views, Benton tells us, if they had come from Randolph
himself might have been sufficient; "but he was
inexorable and would not authorize a word to be said beyond
what he had written."

We have gone with some detail into the efforts made to
prevent the Randolph-Clay duel because, among other
reasons, their futility furnishes us with another proof of
the wanton malice which led Henry Adams to insinuate
that Randolph was a calculating bully who never exposed
his skin to any real risk when he could avoid it.

All hope of arresting the duel having been dissipated,
the seconds proceeded to make the necessary arrangements
for it. Half past four o'clock, in the afternoon on
Saturday, April 8, 1826, was fixed as the time for it; a
spot in a dense forest on the Virginia side of the Potomac
above the Little Falls Bridge as the place. Pistols were to
be the weapons, the distance was to be ten paces, each party
was to be attended by his two seconds and a surgeon, and
Benton was to be at liberty to be present as a common
friend of the principals. There was to be no practising


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beforehand; and the words "one," "two," "three,"
"stop" were to be given out after the word "fire" in quick
succession. It was at the instance of Randolph that
Virginia was selected as the scene of the combat. It was
for words spoken in debate as a Virginia Senator that he
had been called out, and, if he fell, he wished to fall on the
soil endeared to him by every tie of devoted loyalty and
affection. There was at this time in Virginia a statute
against duelling, but, as he did not intend to fire at Clay,
he did not lack the casuistry to persuade himself that he
would not violate it by merely facing Clay and his pistol.

The evening before the duel, Benton called to see Clay.
Some degree of estrangement had sprung up between
them since the recent Presidential contest in the House,
and he wished to show Clay that it had not affected his
personal regard for him. The family were in the parlor,
there was company with them, some of whom remained
late, Clay's youngest child (James, Benton thought it
was) fell asleep upon the sofa, and Mrs. Clay was, as always
since the death of her daughter, the picture of desolation,
but calm and "conversable," and apparently
ignorant of the approaching event. All these things
Benton recollected only as we recollect the incidents which
fringed some tragic moment. At last, when all but Clay
and Benton had deserted the room, Benton obtained the
opportunity that he desired to assure Clay that, despite
political differences, his personal feelings towards him were
unchanged, and that, in whatever concerned his life or
honor, his best wishes went with him. Clay made a kindred
response, and at midnight they parted.

On the day of the duel, and only a short time before it
was to take place, Benton called to see Randolph too.
Randolph was then living halfway between Washington
and Georgetown, and, therefore, on the road that led to the
duelling ground. Benton wished to ascertain whether
Randolph's intention of not firing at Clay was still unaltered.


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He knew that he could not ask such a question
directly of a man so sensitive to his word as Randolph, so
he told of his visit to Clay the night before, of the prolonged
sitting, the sleeping child, and the unsuspecting
wife; and added that he could not help reflecting how
different everything might be the next night. "Randolph
understood me perfectly," declares Benton, "and
immediately said with a quietude of look and expression
which seemed to rebuke an unworthy doubt: `I shall do
nothing to disturb the sleep of the child or the repose of
the mother.' " His seconds, Tatnall and General James
Hamilton, of South Carolina, were engaged at the time in
the next room in their preparations for the duel.[95]

In the meantime, that is the night before, Randolph had
imparted to Hamilton also his intention of not firing at
Clay.

"Mr. Randolph," says Hamilton, "sent for me. I found
him calm but in a singularly kind and confiding mood. He
told me that he had something on his mind to tell me. He
then remarked: `Hamilton, I have determined to receive
without returning Clay's fire: nothing shall induce me to harm
a hair of his head; I will not make his wife a widow or his
children orphans. Their tears would be shed over his grave;
but, when the sod of Virginia rests on my bosom, there is not
in this wide world one individual to pay this tribute upon mine.'
His eyes filled, and, resting his head upon his hand, we remained
some moments silent."

The friendship between them, Hamilton says, was a sort
of posthumous friendship bequeathed by their mothers.
After adverting to the painful situation, in which Randolph's
resolution placed him, Hamilton contented himself
with saying that, on such a subject, a man's own conscience
and bosom were his best monitors. He would not
advise, he said, but, under the enormous and unprovoked


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personal insult which Randolph had offered to Clay, he
could not dissuade. He felt bound, however, he added, to
tell Tatnall of Randolph's decision; which he did the
same night; with the result that together they repaired to
Randolph's lodgings about midnight and found him
reading Paradise Lost. For some moments, he would not
permit them to say a word about the duel, but entered
upon a strain of animated comment upon one of his
favorite passages in Milton. When this topic had been
exhausted, Tatnall told him that he had been informed
of his resolution not to return Clay's fire, and that, if he
was to go out only to see him shot down, Randolph must
find some other friend. Finally, after much talk, Tatnall
was persuaded that his withdrawal as a second might lead
to misconception and consented to let Randolph have his
way; Randolph saying with a smile, "Well, Tatnall, I
promise you one thing, if I see the devil in Clay's eye, and
that, with malice prepense, he means to take my life, I may
change my mind."[96]

According to Benton, however, Randolph's intention
not to fire at Clay underwent a brief modification, owing
to the disturbing impression made upon his mind by a
circumstance of which he was informed by Tatnall. This
was that Clay, who was unaccustomed to the use of the
pistol, had expressed the fear that he might not be able to
fire in time, if the "word" was to be given out so quickly
as had been agreed upon. This remark suggested to
Randolph's mind the idea that Clay was actuated by a
deliberate, cold-blooded desire to kill him. The consequence
was that, when Benton came up behind Randolph's
carriage near the duelling-ground, and spoke to
Randolph's body-servant, John, Randolph recognized
Benton's voice, and, looking out of his carriage-window,
said: "Colonel, since I saw you, and since I have been in
this carriage, I have heard something which may make me


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change my determination. Col. Hamilton will give you a
note which will explain it." Hamilton, who was in the
carriage with Randolph, when this was said, did afterwards,
in the course of the afternoon, hand this note to
Benton. It was in these words:

"Information received from Col. Tatnall, since I got into
the carriage, may induce me to change my mind of not returning
Mr. Clay's fire. I seek not his death. I would not have
his blood upon my hands—it will not be upon my soul, if shed
in self-defense—for the world. He has determined by the use
of a long preparatory caution by words to get time to kill me.
May I not then disable him? Yes, if I please."

The ground was marked off; and Tatnall won the choice
of position, which gave Jesup the right to say "the word."
The principals saluted each other courteously, as they
took their places on an east and west line, in a little depression;
Clay just in front of a small stump; Randolph just
in front of a low gravelly bank. Benton was standing on
a little hillock nearby, where he could see all that was done
and hear all that was said. Near him, was John who had
followed him closely, speaking not a word, but evincing the
gravest anxiety about his master. Before Randolph took
his position, Tatnall had induced him to receive his pistol
from him with the hair-trigger sprung, notwithstanding
that Randolph had objected to doing so because he was
not in the habit of handling a hair-triggered pistol, and
was wearing a thick buckskin glove. What Randolph
apprehended, happened. While Jesup, in response to his
request, was rehearsing "the word," as it was to be given
out, and Randolph was adjusting the butt of his pistol to
his hand, with the muzzle pointed downwards almost at
the ground, the weapon exploded. Clay's pistol had not
then even been handed to him but was being conveyed
to him by one of his seconds, Senator Josiah S. Johnston,
of Louisiana, who was still several steps from him. As


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soon as the explosion took place, Randolph turned to
Tatnall and exclaimed: "I protested against the hair-trigger";
whereupon Tatnall assumed all the blame for
having sprung the hair. According to Hamilton, at or
about the same time, Jesup called out that he would instantly
leave the ground with his friend if that occurred
again.[97]

A scrutiny began to be made into the circumstances
surrounding the explosion, which must have been little less
than wormwood to Randolph, when Clay, with the noble
generosity which was a part of his nature, cut the inquiry
short by the assertion that it was clearly an accident.
Another pistol was then handed to Randolph, and an
exchange of shots between Clay and him followed. Randolph's
bullet struck the stump behind Clay, and Clay's
knocked up the earth and gravel behind Randolph, in a
line with the level of Randolph's hips. Both bullets, says
Benton, were so true and close that it was a marvel how
they missed. Benton then felt that it was time for him
to interpose, and he joined the group and offered his
mediation, but Clay, with the wave of his hand, with
which he was accustomed to put aside a trifle, exclaimed:
"This is child's play!", and insisted upon another exchange
of shots, and Randolph also made the same demand. The
seconds were therefore directed to reload. While this was
being done, Benton took Randolph aside and importuned
him more eagerly even than before to yield to some accommodation;
but he found him, he says, more determined than
he had ever seen him, and for the first time impatient and
seemingly annoyed and dissatisfied at the efforts of Benton
to bring the occasion to a peaceful conclusion. "The
accidental fire of his pistol preyed upon his feelings. He
was doubly chagrined at it, both as a circumstance,
susceptible in itself of an unfair interpretation, and
as having been the immediate and controlling cause of his


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firing at Mr. Clay." It was during this interval that
Randolph laid before Benton the facts which had
produced the fluctuation of purpose evidenced by the note
that Hamilton had handed Benton. At the same time, he
declared that in firing he had not sought the life of Clay,
that he had not aimed even as high as Clay's knees—for it
was no mercy to shoot a man in the knee—that his aim
was no higher than Clay's knee-band, and that his only
object was to disable him and spoil his aim.

