Page images
PDF
EPUB

on Tuesday night and yesterday using mercurial friction. The liver is again performing its functions, and I am, this evening, decidedly better than I have been since the first attack, which I may date from my fall at Mr. T.'s, on Tuesday, the 21st of January. From that period, the operations of the liver have been irregular and disturbed. I conceive the lungs to be affected by sympathy, with the other viscus. I have taken from five to ten grains of the hypercarbonated natron every day, most generally five grains, in a tablespoonful of new milk, sometimes repeating the dose at night. My drink has been slippery elm tea and lemonade. Appetite for acids very strong. Severe pains in the fascia of the legs and the tendons, just above the outer ankle bone; also, knees, &c. I have taken, from the first, a pill of one and a half grains of calomel about two, sometimes three times a week; and several doses of Cheltenham salts. I have used the volatile liniment for my throat and limbs; also, gargles of sage tea, borax, &c.

Mrs. John M., Mrs. B., and Mrs. F. K., have been very kind in sending me jellies, lemons, &c., &c. Thomas M. N. has been extremely attentive and obliging. Mr. K. of New York, Mr. Chief Justice, Mr. H. of Maryland, Mr. M. of South Carolina, Mr. B. of Georgetown, (I need not name Frank Key,) M. (no longer Abbé) C. de S., and D., have been very kind in their attentions. Mr. M. sent me some old, choice Madeira, and his man cook to dress my rice (a mystery not understood any where on this side of Cape Fear river), sending also the rice to be dressed; and Mr. Chief Justice came to assist me in drawing up my will-which I had strangely and criminally neglected for some time past, and of which neglect I was more strangely admonished in a dream."

About this time, says Mr. Wm. H. Roane, who was a member of Congress from Virginia during the session of 1816-17, "I remember that one morning Mr. Lewis came into the House of Representatives and addressed Mr. Tyler and myself, who were the youngest members from Virginia, and said we must go to Georgetown to Mr. Randolph. We asked for what; he said that Mr. Randolph had told him that he was determined not to be buried as beau Dawson had been, at the public expense, and he had selected us young bloods to come to him and take charge of his funeral. We went over immediately. When we entered Mr. Randolph's apartments he was in his morning gown. He rose and shook us by the hand. On our inquiries after his health, he said, 'Dying! dying! dying! in a dreadful state.' He inquired what was going on in Congress. We told him that the galleries were filling with people of the District, and

that there was considerable excitement on the re-chartering of the batch of banks in the District. He then broke off and commenced upon another subject, and pronounced a glowing eulogium upon the character and talents of Patrick Henry. After sitting for some time, and nothing being said on the business on which we had been sent to him, we rose and took our leave. When we got to the door, I said, 'I wish, Mr. Randolph, you could be in the House to-day.' He shook his head Dying, sir, dying! When we had got back to the House of Representatives, Mr. Lewis came in and asked how we had found Mr. Randolph. We laughed and said as well as usual-that we had spent a very pleasant morning with him, and been much amused by his conversation. Scarcely a moment after, Mr. Lewis exclaimed, There he is!' and there to be sure he was. He had entered by another door, having arrived at the Capitol almost as soon as we did. In a few moments he rose and commenced a speech, the first sentence of which I can repeat verbatim.-' Mr. Speaker,' said he, 'this is Shrove Tuesday. Many a gallant cock has died in the pit on this day, and I have come to die in the pit also.' He then went on with his speech, and after a short time turned and addressed the crowd of 'hungry expectants,' as he called them-tellers, clerks, and porters in the gallery."

Mr. Randolph left Washington the day after Mr. Monroe's inauguration. "No mitigation of my cruel symptoms took place until the third day of my journey, when I threw physic to the dogs, and instead of opium, tincture of columbo, hypercarbonate of soda, &c., &c., I drank, in defiance of my physician's prescription, copiously of cold spring water, and ate plentifully of ice. Since that change of regimen my strength has increased astonishingly, and I have even gained some flesh, or rather, skin. The first day, Wednesday the 5th, I could travel no farther than Alexandria. At Dumfries, where I lay, but slept not, on Thursday night, I had nearly given up the ghost. At a spring, five miles on this side, after crossing Chappawamsick, I took, upon an empty and sick stomach, upwards of a pint of living water, unmixed with Madeira, which I have not tasted since. It was the first thing that I had taken into my stomach since the first of February that did not produce nausea. It acted like a charm, and enabled me to get on to B.'s that night, where I procured ice. I also devoured with impunity a large pippin (forbidden fruit to me). Next day I

got to the Oaks, forty-two miles. Here I was more unwell than the night before. On Sunday morning I reached my friends, Messrs. A. & Co., to breakfast, at half past eight."

On the road between the Bolling Green and Fredericksburg, he came up with the stage with Mr. Roane and other members of Congress on their homeward journey. As he drew up his phaeton along side the stage, Mr. Roane called out, "How are you, Mr. Randolph ?" "Dying, sir, dying !" and then dashed off and out travelled the stage.

He was, indeed, much nearer dying than his friends imagined. Shortly after his arrival in Richmond he was taken very ill, and lay for many weeks utterly prostrate and helpless at the house of Mr. Cunningham, in that city. In after years he often recurred to this period as the time of his greatest prostration. March 3d, 1824, he says, "You have no idea how very feeble I am. I crawled yesterday to P. Thompson's bookseller's shop, butcould not get back afoot. The vis vitæ has not been lower with me since the spring of 1817. How well I recollect this very day of that year!"

