our slaves, I reply that it is one of the articles of that compact, I am, with the highest respect and regard, dear sir, your obedient servant, JOHN RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE. CHAPTER V. RELIGION. THE reader is already aware, from many expressions let fall from the pen of Mr. Randolph, that he is deeply engaged in the great subject of religion; his necessary duties give way, and are postponed to this all-engrossing question. In childhood and early youth, he was trained by a devoted and pious mother, in the doctrines and the practices of the Christian church. The impressions of those early lessons, though a long time disregarded, were never entirely effaced from his memory; and the hallowed associations that clustered around the name of his adored and sainted mother, the fond remembrances of childhood and innocence, never failed to awaken the deepest emotions in his affectionate and sympathetic heart. Yet he lived for many years in open derision and mockery of that religion whose holy and divine precepts he could not efface from his mind. Coming into life at an epoch when French philosophy had not only overturned the monarchies of Europe, but had undermined and destroyed the foundation of all morals and religion, his ardent soul, like thousands of the best spirits of the age, caught the contagion of its influence, threw off all religious restraint, as the highest proof of freedom, and became, if not a mocker, at least a cold despiser of the religion of humility and self-sacrifice.. But the despotism under which France had been made to groan, in consequence of her atheistic madness; the desolation that had swept over Europe; the deep calamities brought on his own country by war and restrictions; the many misfortunes and afflictions that in thick succession had befallen himself and his ill-fated family; his entire separation from all political associations and party excitements, and the profound solitude, for the most part, in which he lived, all conspired to bring back his mind to its early associations. As "the stricken deer," to which he likened himself, faint, and panting in the hot chase, seeks the fresh fountains and cooling shades of its native valley, so he, faint and heart-stricken at the desolations of an irreligious age, and athirst for the pure waters of life, sought consolation in that religion which his mother, on bended knec, with his little hands in hers uplifted to heaven, had taught him in his infancy. He read the Old and New Testament, with the aid of good commentators, with care and diligence. The best authors were at his command" old standard authors" constituted his daily food, though sometimes, in humility, he would complain that they were "too solid for his weak stomach." It is a great mistake to take Mr. Randolph at his word, and suppose him to be an ignorant man. "I am an ignorant man, I am an ignorant man," is the mortifying yet too deeply conscious sentiment of every man of an all-grasping genius like his; but no man was more thoroughly imbued than he with the rich lore of old English learning, or more deeply penetrated with the manly and martyr-like spirit of that religion which triumphed over the faggot and the dungeon. Being a man of the highest order of poetic genius himself, he sought only the society of kindred spirits. Milton and Cowper, and the old English divines, now obsolete and forgotten, were his daily and nightly companions. He was also most fortunate in his living associates. No man had better or more faithful friends. His country or age can furnish no nobler specimens of a high Christian virtue than the three friends with whom Mr. Randolph alone conversed on "free-will, fate and philosophy," and to whose opinions he bowed with the profoundest respect and reverence. The first to whom we allude is the present Bishop Meade, of Virginia, a gentleman, a scholar, and a Christian. The reader is already aware of the high regard Mr. Randolph had for that pious and venerable man. The second person was the late Dr. Moses Hogue, president of Hampden Sydney College. Mr. Randolph, for many years, lived in the immediate neighborhood of the college; and the society of its venerable head, the chief ornament of the institution, was always sought by him with avidity. "I consider Dr. Hogue," says he," as the ablest and most interesting speaker that I ever heard, in the pulpit or out of it; and the most perfect pattern of a Christian teacher that I ever saw. His life affords an example of the great truths of the doctrine that he dispenses to his flock; and if he has a fault (which, being mortal, I suppose he cannot be free from) I have never heard it pointed out." Nothing can be added to this picture. Francis Scott Key, Esq., late of Washington City, is the other person to whom we have made allusion. The reader has already perceived the great intimacy existing between these two friends. They were kindred spirits. "Frank Key," though an eminent and successful advocate, was a poet of a high order of genius. "The Starspangled Banner," written while he was detained on board the British fleet, an anxious spectator of the bombardment of Fort M'Henry and the assault on Baltimore, thrills the heart of every American who hears its patriotic strains, and has become one of our most popular national songs. He was a pure spirit; the friend that knew him best and valued him most, thus speaks of him: "He perseveres in pressing on toward the goal, and his whole life is spent in endeavors to do good for his unhappy fellow-men. The result is that he enjoys a tranquillity of mind, a sunshine of the soul, that all the Alexanders of the earth can neither confer nor take away." Dr. Brockenbrough had hitherto, for the most part, been in the same category with himself, somewhat