ism has crept into the eastern congregations? How could any Socinian repeat the Apostle's Creed, or read the Liturgy? I begin to think, with you, about those people. You remember the opinions you expressed to me last winter concerning them. Among the causes of uneasiness which have laid hold upon me lately, is a strong anxiety for the welfare of those whom I love, and whom I see walking in darkness. But there is one source of affliction, the last and deepest, which I must reserve till we meet, if I can prevail upon myself to communicate it even then. It was laid open by one of those wonderful coincidences, which men call chance, but which manifest the hand of God. It has lacerated my heart, and taken from it its last hope in this world. Ought I not to bless God for the evil (as it seems in my sight) as well as the good? Is it not the greatest of blessings, if it be made the means of drawing me unto him? Do I know what to ask at his hands? Is he not the judge of what is good for me? If it be his pleasure that I perish, am I not conscious that the sentence is just?

"Implicitly, then, will I throw myself uponhis mercy; 'Not my will, but thine be done;' Lord be merciful to me a sinner;'Help, Lord, or I perish.' And now, my friend, if, after these glimpses of the light, I should shut mine eyes and harden my heart, which now is as melted wax; if I should be enticed back to the herd,' and lose all recollection of my wounds, how much deeper my guilt than his whose heart has never been touched by the sense of his perishing, undone condition. This has rushed upon my mind when I have thought of partaking of the Lord's supper. After binding myself by that sacred rite, should passion overcome me, should I be induced to forget in some unhappy hour that holy obligation, I shudder to think of it. There are two ways only which I am of opinion that I may be serviceable to mankind. One of these is teaching children; and I have some thoughts of establishing a school. Then, again, it comes into my head that I am borne away by a transient enthusiasm; or that I may be reduced to the condition of some unhappy fanatics who mistake the perversion of their intellects for the conversion of their hearts. Pray for me."

On another occasion, writing to Mr. Key, he says:

"I took up yesterday a work, which I never met with before, the Christian Observer.' In a critique of Scott, vol. XII., upon the Bishop of Lincoln's Refutation of Calvinism,' it is stated that no man is converted to the truth of Christianity without the self-experience of a miracle. Such is the substance. He must be sensible of the working of a miracle in his own person. Now, my good friend, I have never experienced any thing like this. I have been sensible, and am always, of the proneness to sin in my nature. I have grieved unfeignedly for my manifold transgressions. I have thrown myself

I

upon the mercy of my Redeemer, conscious of my own utter inability to conceive one good thought, or do one good act without his gracious aid. But I have felt nothing like what Scott requires. Indeed, my good friend, I sometimes dread that I am in a far worse condition than those who never heard the Word of God, or, who having heard, reject it-if any condition can be worse than the last. When I am with Mr. Hogue I am at ease. He makes every thing plain to me. But when I hear others I am disturbed. Indeed, my doubts and misgivings do not desert me always in his presence. wish I could see you, and converse with you. To you I have no scruple in writing in this style; but to any other I feel repugnant to communicate. I fear that I mistake a sense of my sins for true repentance, and that I sometimes presume upon the mercy of God. Again, it appears incredible that one so contrite as I sometimes know myself to be, should be rejected entirely by infinite mercy. Write to me upon this topic-not my own state--but give me your ideas generally on salvation; or direct me to some publication that puts it in the clearest light. I have carefully read the gospels, but cannot always comprehend."

Writing to Dr. Brockenbrough, from Roanoke, the 4th of July, 1815, he says:

"It was to me a subject of deep regret that I was obliged to leave town before Mr. Meade's arrival. I promised myself much comfort and improvement from his conversation. My dear sir, there is, or there is not, another and a better world. If there is, as we all believe, what is it but madness to be absorbed in the cares of a clay-built hovel, held at will, unmindful of the rich inheritance of an imperishable palace, of which we are immortal heirs? We acknowledge these things with our lips, but not with our hearts; we lack faith.

"We would serve God provided we may serve mammon at the same time. For my part, could I be brought to believe that this life must be the end of my being, I should be disposed to get rid of it as an incumbrance. If what is to come be any thing like what is passed, it would be wise to abandon the hulk to the underwriters, the worms. I am more and more convinced that, with a few exceptions, this world of ours is a vast mad-house. The only men I ever knew well, ever approached closely, whom I did not discover to be unhappy, are sincere believers of the Gospel, and conform their lives, as far as the nature of man can permit, to its precepts. There are only three of them." [Meade, Hogue, Key?] "And yet, ambition, and avarice, and pleasure, as it is called, have their temples crowded with votaries, whose own experience has proved to them the insufficiency and emptiness of their pursuits, and who obstinately turn away from

the only waters that can slake their dying thirst and heal their dis

eases.