"And then," Benton says, "added with a beauty of expression
and a depth of feeling which no studied oratory can ever
attain, and which I shall never forget, these impressive words:
`I would not have seen him fall mortally, or even doubtfully,
wounded for all the land that is watered by the King of
Floods and all his tributary streams.' After uttering these
words, and again refusing to explain outside of the Senate any
words that he had used in it, and declaring positively that he
would not return Clay's fire the next time, Randolph resumed
his station opposite to his antagonist. Benton then withdrew
a little way into the woods, and kept his eyes fixed on Randolph,
knowing that he alone of the two duellists was now
in danger. Randolph received Clay's fire which knocked up
the gravel in the same place as before, raised his pistol and
discharged it in the air, and exclaimed: `I do not fire at you, Mr.
Clay,' and immediately advanced, and tendered his hand to
Clay. Clay, in the same spirit, met him half-way, and the two
shook hands; Randolph, whose coat skirt had been pierced by
Clay's bullet very near the hip, saying jocosely: `You owe me
a coat, Mr. Clay,' and Clay promptly and very happily replying:
`I am glad the debt is no greater."[98]

Benton then came up, and, somewhat like the good genius
in a novel, who rights everything at the last by a seasonable
éclaircissement, diffused good humor throughout
the group, already joyous enough, by divulging the secret
which had been locked up in his breast for eight days. On


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his way to Washington, he stopped at Randolph's lodgings,
and supped with him and his companions. None of the
party, he says, had felt the need for dinner that day.[99] In
concluding his vivid account of the duel, he indulges in
these reflections which we read at the present time in very
much the same spirit as that in which we scan the rich
suits of mediæval armor in the Metropolitan Museum in
New York.

"On Monday, the parties exchanged cards, and social
relations were formally and courteously restored. It was
about the last high-toned duel that I have witnessed, and
among the highest-toned that I have ever witnessed, and so
happily conducted to a fortunate issue—a result due to the
noble character of the seconds as well as to the generous and
heroic spirit of the principals. Certainly, duelling is bad, and
has been put down, but not quite so bad as its substitute—
revolvers, bowie-knives, blackguarding and street-assassinations
under the pretext of self-defense."[100]

Indeed, extinct as is the duel in the United States today,
the conduct of all the parties to this famous transaction
was so manly and generous that we experience little
difficulty in understanding the enthusiasm that it inspired
in a connoisseur like Benton, whose interest in it was, it is
easy to see, that of a Sir Lucius O'Trigger as well as that of
a sincere friend of the two principals. (a)

A few days after the duel, Randolph opened his heart
to Dr. Brockenbrough in these words:

"I cannot write. I tried yesterday to answer your letter,
but I could not do it. My pen choked. The hysterica passio
of poor old Lear came over me. I left a letter for you in case
of the worst. It now lies on my mantel-piece. Perhaps, you
may, one time or other, see it. I am a fatalist. I am all but
friendless. . . . Benton begins to understand and to love me.
Nothing has stood in his way. No lions in his path. Had I


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suffered it, he would have gone with me, as my friend. In
that case, I should not have violated the laws of Virginia. It
was not my intention to do so . . . and . . . were ardent,
honorable, devoted to my cause, but obtuse, wanted tact. I am
a fatalist. On no one occasion of my life have I ever been
in extremity that they, to whom my heart yearned and
turned for aid, or at least for comfort, have not appeared to
hold aloof from me. I say appeared. I am assured that it
was appearance only in both instances, on the part of the two
persons in Virginia, who shared highest in my confidence and
regard. But, when a man comes home from the strife and
conflict of this wicked world, and its vile and sinful inhabitants,
it is then that a certain tone of voice—an averted look—or
even the sweet, austere composure of our first mother cuts
him to the heart in the reception of the wife of his bosom.
The words are nothing; the countenance and the tone of voice,
the last especially, everything.

"I again repeat that I cannot write. But I shall be thankful
for your letters; as long as I could, I gave you what I had. I
too am bankrupt, and have as good a right to break as the
rest. God bless you both."[101]

At times, during the first session of the 19th Congress,
Randolph made a handsome atonement for his excessive
calls upon the attention of his fellow-Senators. In one of
his speeches during this session he said: "It is an infirmity
of my nature to have an obstinate constitutional preference
of the true over the agreeable." His self-introspection
in this case was not at fault; for it is his praise
above that of any public man of his time of equal perspicacity
that, in the earliest stages of the sectional struggle
between the North and South, he allowed no suggestion of
timidity, personal ambition, or cant to restrain him from
fearlessly stating the naked truths underlying the struggle.
Take for example what he had to say about negro slavery
in his speech on March 2, 1826, on "Negro Slavery in
South America":


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"I know there are gentlemen," said Randolph, "not only
from the Northern, but from the Southern, States, who think
that this unhappy question—for such it is—of negro slavery,
which the Constitution has vainly attempted to blink, by not
using the term, should never be brought into public notice,
more especially into that of Congress, and most especially
here. Sir, with every due respect for the gentlemen who
think so, I differ from them, toto coelo. Sir, it is a thing which
cannot be hid—it is not a dry rot that you can cover with the
carpet, until the house tumbles about your ears—you might
as well try to hide a volcano in full operation—it cannot be
hid; it is a cancer in your face, and must be treated secundum
artem;
it must not be tampered with by quacks, who never
saw the disease or the patient and prescribe across the Atlantic.
It must be, if you will, let alone; but, on this very principle of
letting it alone, it is that I have brought in my resolution. I
am willing to play what is called child's play—let me alone and
I will let you alone; let my resolution alone, and I will say
nothing in support of it; for there is a want of sense in saying
anything in support of a resolution that nobody opposes. Sir,
will the Senate pardon my repeating the words of a great man,
which cannot be too often repeated? `A small danger, menacing
an inestimable object, is of more importance, in the eyes of
a wise man, than the greatest danger which can possibly
threaten an object of minor consequence.' The question
before us is, is this an object of inestimable consequence? I
do not put the question to you, Sir. I know what your answer
will be. I know what will be the answer of every husband,
father, son, and brother, throughout the Southern States; I
know that on this depends the honor of every matron and
maiden—of every matron (wife or widow) between the Ohio
and the Gulf of Mexico. I know that upon it depends the
life's blood of the little ones which are lying in their cradles, in
happy ignorance of what is passing around them; and not the
white ones only, for shall not we too kill—shall we not react
the scenes which were acted in Guatemala, and elsewhere,
except I hope, with far different success; for if, with a superiority
in point of numbers, as well as of intelligence and courage,
we should suffer ourselves to be, as there, vanquished, we


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should deserve to have negroes for our task-masters, and for
the husbands of our wives. This, then, is the inestimable
object which the gentleman from Carolina views in the same
light that I do, and that you do too, Sir, and to which every
Southern bosom responds;—a chord which, when touched,
even by the most delicate hand, vibrates to the heart of every
man in our country. I wish I could maintain, with truth,
that it came within the other predicament—that it is a small
danger, but it is a great danger; it is a danger that has increased,
is increasing, and must be diminished, or it must come
to its regular catastrophe."[102]

Though in a different vein, a passage in a speech on
Executive Powers delivered by Randolph on March 30,
1826, is equally good. When his last speeches on the
tariff were delivered in the House, the policy of protection
was obnoxious to Massachusetts. "I bless God," he said,
"that Massachusetts and old Virginia are once again
rallying under the same banner against oppressive and
unconstitutional taxation."[103] But, when his speech on
"Executive Powers" was delivered, he had fully awakened
to the fact that political alliances of this kind are so closely
akin to amorous intercourse, in point of inconstancy, that
the language of the latter would serve as well for the
former. Massachusetts had gone over to Henry Clay,
and the doctrine of American Protection, taking Daniel
Webster along with her.

