valued hereditary fortune far beyond its pecuniary worth. A moneyloving, or a money-making spirit constituted no part of his character. His feelings and opinions on these subjects were purely English; the proud, yet munificent and accomplished Baron of some time-honored castle with its thousand acres, and its villages of grateful and happy tenants, handed down from sire to son, with all the associations of pride and affection clustering around its walls and its forests, constituted his beau ideal (not without reason) of the perfect gentleman. Such, in no small degree, were the characters that composed the old. Virginia aristocracy. Randolph loved their memory-formed himself on their model-despised the law that sapped the foundation of their greatness-and still hoped to preserve, in his own name and family, some specimen that might be worthy of a comparison with those noble men of the olden time.

He cherished the memory of his father with an increasing fondness to the day of his death. He always kept his father's miniature hung up before him in his chamber, or about his person, when long abroad from home. Last November, when on his way to Richmond, where he expected to be detained a few weeks only, he wrote back to Dudley, "be so good as to send me my father's picture and three lockets-they are in my writing-table drawer." He was now the only son, St. George and Tudor the sons of Richard, the only other descendants of that father whose memory he dwelt on so fondly. His had been an "unprosperous life," and was now, as he thought, rapidly drawing to a close. St. George was deaf and dumb" the most pitiable of the step-sons of nature." Tudor was all that was left, the pride and hope of the family. These subjects caused him unceasing anxiety. The intensity of his feelings cannot be understood, nor justly appreciated by the novi homines of modern times. They amounted almost to a monomania-they furnish a solution of many of the apparent inconsistencies of his after life, and was the immediate cause of a rupture between himself and his step-father, whom, up to a very recent period, he had loved and venerated with the affection and pride of a son. The efforts of mutual friends to heal this unfortunate breach between father and son, was the principal cause of his long delay in Richmond during the past winter and spring. Writing to Dudley in January, he says, "I have been detained here by a very unpleasant piece of business"--and again in February, "I

have been, indeed, very much disturbed of late, by an occurrence as unexpected as it is distressing; and, perhaps, I tinge other objects with the hue of the medium through which I observe them."

The first cause of this misunderstanding with his step-father is very characteristic of the man, and illustrates the feeling of family pride that burned so intensely in his breast. The subject of conversation was the passing of the Banister estate from an infant of that family, to a brother of the half blood of the Shippen family. Mr. Randolph said that occurrence gave rise to the alteration of the law of descents, and placed it on its present footing: he also expressed in strong terms his disapprobation of the justice or policy of such a law. Judge Tucker replied: "Why, Jack, you ought not to be against that law, for you know if you were to die without issue, you would wish your half brothers to have your estate." "I'll be damned, sir, if I do know it," said Randolph, in great excitement; and from that day ceased with his good and venerable stepfather all friendly intercourse. This occasion gave rise to many cruel and unjust suspicions. Once brought to suspect a selfish motive in him he had so much venerated, he began to look back with a jealous eye on all his past transactions, and "trifles light as air" became "confirmations strong as holy writ."

In 1810-11 he called in an attorney and proposed instituting suit. He stated that Judge Tucker had never, in fact, settled his accounts as his guardian-that he had taken the accounts stated upon trustthat Judge Tucker had contrived, fraudulently he thought, to appropriate to himself certain slaves, which had been given to his mother by her father, Colonel Bland, upon her marriage with his father, John Randolph the elder, which his father had held thenceforth till the day of his death, and which were mentioned as a part of his estate. He stated all the circumstances of the case; and admitted that the question of his father's right to the slaves depended on the construction and effect of the statute of Virginia of 1758, making parole gifts of slaves void. He stated the facts and the law on which he rested his claim to the slaves with as much precision as counsel could have stated them in a bill in Chancery; he was perfectly acquainted with the statute on the subject, and the decisions of the Court of Appeals upon it. His counsel dissuaded him from his purpose of bringing suit; but he often afterwards recurred to the subject,

and never seems to have been wholly reconciled. The old man, however, was unconscious of having given him any cause of offence. He sent a mutual friend to see Mr. Randolph soon after his arrival in Richmond: "Do me the favor," says he, "to go and see Mr. Randolph, and ask him if he ever received a letter from me on the subject of the misunderstanding between himself and his brother Beverly, and whether he ever answered it? Then ask him what has alienated him from one, whom for more than thirty years he has known as a father?"

Randolph replied to the messenger, after a frown, that he had received the letter alluded to, and had not answered it; and after a long pause said he had imposed it as a law on himself on this subject, not to converse about it.

The cause of this alienation of mind we have seen. His morbid sensibility on these subjects was now in a new and unexpected form to be sorely tried; his family pride to be deeply mortified, and his fond hopes of its future continuance and of its future distinction to be blasted forever.

He thus writes to Mr. Key:

ROANOKE, June 3, 1814. DEAR FRANK-My departure from Richmond was as sudden as the occasion was mournful and distressing. My eldest nephew, St. George, in consequence of an unsuccessful attachment to Miss the daughter of a worthy neighbor of his mother, had become unsettled in his intellects, and on my arrival at Farmville I found him a frantic maniac. I have brought him up here, and Dr. Dudley, a friend and treasure to me above all price, assists me in the management of him. We have no hopes of his restoration.

I would congratulate you on the late most important occurrences in Europe; but I cannot write. Let me hear from you, I pray. Commend me to Mrs. Key, and West, and Ridgely, and all who care to inquire after me.

DEAR FRANK-I have but half a sheet of paper left, and it is too late to send to the Court House (thirteen miles) for more. But with this half sheet and half a drop of ink diluted to a penful, I hope to make out something like a letter.

It is not the young man you saw in Georgetown, just before the declaration of war, whose unhappy condition I described; he is yet at Cambridge: the patient is his elder brother, just entering his twenty-third year, and has been deaf and dumb from his cradle.

This is the principal cause of his present situation: He has made several attempts to marry, and brooding over the cause of his failure has reduced him to his present state. He has become manageable with little trouble. His memory for words, persons, and events is unimpaired, but he cannot combine. He has dwelt a great deal on the terrors of future punishment also, and often mentioned the devil, but that was subsequent to his total derangement. His mind runs on it only as on other subjects of primary interest.

I saw some account of your campaigns in the newspapers. Wadsworth's letter is a curiosity-an honest account from a military commander. Your labors, my good friend, are drawing to a close. Rely upon it, we have peace forthwith. The points in "contestation," our rulers say, are removed by the peace in Europe, and will not be "touched" (another favorite phrase) in the treaty of peace. They might as well say they were removed by our declaration of war, if they were neutral rights, for that they contended for. Poor devils, what a figure they do cut! Yet they will look as consequential as ever, and even carry the people with them.

Have you read the Corsair? or have you lost all relish for such productions? I think his lordship is falling into the errors ascribed by him to Walter Scott. There is, however, some exquisite poetry. I have been trying to forget my wretched situation in the perusal of Burke. I have read his matchless diatribe on the attack of D. of B. and L. of L.-his letters on the regicide peace, and indeed the whole of the fifth volume, New-York edition. How much it is to be regretted that he did not live to publish his abridgment of English History. I have also run over the Reflections, and the Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs. O that he could have seen this day! You say nothing of Bonaparte. How I long for half an hour's chat with you on the subject of these late surprising and providential events.

Present me affectionately to Mrs. Key and your little one, and remember me kindly to West and Ridgely, when you see them. If Lord Byron's Ode to Bonaparte is in Georgetown, pray send me a copy by post. Dudley_returns your greeting. He is to me a treasure above all price. Exclusive of his excellent temper, alacrity, and intelligence, he is a most skilful physician. I should sink without his support. I thank God that he has raised up to me such an help. Adieu, my dear sir. I am in truth, yours,

JOHN RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE.

I came down here yesterday with my poor nephew, who seems incurably alienated from his mother. I shall return in a few days.

Randolph to Brockenbrough.

ROANOKE, July 15, 1814. I had begun to fear that my long visitation of last winter and spring, had put you so much out of the habit of writing to me, that you would never resume it. But your letter of the 6th (just received) encourages me to hope that I shall hear from you as formerly. It was a sensible relief to me. But I will say nothing about my

situation.

Poor St. George continues quite irrational. He is however very little mischievous, and governed pretty easily. His memory of persons, things, words, and events, is not at all impaired; but he has no power of combination, and is entirely incoherent. His going to the Springs is out of the question, and mine, I fear, equally so, although my rheumatism requires the warm bath. By this time you are on your way thither. Except that it is too cold, the weather could not have been finer.

What a climate we live under !

As to peace, I have not a doubt that we shall have it forthwith. Our folks are prepared to say that the pacification of Europe has swept away the matters in contestation, as M, the Secretary of State, has it. All that we see in the Government prints is to reconcile us the better to the terms which they must receive from the enemy. From the time of his flight from Egypt, my opinion of the character of Bonaparte has never changed, except for the worse. I have considered him from that date a coward, and ascribed his success to the deity he worships, Fortune. His insolence and rashness have met their just reward. Had he found an efficient government in France, on his abandonment of his brave companions in arms in Egypt, and returned to Paris, he would have been cashiered for ruining the best appointed armament that ever left an European port. But all was confusion and anarchy at Paris, and instead of a coup de fusil, he was rewarded with a sceptre. He succeeded in throwing the blame of Aboukir on poor Brueys. He could safely talk of "his orders to the Admiral," after L'Orient had blown up. His Russian and German campaign is another such commentary on his character; it is all of a piece.

If the allies adhere to their treaty of Chaumont, the peace of Europe will be preserved; but in France, I think, the seeds of disorder must abound. Instead of the triple aristocracy of the Noblesse, the Church, and the Parliaments, I see nothing but janissaries, and a divan of ruffians-Algiers on a great scale. Moral causes I see none; and I am well persuaded that these are not created in a day. Matters of inveterate opinion, when once rooted up, are dead, never to revive; other opinions must succeed them. But I am prosing--