skeptical; hence, in their relations, Randolph rather assumed the province of a teacher than scholar, on the subject of morals and religion. Writing to that gentleman from Buckingham Court House, the 29th May, 1815, he says: "I got here to-day. To-morrow we are to begin our inquisition. [A contested election.] This business does not suit me at all. My thoughts are running in a far different channel. I never feel so free from uneasiness as when I am reading the Testament, or hearing some able preacher. This great concern presses me by day and by night, almost to the engrossing of my thoughts. It is first in my mind when I wake, and the last when I go to sleep. I think it becomes daily more clear to me. All other things are as nothing when put in comparison with it. You have had a great comfort in the presence of Mr. Meade. I, too, am not without some consolation; for I have received a letter from Frank Key, that I would not exchange for the largest bundle of bank notes that you ever signed. Hear him. 'I cannot describe to you the gratification your letter has given me. The sentiments they express, I thank God I am no stranger to; and they have been made to lead me, through much anxiety and distress, to a state of peace and happiness-as far above what I have deserved, as below what I yet hope, even in this life, to May you soon, my friend. experience the most delightful of all sensations, that springs from a well grounded hope of reconciliation with God! You are in the right track. [God grant it may be so!] God is leading you. Your sentiments show the divinity that stirs within you. That we have ruined ourselves-that an everlasting life is before us-that we are about (how soon we know not) to enter upon it, under the sentence of Almighty condemnation -and that we can do nothing to save ourselves from this misery; these convictions are the genuine work of the Spirit; other foundation can no man lay! They lead us to a Saviour who gives us all we want-pardon, peace, and holiness. They do not bid us first to become righteous, and then come to him; but they bring us to him as we are as sinners to be pardoned for our sins, and cleansed from all our iniquities. This is the true doctrine of our Church, and the plain meaning of the Gospel; and indeed it seems to me, notwithstanding some peculiarities (about which there has been much useless disputation), that in these essential points almost all sects agree.'' Writing to Mr. Key himself, from the same place, two days after the above, he says: "I cannot refrain from unburthening some of my thoughts to you. I carry your last letter (of the 11th) constantly in my pocket, reading it frequently, and praying God that your charitable anticipations respecting me may be realized. After all, is there not selfishness at the bottom of that yearning of my heart to believe? Can that faith, setting aside its imperfection, be acceptable in the sight of God, to which the unhappy sinner is first moved by the sense of self-preservation ? "I am brought on here by this contested election; but my mind is not at all in the thing. to me. "Indeed I must tell you what gives me great uneasiness; that, instead of being stimulated to the discharge of my duties, I am daily becoming more indifferent to them, and, consequently, more negli gent. I see many whose minds are apparently little occupied on the subject that employs me, with whom I think I should be glad to exchange conditions; for surely, when they discharge conscientiously their part in life, without the same high motive that I feel, how culpable am I, being negligent! For a long time the thoughts that now occupy me, came and went out of my mind. Sometimes they were banished by business; at others, by pleasure. But heavy afflictions fell upon me. They came more frequently, and staid longerpressing upon me, until, at last, I never went asleep nor awoke but they were last and first in my recollection. Oftentimes have they awakened me, until, at length, I cannot, if I would, detach myself from them. Mixing in the business of the world I find highly injurious I cannot repress the feelings which the conduct of our fellow-men too often excites; yet I hate nobody, and I have endeavored to forgive all who have done me an injury, as I have asked forgiveness of those whom I may have wronged, in thought or deed. If I could have my way, I would retire to some retreat, far from the strife of the world, and pass the remnant of my days in meditation and prayer; and yet this would be a life of ignoble security. But, my good friend, I am not qualified (as yet, at least,) to bear the heat of the battle. I seek for rest-for peace. I have read much of the New Testament lately. Some of the texts are full of consolation; others inspire dread. The Epistles of Paul I cannot, for the most part, comprehend; with the assistance of Mr. Locke's paraphrase, I hope to accomplish it. My good friend, you will bear with this egotism; for I seek from you instruction on a subject, in comparison with which all others sink into insignificance. I have had a strong desire to go to the Lord's Supper; but I was deterred by a sense of my unworthiness; and, only yesterday, reading the denunciation against those who received unworthily, I thought it would never be in my power to present myself at the altar. I was present when Mr. Hogue invited to the table, and I would have given all I was worth to have been able to approach it. There is no minister of our church in these parts. I therefore go to the Presbyterians, who are the most learned and regular; but having been born in the Church of England, I do not mean to renounce it. On the contrary, I feel a comfort in repeating the Liturgy, that I would not be deprived of for worlds. Is it not for the want of some such service that Socinian |