"But I did immediately after this transaction," [the support
given by Henry Clay to Webster in the discussion of the Greek
Question], Randolph said, "write a letter to a friend which
letter, with its postmark and date, can now be produced,
stating that, according to my view of things, an alliance,
offensive and defensive, had been got up between old Massachusetts
and Kentucky, between the frost of January and
young, blythe, buxom and blooming May, the eldest daughter


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of Virginia, young Kentucky, not so young however as not to
make a prudent match and sell her charms for their full value.
I had been an eye and ear witness of the billing and cooing
between the old sinner and the young saint, and had no doubt
that the consummation would in a decent time be effected."[104]

The application of this clever ridicule to the "corrupt
bargain" between Clay and Adams is too manifest for
comment. How mixed were the sensations exerted by the
brilliancy, the garrulity, the irrelevancy, the eccentricity
and the extravagance which distinguished Randolph's
speeches in the Senate, during the first session of the 19th
Congress, when his mind was unquestionably disordered,
we may judge by contrasting a letter from a Washington
correspondent, which appeared in the Richmond Enquirer
on April 25, 1826, and the evidence, presented by an
editorial, which appeared in the same newspaper three
days later.

The letter says:

"Randolph delivered yesterday the greatest speech of his
life and, as he said, the last of this session. The like of it was
never seen, heard nor felt before. He spoke for six complete
hours from one to seven. For six hours, he filled his vials from
the fountains of bitterness—filled them to overflowing—and
emptied them on heads high and low. For six hours, he trod
the wine-press of indignant wrath; for six hours the Senate
and a brilliant audience were fixed as the marble columns
which supported the dome of the chamber. The stenographer
was busy, but in vain. It is not for paper to tell that speech."

The editorial said:

"Mr. Randolph's zeal and intrepidity have drawn a fiery
wasp's nest around his head. He has been exhibited in almost
every variety of shape to excite detestation or contempt. He
has been painted as a madman—as a malignant—as a dotard—


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in fact what animadversion has been spared to him? They
have tried even to lie him down—little anecdotes have been
circulated to render him ridiculous."

On May 20, 1826, Randolph boarded a steamboat at
Philadelphia, which conveyed him to the packet, Alexander,
Capt. Baldwin. A large crowd had gathered at the
wharf in Baltimore in 1824 to see him off for New York on
his second voyage to Europe; but the increased public
curiosity, of which he was now the object, because of his
chequered career in the United States Senate and his recent
duel with Henry Clay, one of the popular idols, assembled
such "an immense concourse" at the steamboat landing
that, to avoid the throng, that rushed after him into the
cabin of the steamboat, he had to take refuge in the
ladies' cabin.[105]

On his arrival at Liverpool, Randolph was detained
there for a time by public attentions of one kind or
another. At a dinner given by the Corporation of Liverpool
to Huskisson, its representative in Parliament, his
health was proposed by Huskisson, and he responded in
what seems to have been a very happy speech; taking care
to accentuate the community of interest which existed
between the cotton planter of America and the cotton
spinner of England, and following up his speech with two
toasts: "The Town and Trade of Liverpool," and
"England and America, the mother and the daughter."
Afterwards, he accompanied Huskisson on a steampacket
excursion and, his health being again proposed
by that gentleman on this excursion, he delivered another
speech which seems to have been cordially received. It
is said that, during the excursion, he talked "incessantly
and instructed as well as delighted the company," and
many of his pithy remarks, including his opinion that
the Irish peasant was deprived of his proper share of the


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fruits of the earth, and his opinion that the Virginians
would as soon have their noses cut off as abandon viva
voce
voting, were reported in the English press. "Then,
Sir," said one gentleman to him, "your mode of voting is
the same as in England?" "Aye, to be sure," replied
Randolph. "Have we not been steering on the same course
ever since we left you without touching or taking in sail?
Only we have thrown the King overboard, God bless
him." So fascinating, we are told, was Randolph's conversation
that he could with difficulty escape from the
crowd that still lingered about him at the close of the day.
From the same source of information, we learn, quite in
keeping with modern reportorial methods, that he was
"dressed in a blue coat, yellow silk neckcloth, and blue
trousers."[106] Then, doubtless, as now, the kind of American,
who interested an Englishman the most, was the kind that
resembled the average Englishman the least. From
Great Britain, Randolph passed to the Continent, and,
during his travels abroad at this time, he wrote a number
of letters to Dr. Brockenbrough from which we shall
make a few extracts:

"A month has now elapsed since I landed in England, during
which time I have not received a line from any friend, except
Benton, who wrote to me on the eve of his departure from
Babylon the Great to Missouri. Missouri!, and here am I
writing in the parlor of the New Inn, at the gate of Mr. Coke's
park, where art has mastered nature in one of her least amiable
moods. To say the truth, he that would see this country to
advantage must not end with the barren sands and flat,
infertile healths (strike out the l; I meant to write heaths) of
the east country, but must reserve the vale of Severn and
Wales for a bonne bouche. Although I was told at Norwich
that Mr. Coke was at home (and by a particular friend of his
too), yet I find that he and Lady Anne are gone to the very


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extremity of this huge county to a wool fair, at Thetford,
sixty-five miles off; and, while my companion, Mr. Williams,
of S. C. (son of David R. W.), is gone to the Hall, I am resolved
to bestow, if not `all,' a part at least of `my tediousness'
upon you. Tediousness, indeed, for what have I to write
about, unless to tell you that my health, so far from getting
better, was hardly ever worse? . . . Mr. Williams has been
very attentive and kind to me. I have been trying to persuade
him to abandon me to the underwriters as a total loss, but he
will not desert me; so that I meditate giving him the slip for his
own sake. We saw Dudley Inn and a bad race at Newmarket,
on our way to Norwich. There we embarked on the river Yare,
and proceeded to Yarmouth by the steampacket. We returned
to Norwich by land, and by different routes; he, by the
direct road, and I, by Beccles, fifteen miles further; and yet I
arrived first. Through Lord Suffield's politeness, who gave
me a most hearty invitation to Gunton, I was enabled to see
the Castle (now the county jail) to the best advantage. His
lordship is a great prison discipline financier, and was very
polite to me when I was in England four years ago. I met
him by mere accident at the inn at Norwich, where the coach
from Beccles stopped. . . .

I see that Ritchie has come out against me. I looked for
nothing better. But why talk of such things?" . . .

" `The Portfolio reached me in safety.' So much had I written
of a letter to you in London, but I was obliged to drop my pen
in G. Marx' compting-house, and here I am, and at your service
at The Hague. . . .

"In my passage from London, I met with a serious accident,
that might have been fatal. We broke our engine, and, when
the pilot boarded us, I was desirous to get on board of his boat;
to do this, I had to cross the quarter-deck. The skylight of the
ladies' cabin was open, but (pour bienséance) the `orifice' was
covered with our colors, and the grating, being removed only
about 18 inches, a complete pit-fall or trap was made, into
which I fell, and my right side, immediately below the insertion
of the false ribs into the spine, was `brought up by the


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combings of the sky-light.' I lay for some minutes nearly
senseless, and it was more than an hour before I could be
moved from the deck. My whole side, kidney and liver, are
very much affected. It has obliged me to suspend my course
of Swain's Panacea, upon which I entered a few days before
I left London.

"I have not seen Mr. Gallatin. Mr. John A. King, our
chargé d'affaires, was very polite to me. We met on neutral
ground at the Traveller's Club-House, in Pall Mall, No. 49.

"I am pleased with Holland. Cleanliness here becomes a
virtue. My companion's, Mr. Wms', passport wanting some
formularies, and our chargé (Mr. C. Hughes! oh for some of
Giles' notes of admiration!!!!) not being present, Sir Charles
Bagot has been good enough to do the needful. I waited upon
him in Mr. Wms' behalf, and was received by him with the
greatest warmth, asked to dine en famille (as I leave The
Hague to-morrow for Leyden), and told that any letters
brought to [the] dinner would be forwarded by his courier to
London. To him, therefore, I am obliged for a conveyance for
this.

"Apropos to Giles; I think I know him to the bottom, if he
has any bottom. I know also the advantage that will be
taken of me; the formidable array of enemies that I have to
encounter. I might have neutralized some of them; but, as
Bonaparte said on another occasion, `it is not in my character.'
Whatever may be the decision of the Virginia Assembly on my
case, I shall always say that a capricious change of her public
agents has never been the vice of the Government or the people
of Virginia, and that, whenever a man is dismissed from the
service of either, it is strong presumptive evidence (prima
facie
) of his unfitness for the place. . . .

"Your intelligence about the election, about W. S. A., [Wm.
S. Archer] and W. R. J., [Wm. R. Johnson] and W. B. G.,
[Wm. B. Giles] was highly gratifying. I hope that my initials
are intelligible to you, for your Miss S., upon whom you say
Mr. M. D. was attending, is une inconnue à moi. I did not
know that you had any Richmond Belles, of whom the Beaux
could say, `I love my love with an S., because' &c., &c.

"Poor Stevenson, I think, has no daughter, or child, even.


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Remember me kindly to him and the Lord Chief, and do not
forget my best love and duty to madame. Tell her, and mark
it yourself, that you at home may and can write long gossiping
letters, but a man at the end of a journey, harassed by a valet
de place,
and commissionaire pour le passeporte, has no stomach
but for his coffee and bed. Such is my case (this day excepted,
and even today I am a good deal wearied by a jaunt to Scheveling,
and Mr. Wms' business); and such has it been since I set
my foot on the quay at Liverpool.

"And so old Mr. Adams is dead; on the 4th of July, too, just
half a century after our Declaration of Independence; and leaving
his son on the throne. This is Euthanasia, indeed. They
have killed Mr. Jefferson, too, on the same day, but I don't
believe it. . . .

"Pray, has the Enquirer come out against me? I see something
that looks like it in the matter of Mr. D., of M—s.
Le vrai n'est pas toujours le vraisemblable. There is a dessous
de cartes
there, that is not understood. But who does really
understand anything? The English know us only through
the medium of New York and Yankee newspapers, and, which
is worse, through the Yankees themselves. The only Virginia
papers, that I saw at the North and South American Coffee
House, were the Norfolk Beacon, ditto Herald, and Richmond
Whig.
They don't take the Enquirer. What a pretty notion
they must have of us in Virginia. Adieu for the present."

. . . . . . .

"It is now agreed on all hands that misery, crime and profligacy
are in a state of rapid and alarming increase. The Pitt
and paper system (for although he did not begin it, yet he
brought it to its last stage of imperfection) is now developing
features that `fright the isle from its propriety.'

"Your letter reached me in Paris where I was in a measure
compelled to go, in consequence of my having incautiously set
my foot in that huge man-trap, France. I had there neither
time nor opportunity to answer it, and now I have not power
to do it. The dinner to M. does, I confess, not a little surprise
me. I know not what to think of these times, and of the state


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of things in our country. The vulgarity and calumny of the
press I could put up with, if I could see any tokens of that
manly, straight-forward spirit and manner that once distinguished
Virginia. Sincerity and truth are so far out of
fashion that nobody nowadays seems to expect them in the
intercourse of life. But I am becoming censorious, and how
can I help it in this canting and speaking age, where the very
children are made to cry or laugh as a well drilled recruit
shoulders or grounds his firelock.

"I dined yesterday with Mr. Marx—it was a private party—
and took additional cold. This morning, my expectoration is
quite bloody, but I do not apprehend that it comes from the
lungs. It is disagreeable, however, not only in itself, but
because I have promised my Lord Chief Justice Best to visit
him at his seat in Kent, and another gentleman, also, in the
same county; `invicta,' unconquered Kent."

. . . . . . .

"Mr. W. J. Barksdale writes his father that a run will be
made at me by G—s [Giles] this winter. On this subject, I
can only repeat what I have said before—that, when the Commonwealth
of Virginia dismisses a servant, it is strong presumptive
evidence of his unfitness for the station. If it shall
apply to my own case, I cannot help it. But I should have
nothing to wish on this subject, if the Assembly could be put
in possession of a tolerably faithful account of what I have said
and done. I have been systematically and industriously misrepresented.
I had determined to devote this last summer
to a revision of my speeches, but my life would have paid
the forfeit, had I persisted in that determination. Many
of the misrepresentations proceed from the `ineffable stupidity'
of the reporters, but some must, I think, be intentional.
. . . In most instances, my meaning has been
mistaken. In some, it has been reversed. If I live, I will set
this matter right. So much for Ego.

"I see that Peyton R. advertises his land on — River.
This was the last of my name and race left whom I would go
and see. The ruin is no doubt complete. . . .


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"Town is empty, and I live, a complete hermit, in London.
If you see the English newspapers, you will see what a horrible
state of society exists in this strange country, where one class
is dying of hunger and another with surfeit. The amount of
crime is fearful; and cases of extreme atrocity are not wanting.
The ministry will not find themselves upon a bed of roses when
Parliament meets."[107]

 
[107]

Garland, v. 2, 269, 275.

With the beginning of the second session of the 19th
Congress, Randolph was again in his seat in the Senate,
but, during the winter, he took no part in the debates of
that body. It soon became apparent that his reëlection to
the Senate might not be unopposed. On Jan. 1, 1827, he
wrote to Dr. Brockenbrough:

"To pretend indifference to the approaching election, would
be the height of affectation and falsehood; but, go how it may,
I trust that I shall bear myself under success or defeat in a
manner that my friends will not disapprove. I have ever
looked up to Virginia as to a mother whose rebukes I was
bound to receive with filial submission; and no instance of her
displeasure, however severe, shall ever cause me to lose sight
of my duty to her."[108]

A few days before the election, Ritchie stated in the
Richmond Enquirer that the reëlection of Randolph would
not be contested.[109] An effort to induce Philip P. Barbour
to become a candidate had failed; similar approaches had
been made to John Floyd, and had met with no encouragement;
and it was understood that John Tyler, too, had
withheld his countenance from a movement in his behalf,
on the ground that the State-Rights party was too small to
be weakened by divisions.[110] But, on the very day that
Ritchie made his statement, he learned that opposition to
the reëlection of Randolph was brewing, and that Tyler
would be brought forward as his opponent.[111] The elements,


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constituting the opposition in the Legislature, were
all the members, with one or two exceptions perhaps, who
had once been Federalists, the friends of the Adams
administration, the friends of Henry Clay, and the
Republicans who were enemies of the Adams administration,
but had been induced by the eccentric conduct of
Randolph in the Senate to believe that he should not be
returned to that body.[112] It was also thought by Ritchie
that some four or five votes might have been turned
against Randolph by a correspondence between certain
Republican members of the House of Delegates and John
Tyler which had been read in the House.[113] (a) This
correspondence was initiated by a letter to Tyler, dated
Jan. 13, 1827, and signed by Linn Banks, Alexander
Smyth, Wm. F. Gordon, Daniel A. Wilson and Wm. O.
Goode, which read in part as follows:

"We understand that the friends of the administration and
others will support you for the Senate in opposition to Mr.
Randolph. We desire to understand distinctly whether they
have your consent or not; and, if not, will you be pleased to say
explicitly that you will not abandon the Chair of State at this
time to accept a seat in the Senate?"[114]

To this letter Tyler replied that he was unacquainted with
the political preferences of those disposed to sustain him
for the Senate; that his political opinions on the fundamental
principles of the Government were the same as the
opinions espoused by Randolph, that he admired him
most highly for his undeviating attachment to the Constitution,
manifested at all times, and through all the
events of a long, political life, and that, if any man voted
for him under a different persuasion, he would most grievously
deceive himself, that he had constantly opposed
himself to all solicitations that he should become a candidate
against Randolph, and desired most earnestly to be



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[ILLUSTRATION]

JOHN RANDOLPH

Taken from picture owned by John Stewart Bryan, Richmond, Va.



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left at peace, that there was no consideration, either
political or private, which could lead him to desire the
office, and that, from the first to the last, everywhere, and
to all, with whom he had conversed, this had been his
uniform language. Tyler, however, declined to say
categorically whether he would abandon the Chair of
State, at that time, to accept a seat in the Senate. Should
the office, he said, in opposition to his wishes (a result
which he could not anticipate), be conferred upon him, he
would then give to the expression of the legislative will such
reflection, and pronounce such decision, as his sense of what
was due to it might seem to require.[115] All of which, of
course, was simply a dignified way of saying that, if Chance
would have him King, why Chance might crown him.

When the election came on in the House, the relative
merits of Randolph and Tyler were freely discussed by
their respective partisans, and the speech of Samuel
McD. Moore, of Rockbridge, especially gives us a very
good idea of the animus of the fight against Randolph at
this time, and of the grotesque absurdities about him, to
which Rumor, always a more or less mendacious slut in
his case, had recently given tongue. "The Senate of the
United States," said Mr. Moore, "had been the most
august and dignified body in the world until Mr. Randolph
was elected to it. . . . But, if the accounts of
Mr. Randolph's conduct in that body were to be believed,
it no longer possessed that dignity and elevation of character.
On one occasion, it was said, he strewed his papers
all over the floor, and prohibited anybody from touching
them; on another, he undressed and dressed himself in the
Senate chamber." Mr. Randolph, he said, drank to an
excess and cut the capers of a Merry Andrew. Could any
gentleman, he asked, find an apology for conduct like this?
Was it owing to excitement or drink? If to excitement, he
was mad; if to drink, he was drunk.[116]


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On the ballot which followed the discussion of the
candidates, the vote was as follows: Tyler, 115, Randolph,
110, scattering, 2, blank, 1; so that Tyler was declared
elected and a committee appointed to notify him of his
election.[117] In the judgment of Ritchie, the number of
Adams and Clay men who voted for Tyler were only 30.[118]

In one respect, at any rate, Randolph's defeat for reelection
to the Senate served only to bring out into clear
relief the conspicuous station that his advocacy of Southern
interests had won for him. Commenting on his defeat,
Ritchie, the renowned editor, who had denounced him in
1811 as a "nuisance and a curse," used these remarkable
words:

"But we would have humbly preferred John Randolph to
any other man. The Legislature had previously taken him
from the citizens of his District and placed him in the Senate.
Whatever had been his transgressions, they had passed a sort
of Act of Amnesty over him. He was in the office, he had
warred with the coalition at Washington in a manner which
had carried dismay into their ranks. Whatever were the
errors into which the excess of his sensibility had betrayed
him, (a) he had defended the ramparts of the constitution with
a zeal which never wavered and an eloquence which none could
equal. He seemed in some respects the very man who was
called for by the occasion. Corruption had cowered beneath
him, and the panders of public abuses were shrinking under
the matchless powers of the modern Chatham."[119]

And how did the irascible, high-strung man who had
received such a stinging blow in the face deport himself
when the newsboys were crying the freshly received news
of his defeat on the streets of Washington, and exultant
friends of the administration in the House were rushing
over to the Senate Chamber to witness his look of abject
humiliation? There can be but one answer: as a gallant


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gentleman, whose pride of character is too deep-seated to
be abased or mortified by any vicissitudes of fortune that
his own brave, upright spirit is powerless to surmount.
Throughout the second session of the 19th Congress, with
the scrupulous delicacy which belonged to his system of
political ethics, Randolph had refrained from making a
speech in the Senate, though urged by his friends to do so,
because he said it became neither himself nor his station to
make one merely for electioneering effect.[120] And now on
the very day that he learned of his defeat, and when the
eyes of his triumphant enemies were eagerly fastened
upon him, he rose from his seat in the Senate, and delivered
a speech, of which a correspondent of the Richmond
Enquirer
at once wrote to that publication in the following
terms:

"To us, however, he appeared as a man who had been
honored, not disgraced, and, when the bill came up for increasing
the compensation of the Post-Master General, he spoke
upon it with a dignity of manner, beauty of expression and
force and propriety of argument which charmed and delighted
his friends."[121]

A day or so later, in a letter to Dr. Brockenbrough,
Randolph spoke of his defeat in the same spirit of manly
resignation:

"Your most welcome letter of Wednesday is just now
received. Every syllable in the way of anecdote is gratifying
in a high degree.

"My first impression was to resign. There were, notwithstanding,
obvious and strong objections to this course; my
duty to my friends, the giving of a handle to the charges of my
enemies that I was the slave of spleen and passion, and many
more that I need not specify. There was but one other course
left, and that I have taken, not without the decided approbation
of my colleague, and many other friends here. I


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find, too, that it was heartily desired by my enemies that
I should throw up my seat. They even propagated a report
on Monday that I had done so in a rage, and left the City.
Numerous concurring opinions of men of sense and judgment,
who have had no opportunity of consulting together, have
reached me, that fortify me in the line of conduct that I
have taken. Nothing then remains but a calm and dignified
submission to the disgrace that has been put upon me. It is
the best evidence that I can give my friends of the sense which
I feel, and will for ever cherish, of their kind and generous
support."[122]

And, when the victor in the senatorial contest came to
Washington to take his seat, Randolph recognized the fact
that Tyler's conduct in the contest had been marked by
perfect propriety and decorum, and promptly called upon
him. "I have been well received in the Senate," Tyler
wrote to Dr. Henry Curtis. "Mr. Randolph's health is
very bad; he can only speak in whispers. He called on
me three days ago, and I shall return his visit probably
today."[123] A little later, Tyler wrote to his daughter,
Mary Tyler: "Tell your mother that I returned Mr.
Randolph's visit and was received in a style somewhat
stately but entirely respectful; since when I have received
another card from him. He conversed in a low whisper
and said that he labored under pulmonary consumption."[124]
Indeed, before Tyler came to Washington to take his seat,
Randolph had already availed himself of the first opportunity
to assure him that the Senatorial contest had been
too fair and honorable to leave any resentment on his
part behind it. This opportunity arose at the races near
Richmond which both Tyler and Randolph were attending.
"As soon as Randolph saw Tyler, he advanced
towards him with outstretched hand and exclaimed:


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`And how is your Excellency? and when I say your Excellency,
I mean your Excellency!' "[125]

In many quarters, however, the defeat of Randolph
evoked expressions of bitter party animosity and personal
disappointment; and the Jackson zealots made it the
occasion for the disinterment of a letter which Tyler
had written to Henry Clay in the spring of 1825, approving
of the aid that Clay had given in the election of
John Quincy Adams in the Presidential contest in the
House.[126]

A few days after the election of Tyler, an assembly of
citizens of Fauquier County adopted resolutions expressing
their mortification at the thought that the vigilant
public sentinel, able, faithful, consistent, long-tried and
untiring advocate of the people's cause and opponent of
the usurpations of the Adams administration, John
Randolph, should have been made to give place to any
person.[127] Indeed, the temper of the meeting ran so high
that the three representatives of Fauquier County in the
Legislature felt that it was necessary for them to publish a
statement affirming that they had voted for Randolph.
On the same day, at a meeting of the freeholders of
Cumberland County, resolutions were adopted, requesting
Randolph to become a candidate for his old seat in the
House.[128] Similar resolutions were shortly afterwards
adopted by the freeholders or citizens of Prince Edward
and Charlotte Counties.[129]

Dr. George William Crump, the actual incumbent of
Randolph's former seat in the House, had already anticipated
these meetings by publishing a letter in which he
had declared his willingness to unite with the other freeholders
of Charlotte, Buckingham, Prince Edward and


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Cumberland Counties in summoning Randolph again to
his former station.[130]

When Randolph was returning to Roanoke from
Congress in March, 1827, a public dinner was tendered to
him at Norfolk; which he declined. Another, to which he
was invited by a number of the freeholders and citizens of
Prince Edward County, he was unable to attend on
account of illness,

"which only leaves me power," he said, "to express my high
sense of the honor done me and my regret at being unable to
partake of the hospitality and festivity of my Prince Edward
friends, to whom I am bound by every tie that can unite me to
the kindest and most indulgent constituents that ever man
had."[131]

In addition to being toasted on still other occasions, he
was, when making his way back to Roanoke, tendered by
his friends in the Virginia Legislature a public dinner at
Richmond. The invitation to this dinner he felt bound to
accept, and he delivered a brief speech on the occasion in
which he said among other things that he did not expect
his auditors to judge of his principles from any declamations
that he might see fit to make instead of inferring
them from the acts of his public life which had commenced
in the last century and had terminated but a few days
before.[132] But terminated his fond constituents would not
permit his public life to be, and, at the ensuing Congressional
election in April, 1827, he was reëlected to the House
practically by acclamation.[133] And when he resumed his
old seat in Congress, with deadly effect indeed did he
bruise the head of those who had only bruised his heel.
During the remainder of the administration of John
Quincy Adams, he was virtually the leader of the opposition
to it, and so effectively did he strike it, hip and thigh,


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so long as there was the slightest prospect of John Quincy
Adams being his own successor, that the hatred of the
Adams family for him, which began with John Adams, has
been kept alive from generation to generation ever since
like a vestal fire. During the period, when the National
Republicans, of whom the President was the chief, were in
a minority, and had no resource left except that of casting
the responsibility for all legislation upon the majority
Republicans, who had now come to call themselves
Democrats, Randolph counselled the policy of "a wise and
masterly inactivity,"[134] as he termed it, in regard to legislation,
accompanied by incessant attacks upon the
administration.

The opposition, headed by Randolph, proved supremely
successful; though but for the black bile, that suffused
John Quincy Adams's own malignant relations to his
enemies or even ordinary rivals, the biographer of Randolph
might well pause to condemn in proper terms the
indiscriminate acerbity with which he censured everything
said or done by a man whose many sterling traits of
character and varied accomplishments, whatever may be
said of some of his acrid and repellent attributes, are
conspicuously worthy of respect. Of the part that
Randolph had in pulling Adams down, there can be no
doubt. Replying to his own question, "Who is it that
manifested this feeling of proscription towards us and our
posterity?," Vance, of Ohio, a supporter of the Adams
administration, said on Jan. 29, 1828, in the House, during
the debate on Retrenchment and Reform:

"Sir, it is the man who is now at the head of the opposition
to this administration; it is the man who was placed by you,
Sir, at the head of the principal committee of this House.
Yes, sir, he was placed there by aid of the vote of the very
people that he has derided and abused; and, if ill-health had
not prevented, would have been in that exalted station. It is


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the man that is entitled to more credit—if it is right that this
administration should go down—for his efficiency in effecting
that object than any three men in this nation. This is not a
hasty opinion of mine; it is one long held and often expressed.
I have been an attentive observer of his course ever since
the first organization of the party to which he belongs. From
the moment he took his seat in the other branch of the Legislature,
he became the great rallying-officer of the South. Our
Southern brethren were made to believe that we, of the North,
were political fiends ready to oppress them with heavy and
onerous duties, and even willing to destroy that property
they held most sacred. Sir, these are not exaggerated statements
relative to the course of this distinguished individual.
He is certainly the ablest political recruiting sergeant that
has been in this or any other country."[135]

Another member of the House, Wright, of Ohio, said
in the same discussion that he considered Randolph

"the commanding general of the opposition force and occupying
the position of a commander in the rear of his troops;
controlling their movements; issuing his orders; directing one
subaltern where and how to move his forces; admonishing
another to due and proper caution and to follow his leader;
nodding approbation to a third, and prompting him to extraordinary
exertion."[136] (a)

During the first session of the 20th Congress, Randolph
frequently took part in the debates in the House, and, at
times, with a degree of strength and point which reminds us
of his hey-day. The best known of his speeches at this
session was the one which he delivered on Retrenchment
and Reform. These subjects were a mere mask for his
real purpose, which was to drag down John Quincy Adams
and glorify Andrew Jackson. The speech is desultory in
character, as a whole, and, now and then, it is unpardonably
malevolent; (b) but it has the quality of which Randolph


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was so covetous; that is to say, to use his own phrase,
"it tickles under the tail"; and there is not a dull word in
it, a thing that can be said of very, very few speeches.
What could be cleverer or better suited to their object
than these observations upon the charge that Andrew
Jackson, who was expected to be a candidate for the
Presidency against Adams at the next election, was an
illiterate man?

"`But General Jackson is no statesman."' "Sir, I deny
that there is any instance on record in history of a man, not
having military capacity, being at the head of any government
with advantage to that government and with credit to himself.
There is a great mistake on this subject. It is not those
talents which enable a man to write books and make speeches
that qualify him to preside over a government. The wittiest
of poets has told us that

`All a Rhetorician's rules
Teach only how to name his tools.'

"We have seen Professors of Rhetoric who could no doubt
descant fluently upon the use of these said tools; yet sharpen
them to so wiry an edge as to cut their own fingers with these
implements of their trade. Thomas à Becket was as brave
a man as Henry the Second, and, indeed, a braver man—less
infirm of purpose. And who were the Hildebrands and the
rest of the Papal freebooters who achieved victory after
victory over the proudest monarchs and states of Christendom?
These men were brought up in a cloister, perhaps, but they
were endowed with that highest of all the gifts of heaven, the
capacity to lead men, whether in the Senate or the field. Sir,
it is one and the same faculty, and its successful display has
always received, and ever will receive, the highest honors
that man can bestow; and this will be the case, do what you
will, cant what you may, about military chieftains and military
domination. So long as man is man, the victorious
defender of his country will, and ought, to receive that


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country's suffrage for all that the forms of her government
allow her to give.

"A friend said to me not long since. `Why, General Jackson
can't write.' `Admitted'; pray, Sir, can you tell me of any
one that can write?; for I protest I know nobody that can.
Then, turning to my friend, I said: `It is most true that
General Jackson cannot write' (not that he can't write his
name, or a letter, &c.) `because he has never been taught;
but his competitor cannot write because he was not teachable';
for he has had every advantage of education and study. Sir,
the Duke of Marlborough, the greatest captain and negotiator
of his age, which was the age of Louis XIV, and who may
rank with the greatest men of any age; whose irresistible manners
and address triumphed over every obstacle in council, as
his military prowess and conduct did in the field; this great
man could not even spell, and was notoriously ignorant of all
that an undergraduate must know, but which it is not necessary
for a man at the head of affairs to know at all. Would
you have superseded him by some Scotch schoolmaster?
Gentlemen forget that it is an able helmsman we want for the
ship of State, and not a professor of Navigation or Astronomy.

"Sir, among the vulgar errors that ought to go into Sir
Thomas Browne's book, this ought not to be omitted: that
learning and wisdom are not synonymous, or at all equivalent.
Knowledge and wisdom, as one of our most delightful poets
sings;

`Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one,
Have oft times no connexion—Knowledge dwells
In heads replete with thoughts of other men;
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much;
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.
Books are not seldom talismans and spells,
By which the magic art of shrewder wits
Holds the unthinking multitude enchained.'

"And not books only, Sir—speeches are not less deceptive.
I not only consider the want of what is called learning not to


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be a disqualification for the command in chief in civil or military
life, but I do consider the possession of too much learning to be
of most mischievous consequence to such a character; who is to
draw from the cabinet of his own sagacious mind, and to make
the learning of others, or whatever other qualities they may
possess, subservient to his more enlarged and vigorous views.
Such a man was Cromwell; such a man was Washington. Not
learned, but wise. Their understandings were not clouded or
cramped, but had fair play. Their errors were the errors of
men, not of school boys and pedants. So far from the want of
what is called education being a very strong objection to a man
at the head of affairs, over-education constitutes a still stronger
objection. (In the case of a lady, it is fatal. Heaven defend me
from an over-educated, accomplished lady. Yes, accomplished
indeed, for she is finished for all the duties of a wife, or mother,
or mistress of a family.) . . .

"There is a class of men who possess great learning, combined
with inveterate professional habits, and who are ipso facto, or
perhaps I should rather say ipsis factis, for I must speak accurately,
as I speak before a professor [Edward Everett], disqualified
for any but secondary parts anywhere—even in the
cabinet. Cardinal Richelieu was what? A priest. Yes, but
what a priest! Oxenstiern was a chancellor. He it was who
sent his son abroad to see—quam parva sapientia regitur mundus
—with how little wisdom this world is governed. This administration
seemed to have thought that even less than little
would do for us. The gentleman called it a strong, an able
cabinet, second to none but Washington's first cabinet. I
could hardly look at him for blushing. What! Sir, is Gallatin
at the head of the Treasury?—Madison in the Department
of State? The mind of an accomplished and acute dialectician,
of an able lawyer, or, if you please, of a great physician, may,
by the long continuance of one pursuit, of one train of ideas,
have its habits so inveterately fixed as effectually to disqualify
the possessor for the command of the councils of a country.
He may, nevertheless, make an admirable chief of a bureau, an
excellent man of details, which the chief ought never to be.
A man may be capable of making an able and ingenious argument
on any subject within the sphere of his knowledge; but,