CHAPTER IX.

CONVERSION.

For a long time the state of Mr. Randolph's health was such that he confined himself entirely at home, and even ceased correspondence with his friends, which at all times constituted his principal source of enjoyment. His first attempt was the following letter addressed to his friend Key:

ROANOKE, Feb. 9, 1818.

DEAR FRANK: A long while ago I wrote to you in reply to the only letter that I have received for many, many months. I know that you have something better to do than to be scribbling to me; but I beg you to take my case into your special consideration. I am as much out of the world as if I were in Kamtschatka or Juan Fernandez-without a single neighbor, confined by my infirmities often to the house, and disabled by them from attending to my affairs, which might give me amusement and employment at the same time.

The state of manners around me cannot be paralleled, I believe, on the face of the earth-all engaged with unremitting devotion in the worship of

"The least erected spirit That fell from heaven."

This pursuit I know to be general throughout the land, and, indeed, I fear throughout the world; but elsewhere it is tempered by the spirit of society, and even by a love of ostentation or of pleasure. Here it reigns undivided. There is no intercourse but of business; and a man who will ride more miles for a shilling than a post-boy, will hardly go one to visit a sick neighbor. I am afraid you

will consider the foregoing as no proof of what I am about to add; but let me assure you that there is nothing personal between these "poor rich men" and me; on the contrary, I feel toward them only pity and good will, and let no occasion pass without manifesting the fatter disposition.

I think that the state of solitude and dereliction in which I am placed, has not been without some good effect in giving me better views than I have had of the most important of all subjects; and I would not exchange it, comfortless as it is, for the heartless intercourse of the world. I know that "if a man says he loves God, and hates his brother, he is a liar;" but I do not hate my brethren of the human family. I fear, however, that I cannot love them as I ought. But God, I hope and trust, will in his good time put better dispositions into my heart. There are few of them, I am persuaded, more undeserving of love than I am.

March 2. Every day brings with it new evidences of my weakness and utter inability, of myself, to do any good thing, or even to conceive a single good thought. With the unhappy father in the Gospel, I cry out, "Lord! I believe, help thou mine unbelief." When I think of the goodness, and wisdom, and power of God, I seem, in my own eyes, a devil in all but strength. I say this to you, who will not ascribe it to affected humility. Sometimes I have better views, but again I am weighed down to the very earth, or lost in a labyrinth of doubts and perplexities. The hardness of my own heart grieves and astonishes me. Then, again, I settle down in a state of coldness and indifference, which is worse than all. But the quivering of our frail flesh, often the effect of physical causes, cannot detract from the mercy of our Creator, and to him I commit myself. "Thy will be done!"

M- does not "give me all the news," nor, indeed, any for a long time past. At the commencement of the session of Congress, he wrote pretty frequently, and through him I heard of you. It would delight me very much to spend a few weeks with you. I would even try to be an usher in your school. [Mr. Key was teaching his own

children.] At least, I could teach the younger children to read. Give my love to them all, and to their mother. I had a sister once, and I never think of her without being reminded of Mrs. Key.

I have not read Cunningham's poem. Is it the author of "The Velvet Cushion?" I have lately met with an entertaining work from the pen of an English Jacobin, Hazlitt's Character of Shakspeare; and have tried to read Coleridge's Literary Life. There are fine passages, but his mysticism is too deep for me. I have seen, too, a romance, called the Life of Patrick Henry-a wretched piece of fustian.

I have not turned entirely a savage, although a man of the woods, and almost wild. Bodily motion seems to be some relief to mental uneasiness, and I was delighted yesterday morning to hear that the snipes are come. On this subject of mental malady, it appears that madness is almost epidemic among us. Many cases have appeared in Petersburg and elsewhere. In this county we had a preacher of the Methodist sect (not itinerant), a man of excellent character and very good sense. He was generally esteemed, and although quite poor, by the aid of a notable wife lived neatly and comfortably. Last winter the clerk of our county died, and this preacher, by diligent canvass, got the place by one vote, in a court of more than twenty magistrates. From the time that he commenced his canvass his manners changed. A still further change was perceptible after he got the office; and a few weeks ago he got quite insane. His friends set off with him on a journey to Georgia. But the first night he gave them the slip, and is supposed to have drowned himself. I heard yesterday that a party were out seeking for him. He had taken laudanum for the purpose of suicide, but his stomach would not retain it. Some ascribe his malady to remorse, others to the effects of sudden prosperity. This county seems to labor under a judgment. It has been conspicuous for the order and morality of the inhabitants; and such is the general character, I hope, yet. But within two or three years past it has been the theatre of crimes of the deepest atrocity. Within a few months there have occurred two instances of depravity, the most shocking that can be conceived. But I am giving you a county history, instead of a letter. Farewell, my dear friend; while I have life I am yours.

RICHMOND, April 29, 1818. DEAR FRANK-On my arrival here the day before yesterday, I found the picture and the picture-frame which poor L. left for me. Wood has again failed, but not so entirely as at first. It is you in some of your humors, but neither your serious nor more cheerful face. It shall hang, however, near my bed, and I hope will prove a benefit as well as a pleasure to me. My love to Mrs. Key. I hope

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »