When the nominations were made, Mr. Crawford got only four out of the thirty-six electoral votes of New-York. The events of this presidential campaign furnish an instructive page of history, which should be well considered by the people. It was just the combination of circumstances to tempt ambitious men to form coalitions for their own personal ends, and to make a regular bargain and sale of the rights of the people. In the absence of all political principle-in a mere contest between individuals for power-what was to prevent a union of the North and the South, or the East and the West, in a regular contract for a division of the spoils? There was no election by the people. Adams, Crawford, Clay and Jackson, were all voted for, but no one obtained a majority of the electoral colleges. The duty of making a choice between the three highest candidates now devolved on the House of Representatives. For a long time Mr. Clay was expected to be one of the three. The vote of Louisiana, which his friends expected, being given against him, caused Mr. Crawford to have a few more votes than he, and the contest was between Jackson, who had the highest number of votes in the electoral colleges, Adams, and Crawford. Mr. Clay, from his great influence, had entire control of the election. He decided in favor of Mr. Adams, and immediately accepted, at his hands, the office of Secretary of State. He was openly charged in the House of Representatives with bargain and corruption. He repelled the charge with becoming indignation. The reasons he gave for voting for Mr. Adams were just-situated as he was, he could not have voted otherwise—but the fact of his accepting office from the man he himself had elevated into the seat of power, condemned him. He should have given the vote, but declined the office. His own consciousness of innocence may have sustained him in the performance of the deed, but it could not screen him from the inferences that would be drawn from it by a censorious world. Men's motives are known only to themselves; language, says Talleyrand, was given to conceal them; and that which is avowed, is rarely the true cause of any action. Knowing these things, it is not surprising that a jealous and censorious world will at least suspect the motive, where the act and the circumstances might justify the imputation of a bad one. During the time of the ballotting, an incident took place that was very characteristic of John Randolph; it showed his great accuracy in the statement of a fact, at the same time his jealous observance not only of the rights of the States, but even of the forms and expressions in which those rights might be involved. Mr. Webster was appointed by the tellers who sat at one table, and Mr. Randolph by those at the other, to announce the result of the ballotting. After the ballots were counted out, Mr. Webster rose, and said: Mr. Speaker, the tellers of the votes at this table have proceeded to count the ballots contained in the box set before them; the result they find to be, that there are for John Quincy Adams, of Massachusetts, 13 votes; for Andrew Jackson, of Tennessee, 7 votes; for Wm. H. Crawford, of Georgia, 4 votes. Mr. Randolph, from the other table, made a statement corresponding with that of Mr. Webster, in the facts, but varying in the phraseology, so as to say that Mr. Adams, Mr. Jackson, and Mr. Crawford, had received the votes of so many States, instead of so many votes. CHAPTER XXVIII. "SUCH CONSTITUENTS AS MAN NEVER HAD BEFORE, AND NEVER WILL HAVE AGAIN." FROM Charlotte Court-house, Tuesday, April 5th, 1825, Mr. Randolph writes to Dr. 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! You ask after my health, it is wretched in the extreme. Nothing but an earnest desire to avoid the imputation of giving myself airs, brought me here yesterday." He was at Prince Edward Court-house, also, on Monday, the 18th-the day of election in that county. It was the first time the writer of this memoir had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Randolph among his constituents, or hearing him on the hustings. He was then a lad at the neighboring college-Hampden Sydney. That day was given as a holiday to the students, and they all repaired at an early hour to the Court house to see the wonderful man of whom they had heard so much. I saw Mr. Randolph when he arrived on the "court green;" alighted from his sulky some distance from the Court-house, and he handed over the reins to Johnny, who was in an instant by his side. He was dressed in his old "uniform of blue and buff." with kneebuckles, and long fair-top boots. He seemed to limp slightly in his gait, which only added dignity and gravity to his carriage. The moment his arrival was known, the people came flocking from all directions towards him. The tavern-porches, the shops, and offices, were soon emptied, and every body went running towards the great object of attraction. His old acquaintances (and who were not old acquaintances there?) were eager to take him by the hand; they pressed forward without ceremony, and their greetings were most cordially reciprocated. To all the old men he had something to say, pointed and appropriate, that seemed to give them infinite satisfaction-a word of recognition, that meant more than it expressed, and went home to the heart. He marched slowly towards the Court-house, still greeting and talking with his friends, as they came up to take him by the hand. Many followed him, doubtless, from curiosity; but much the largest portion of the crowd that hovered around him, were men who had known him all their lives, and had seen him a hundred times before; yet they followed him with as much interest as the youngest school-boy there, and their eyes could not be sated by gazing upon him. Such is the magic influence of genius and of true greatness on the human mind. 'Tis said that Robert Burns could not arrive at an inn, at midnight, without its being known to all the inmates, who would come flocking, even in their night garments, to see, for the twentieth time, perhaps, the enchanting countenance of Scotland's noblest bard, who, like Randolph, from his earliest youth, had no other thought but to serve and adorn his native land. "E'n then a wish (I mind its power), A wish, that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave my breast- Some usefu' plan or book could make, Or sing a sang at least." Mr. Randolph was pressed to make a speech. He pleaded his wretched health, and begged to be excused. But no excuse would be taken; his old friends wanted to hear him; it was a long time since they had that pleasure; great changes had taken place in politics; they had heard much about them, but wanted to hear from his own lips how the matter stood. Finding that no apology would be taken, that such men as the Mortons, the Prices, the Watkins' and the Venables, were urging on him to say something to gratify the people, he at length consented; and retiring from the multitude, he sat down on an oaken bench in the corner of the Court-house yard, and rested his head on the end of his umbrella. No one approached or disturbed him. After sitting some ten or fifteen minutes, he arose, and asked the sheriff to make proclamation that he would address the people. There was no need of that; they were all there, pressing around, and waiting patiently his pleasure to speak to them. As he approached the stile, the crowd receded, and opened a way for him to pass. I followed in his wake, unconscious of what I was doing, and stood near his left side, where I could hear every word that was uttered, and see every motion of every muscle of the whole man. I was too young to remember what was said, at this distance of time. The newspapers said he "addressed his constituents in a manner and with matter which gave great and universal satisfaction. He descanted, with great eloquence and power, on the alarming encroachments of the General Government upon the rights of the States." I have no doubt that was the theme of his discourse. But what I saw I shall never forget the manner of the man. The tall, slender figure, swarthy complexion, animated countenance; the solemn glance, that passed leisurely over the audience, hushed into deep silence before him, and bending forward to catch every look, every motion and every word of the inspired orator; the clear, silver tones of his voice; the distinct utterance-full, round expression, and emphasis of his words; the graceful bend and easy motion of the person, as he turned from side to side; the rapid, lightning-like sweep of the hand when something powerful was uttered; the earnest, fixed gaze, that followed, as if searching into the hearts of his auditors, while his words were telling upon them; then, the ominous pause, and the twinkling of that long, slender forefinger, that accompanied the keen, cutting sarcasm of his words-all these I can never forget. My beau ideal of the orator was complete. What I had read of Demosthenes and Cicero, aided by the lights of Longinus and Quinctil ian, was fulfilled in this man. I have heard him several times since from the same place. Those who have heard him elsewhere concur in the opinion, that before the people of Prince Edward he was peculiarly free and happy. These were the people that stood by him in the darkest hour of his fortunes; "when two administrations" and the whole political press made war upon him, they shielded him from the assaults of his enemies, and cheered him in the desolate and dangerous path he had to tread, by the light of their countenance and the voice of their approbation. It is not wonderful, then, that in the presence of such a people, the reminiscences of the olden time should rekindle the slumbering fires of his heart, and inspire his thoughts with more than their wonted force and brilliancy. From the stand, Mr. Randolph retired to the bench in the Courthouse. The polls were opened, and the voting commenced. Each one, as he came up, pronounced with a clear and audible voice the name of John Randolph as the person voted for for Congress. There was not a dissenting voice. When any one of the old men gave his vote, Mr. Randolph partly rose from his seat, and in the most bland and affecting manner thanked him for his vote. He seemed to say, I am grateful, sir, and proud to have the approbation of a man of your independence, understanding, integrity, and weight of character. The old man returned the salutation with a look that said, I am proud, also, to have the privilege of voting for you, Mr. Randolph. There was no pretence, no affectation in all this; it was natural, spontaneous, and, to those who knew the history of the parties and their relations to each other, it was truly affecting. No one could look upon the scene without exclaiming, that with such constituents and such representatives, no danger or harm could befall the Republic. They were men, for the most part, owners of the soil, and living by its cultivation; men who, from their youth up, by the daily reading of the best conducted political journals, and their monthly conversations and discussions at the Court-house on political topics, had become familiar with the institutions of their country and the manner in which they had been conducted-who knew the characters of all public men that had risen above a neighborhood reputation, and could judge dispassionately and without enthusiasm of their objects and the tendency of their measures-they were models of republican simplicity, intelligence, and virtue. The same, for the most part, |