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every now and then, the master sophist will start, as I have
seen him start, at the monstrous conclusions to which his own
artificial reasoning had brought himself. But this was a man
of more than ordinary natural candor and fairness of mind.
Sir, by words and figures you may prove just what you please;
but it often and most generally is the fact that, in proportion
as a proposition is logically or mathematically true, so is it politically
and commonsensically (or rather nonsensically) false.
The talent, which enables a man to write a book or make a
speech, has no more relation to the leading of an army or a
Senate than it has to the dressing of a dinner. The talent,
which fits a man for either office, is the talent for the management
of men. A mere dialectician never had, and never will
have, it; each requires the same degree of courage, though of
different kinds. The very highest degree of moral courage is
required for the duties of Government. I have been amused
when I have seen some dialecticians, after asserting their
words—`the counters of wise men, the money of fools'—
after they had laid down their premises, and drawn, step
by step, their deductions, sit down, completely satisfied, as if
the conclusions, to which they had brought themselves, were
really the truth; as if it were irrefragably true. But wait
until another cause is called, or till another court sits; till the
bystanders and jury have had time to forget both argument
and conclusion, and they will make you just as good an argument
on the other side, and arrive with the same complacency
at a directly opposite conclusion, and triumphantly
demand your assent to this new truth. Sir, it is their business.
I do not blame them. I only say that such a habit of mind
unfits men for action; for decision. They want a client to
decide for them which side to take; and the really great man
performs that office. This habit unfits them for Government
in the first degree. The talent for Government lies in
these two things, sagacity to perceive, and decision to act.
Genuine statesmen were never made such by mere training;
nascuntur non fiunt—; education will form good business men.
The maxim (nascitur non fit) is as true of statesmen as it is of
poets. Let a house be on fire, you will soon see in that confusion
who has the talent to command. Let a ship be in

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danger at sea, and ordinary subordination destroyed, and you
will immediately make the same discovery. The ascendancy
of mind and of character exists and rises as naturally and as
inevitably, where there is free play for it, as material bodies
find their level by gravitation. Thus a great logician, like a
certain animal, oscillating between the hay on different sides
of him, wants some power from without, before he can decide
from which bundle to make a trial. Who believes that
Washington could write as good a book or report as Jefferson,
or make as able a speech as Hamilton? Who is there that
believes that Cromwell would have made as good a Judge as
Lord Hale? No, Sir; these learned and accomplished men find
their proper place under those who are fitted to command, and
to command them among the rest. Such a man as Washington
will say to a Jefferson, do you become my Secretary of
State; to Hamilton, do you take charge of my purse, or that of
the nation, which is the same thing; and to Knox, do you be
my master of the horse. All history shows this; but great
logicians and great scholars are for that very reason unfit to be
rulers. Would Hannibal have crossed the Alps when there
were no roads, with elephants, in the face of the warlike and
hardy mountaineers, and have carried terror to the very gates
of Rome if his youth had been spent in poring over books?
Would he have been able to maintain himself on the resources
of his own genius for sixteen years in Italy, in spite of faction
and treachery in the Senate of Carthage, if he had been deep
in conic sections and fluxions, and the differential calculus;
to say nothing of botany, and mineralogy, and chemistry?
`Are you not ashamed,' said a philosopher to one who was
born to rule; `are you not ashamed to play so well upon the
flute?' Sir, it was well put. There is much which it becomes
a secondary man to know; much that it is necessary for him to
know that a first rate man ought to be ashamed to know. No
head was ever clear and sound that was stuffed with book
learning. You might as well attempt to fatten and strengthen
a man by stuffing him with every variety and the greatest
quantity of food. After all, the chief must draw upon his
subalterns for much that he does not know, and cannot perform
himself. My friend, William R. Johnson, has many a

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groom that can clean and dress a race horse, and ride him, too,
better than he can. But what of that? Sir, we are, in the
European sense of the term, not a military people. We have
no business for an army; it hangs as a dead weight upon the
nation—officers and all. All that we hear of it is through
pamphlets, indicating a spirit that, if I was at the head of
affairs, I should very speedily put down. A state of things
that never could have grown up under a man of decision of
character at the head of the State or the department; a man
possessing the spirit of command—that truest of all tests of a
chief, whether military or civil. Who rescued Braddock,
when he was fighting secundum artem, and his men were dropping
around him on every side? It was a Virginia militia major.
He asserted in that crisis the place which properly belonged
to him, and which he afterwards filled in the manner we all
know."[137]

And, later in the same speech, Randolph committed
himself to these sentiments, which his enemies did not
forget when he afterwards accepted the Mission to
Russia:

"Sir, what can the country do for me? Poor as I am, for I
am much poorer than I have been, impoverished by unwise
legislation, I still have nearly as much as I know how to use;
more certainly than I have at all times made a good use of;
and, as for power, what charm can it have for one like me? If
power had been my object, I must have been less sagacious
than my worst enemies have represented me to be (unless,
indeed, those who would have kindly shut me up in bedlam) if
I had not obtained it. I may appeal to all my friends to say
whether `there have not been times when I stood in such favor
in the closet that there must have been something very extravagant
and unreasonable in my wishes if they might not all have
been gratified.' Was it office? What, Sir, to drudge in your
laboratories in the departments, or be at the tail of the corps
diplomatique
in Europe? Alas! Sir, in my condition a cup
of cold water would be more acceptable. What can the


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country give me that I do not possess in the confidence of such
constituents as no man ever had before? I can retire to my old
patrimonial trees, where I may see the sun rise and set in peace.
Sir, as I was returning the other evening from the capitol, I
saw what has been a rare sight here this winter—the sun
dipping his broad disk among the trees behind those Virginia
hills; not allaying his glowing axle in the steep Atlantic stream;
and I ask myself if, with this Book of Nature unrolled before
me, I was not the most foolish of men to be struggling and
scuffling here in this heated and impure atmosphere, where
the play is not worth the candle. But then the truth rushed
upon my mind that I was vainly perhaps, but honestly, striving
to uphold the liberties of the people who sent me here;
yes, Sir, for can those liberties coexist with corruption? At
the very worst, the question recurs, which will the more
effectually destroy them, collusion, bargain and corruption
here, or a military despotism? When can that be established
over us? Never, till the Congress has become odious and
contemptible in the eyes of the People. I have learned from
the highest of all authority that the first step towards putting
on incorruption is the putting off corruption. That recollection
nerves me in the present conflict; for I know that, if we
are successful, I shall hold over the head of those, who shall
succeed the present incumbent, a rod which they will not dare,
even if they had the inclination, to disobey. They will
tremble at the punishment of their predecessors. Sir, if we
succeed, we shall restore the Constitution. We shall redress
the injury done to the People. We shall regenerate the
country. If the administration, which ensues shall be as bad
as the character of the opposing candidate (General Jackson) is
represented by his bitterest foes to be, still I had rather it were
in the seat of power than the present dynasty, because it will
have been fairly elected. The fountain of its authority will
not be poisoned at the source. But, if we perish under the
spasmodic struggles of those now in power to reinstate themselves
on the throne, our fate will be a sacred one; and who
would wish to survive it? There will be nothing left in the
country worth any man's possession. If, after such an
appeal has been made to the People, and a majority has been

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Page 552
brought into this and the other House of Congress, this
administration shall be able to triumph, it will prove that
there is a rottenness in our institutions which ought to render
them unworthy of any man's regard. Sir, my `church-yard
cough
' gives me the solemn warning that, whatever part I
shall take in the chase, I may fail of being in at the death.
I should think myself the basest and the meanest of men—I
care not what the opinion of the world might be—I should
know myself to be a scoundrel, and should not care who else
knew it, if I could permit any motive, connected with division
of the spoil, to mingle in this matter with my poor but best
exertions for the welfare of my country. If gentlemen suppose
that I am giving pledges, they are mistaken. I give none;
they are entitled to none, and I give none. I shall
retire upon my resources; I will go back to the bosom
of my constituents—to such constituents as man never had
before, and never will have again; and I shall receive from
them the only reward that I ever looked for, but the highest
that man can receive—the universal expression of their approbation—of
their thanks. I shall read it in their beaming faces;
I shall feel it in their gratulating hands. The very children
will climb around my knees to welcome me. And shall I give
up them and this? And for what? For the heartless amusements
and vapid pleasures and tarnished honors of this abode
of splendid misery, of shabby splendor; for a clerkship in the
War Office, or a foreign mission, to dance attendance abroad
instead of at home, or even for a Department itself? Sir,
thirty years make sad changes in man. When I first was
honored with their confidence, I was a very young man, and
my constituents stood almost in parental relation to me, and I
received from them the indulgence of a beloved son. But the
old patriarchs of that day have been gathered to their fathers;
some adults remain, whom I look upon as my brethren; but
the far greater part were children—little children—or have
come into the world since my public life began. I know among
them grandfathers, and men muster-free, who were boys at
school when I first took my seat in Congress. Time, the
mighty reformer and innovator, has silently and slowly, but
surely, changed the relation between us; and I now stand to

553

Page 553
them in loco parentis—in the place of a father—and receive
from them a truly filial reverence and regard. Yes, Sir, they
are my children, who resent with the quick love of children all
my wrongs, real or supposed. Shall I not invoke the blessings
of a common Father upon them? Shall I deem any sacrifice
too great for them? To them I shall return, if we are defeated,
for all the consolation that awaits me on this side of the
grave. I feel that I hang to existence but by a single hair—
that the sword of Damocles is suspended over me."[138]

During the second session of the 20th Congress, Randolph
rarely invoked the attention of the House at all.

In 1828, Andrew Jackson was elected President, and,
with the downfall of the Adams administration, which he
had done so much to prostrate, Randolph sincerely felt
for a time that he did not care ever to be a member of a
deliberative assembly again.[139] Prompted by this feeling,
he publicly announced that he would not be a candidate
for reëlection to the House at the Congressional election
in April, 1829; and, with the end of the 20th Congress, his
long and renowned career as a member of the National
Legislature came forever to an end.

 
[1]

A. of C., 1818-19, v. 3, 1166.

[2]

Journals of the H. of R., 15th Cong., 2d Sess.

[3]

A. of C., 1819-20, v. 2, 1572, 1541.

[4]

Id., 1695.

[5]

Reminiscences of Ben. Perley Poore, 210.

[6]

Feb. 23, 1820, Garland, v. 2, 131.

[7]

Garland, v. 2, 128.

[8]

A. of C., 1820-21, v. 3, 116

[9]

Feb. 26, 1820, Garland, v. 2, 135.

[10]

Mar., 1821, Garland, v. 2, 145.

[11]

Jan. 19, 1822, Id., 159.

[12]

Garland, v. 2, 161.

[13]

A. of C., 1821-22, v. 1, 1819. Jan. 28, 1822.

[14]

A. of C., 1821-22, v. 1, 847, Jan. 28, 1822.

[15]

Feb. 7, 1822, Garland, v. 2, 168.

[16]

A. of C., 1821-22, v. 1, 1147.

[17]

Garland, v. 2, 169.

[18]

Id., 170.

[19]

Mar. 16, 1822, Garland, v. 2, 171.

[20]

London, May 27, 1822, Garland, v. 2, 176.

[21]

London, May 27, 1822, Garland, v. 2, 182.

[22]

London, May 27, 1822, Garland, v. 2, 183.

[23]

Id., 181.

[24]

Id., 179.

[25]

The New Mirror, v. 2, 43.

[26]

The New Mirror, v. 2, 28.

[27]

Speech on Negro Slavery in the House of Commons, July 13, 1830.

[28]

Richm. Enq., July 2 and 5, 1822.

[29]

Richm. Enq., Aug. 22, 1822.

[30]

The New Mirror, v. 1, 313.

[31]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 1, 1084.

[32]

Id., 1104.

[33]

Id., 1111.

[34]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 1, 1111.

[35]

A. of C. 123-24, v. 1, 1182.

[36]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 1, 1184.

[37]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 1, 1187.

[38]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 1, 1188.

[39]

Id., 1199.

[40]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 1, 1296.

[41]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 1, 1297.

[42]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 1, 1299.

[43]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 1, 1302.

[44]

Id., 1303.

[45]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 1, 1304.

[46]

Id., 1305.

[47]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 1, 1307.

[48]

Mar. 3, 1824, Garland, v. 2, 212.

[49]

Garland, v. 2, 143.

[50]

Garland, v. 2, 214.

[51]

Letter to Francis W. Gilmer, Washington, Jan. 8, 1826, Bryan MSS.

[52]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 2, 2370.

[53]

Id., 3359.

[54]

Sawyer, 39.

[55]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 2, 2379.

[56]

Id., 2361.

[57]

Life of Quincy, 97.

[58]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 2, 2256.

[59]

Garland, v. 2, 218.

[60]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 2, 2315.

[61]

Garland, v. 2, 217.

[62]

Garland, v. 2, 218.

[63]

Apr. 25, 1824, ibid.

[64]

Richm. Enq., May 25, 1824.

[65]

Garland, v. 2, 219.

[66]

Ibid.

[67]

The New Mirror, v. 2, 56.

[68]

Ibid.

[69]

The New Mirror, v. 2, 57.

[70]

The New Mirror, v. 2, 57.

[71]

Journal, Va. Hist. Soc.

[72]

Memoirs, v. 1, 458.

[73]

Loughborough MSS.

[74]

Paris July 24, 1824, Garland, v. 2, 223.

[75]

Garland, v. 2, 233.

[76]

Garland, v. 2, 233.

[77]

Id., v. 2, 234.

[78]

Richm. Enq., Dec. 10, 1825.

[79]

Garland, v. 2, 240.

[80]

Bouldin, 168.

[81]

Garland, v. 2, 248; Reg. of Deb., 1825-26, v. 2, part 1, 399.

[82]

A. of C., 1811-12, v. 1, 536.

[83]

Bryan MSS.

[84]

Garland, v. 2, 154.

[85]

Figures of the Past, by Josiah Quincy, 227.

[86]

Id., 227.

[87]

Feb. 12, 1829, Garland, v. 2, 319.

[88]

Reg. of Deb., 1825-26, v. 2, part 1, 142.

[89]

Reg. of Deb., v. 2, part 1, 145.

[90]

Ibid., 1825-26, v. 2, part 1, 400.

[91]

Reg. of Deb., 1825-26, v. 2, part 1, 401.

[92]

30 Years' View, by Benton, v. 1, 70.

[93]

30 Years' View, by Benton, v. 1, 71.

[94]

30 Years' View, by Benton, v. 1, 73.

[95]

30 Years' View, by Benton, v. 1. 70, 74.

[96]

Garland, v. 2, 258, 259.

[97]

Garland, v. 2, 260.

[98]

30 Years' View, by Benton, v. 1, 75, 77.

[99]

30 Years' View, by Benton, v. 1, 77.

[100]

Id., 77.

[101]

Garland, v. 2, 261.

[102]

Reg. of Deb. 1825-26, v. 2, part 1, 117.

[103]

A. of C., 1823-24, v. 2, 2379.

[104]

Reg. of Debates, 1825-26, v. 2, part 1, 395.

[105]

Richm. Enq., May 26, 1826.

[106]

Niles Reg., vol. 6, 3d series, 394, 395.

[108]

Id., 279.

[109]

Richm. Enq., Jan. 16, 1827.

[110]

Ibid.

[111]

Ibid.

[112]

Richm. Enq., Jan. 16, 1827.

[113]

Ibid.

[114]

Ibid.

[115]

Richm. Enq., Jan. 16, 1827.

[116]

Ibid.

[117]

Richm. Enq., Jan. 16, 1827.

[118]

Id., Aug. 21, 1827.

[119]

Ibid., Jan. 16, 1827.

[120]

Richm. Enq., Jan. 20, 1827.

[121]

Ibid.

[122]

Garland, v. 2, 283.

[123]

Dec. 16, 1827, Letters, &c., of the Tylers, by Lyon G. Tyler, v. 1, 380.

[124]

Dec. 26, 1827, Id., 389.

[125]

Tylers' Mag., v. 2, No. 2, Oct., 1920, 140.

[126]

Life, etc., of the Tylers, v., 1369.

[127]

Richm. Enq., Jan. 30, 1827.

[128]

Id., Jan. 27, 1827.

[129]

Id., Feb. 24, 1827, Mar. 13, 1827.

[130]

Richm. Enq., Jan. 20, 1827.

[131]

Id., Apr. 20, 1827.

[132]

Garland, v. 2, 290.

[133]

Ibid.

[134]

Reg. of Debates, 1827-28, v. 4, part 1, 1170.

[135]

Reg. of Deb., 1827-28, v. 4, part 1, 1226.

[136]

Id., 1450.

[137]

Bouldin, 290, 296.

[138]

Bouldin, 304-307.

[139]

Letter to Dr. John Brockenbrough, Apr. 28, 1829, Garland, v. 2, 323.