"One word on the subject of your own state of mind. I am well acquainted with it-too well. Like you, I have not reached that lively faith which some more favored persons enjoy. But I am persuaded that it can and will be attained by all who are conscious of the depravity of our nature, of their own manifold departures from the laws of God, and sins against their own conscience; and who are sincerely desirous to accept of pardon on the terms held out in the Gospel. Without puzzling ourselves, therefore, with subtle disquisitions, let us ask, are we conscious of the necessity of pardon? are we willing to submit to the terms offered to us-to consider Christianity as a scheme imperfectly understood, planned by Infinite Wisdom, and canvassed by finite comprehensions'-to ask of our Heavenly Father that faith and that strength which by our own unassisted efforts we can never attain? To me it would be a stronger objection to Christianity did it contain nothing which baffled my comprehension, than its most difficult doctrines. What professor ever delivered a lecture that his scholars were not at a loss to comprehend some parts of it? But that is no objection to the doctrine. But the teacher here is God! I may deceive myself, but I hope that I have made some progress, so small indeed that I may be ashamed of it, in this necessary work, even since I saw you. I am no disciple of Calvin or Wesley, but I feel the necessity of a changed nature; of a new life; of an altered heart. I feel my stubborn and rebellious nature to be softened, and that it is essential to my comfort here, as well as to my future welfare, to cultivate and cherish feelings of good will towards all mankind; to strive against envy, malice, and all uncharitableness. I think I have succeeded in forgiving all my enemies. There is not a human being that I would hurt if it were in my power; not even Bonaparte."

Mr. Randolph was now destined to receive the severest stroke of misfortune that had befallen him since the death of his brother Richard. It seems that his ill-fated family were destined to fall one by one, and to leave him the sole and forlorn wreck of an ancient house, whose name and fortunes he had so fondly cherished. Tudor, the last hope, had been sent abroad this spring (1815) in search of health. He had scarcely reached Cheltenham, England, when he fell into the arms of death. In a letter from Dr. Brockenbrough, Mr. Randolph received the first tidings of this melancholy event. He was dumb-he opened not his mouth. "Your kind and considerate letter," says he, "contained the first intelligence of an event

which I have long expected, yet dreaded to hear. I can make no comment upon it. To attempt to describe the situation of my mind would be vain, even if it were practicable. May God bless you: to him alone I look for comfort on this side the grave; there alone, if at all, I shall find it."

Many said his mind was unsettled; that this dark destiny drove reason from her throne, and made him mad. In the vulgar estimation of a cold and selfish world he was surely mad. The cries of a deep and earnest soul are a mockery to the vain and unfeeling multitude. David had many sons: Randolph this only hope, the child of his affections. Yet when Absalom was slain, "the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept; and as he wept, thus he said, 'O my son Absalom-my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!'"

CHAPTER VI.

POLITICAL REFLECTIONS-CONGRESS-BANK CHARTER.

In the midst of all his domestic afflictions, bodily ailments, and mental anxiety, Mr. Randolph never lost sight of public affairs. "As to politics," says he, "I am sick of them, and have resolved to wash my hands of them as soon as possible." The thought of mingling again in the strife of party politics was loathing to him; but he could not banish from his mind the intimate knowledge of political events, their causes and consequences, which he possessed in so eminent a degree; nor could he prevent the natural affinity for those great moral and political principles and agencies, which are for ever moving and moulding the social and political institutions of mankind. He was a statesman by nature-nascitur non fit--a born statesman. His observations, however trivial or brief, have a pith and meaning beyond the sagest reflections of most other men.

Many of his reflections rise to the dignity of political aphorisms, and are worthy to be ranked with the profound maxims of the great

master of political philosophy. Last May, after Bonaparte had escaped from Elba, marched in triumph to Paris, and driven the frighted Bourbon once more from his throne, Mr. Randolph thus discourses on the affairs of Europe:

ever.

"On the late events in Europe, which baffle all calculation, I have looked with an eye not very different from yours." [Addressed to Mr. Key.] "The Bourbons refused to abolish the slave trade. Bonaparte, from temporal views, no doubt, has made it the first act after his restoration! Here is food for solemn meditation. The situation of England is, according to my conception of things, more awful than A sated libertine at the head of the government; a profligate debauchee her prime minister. When I think on Wilberforce and his worthy compeers, I cannot despair. Ten such would have saved Sodom. But what a frightful mass of wickedness does that country, as well as our own, present! Both rescued, by the most providential interference of Heaven, from ruin. But what do we see? Humble and hearty thanks for unmerited mercy? Self-abasement, penitence for past offences, and earnest rosolutions for future amendment, through divine assistance? I can recognize none of these. Even in myself how faint are these feelings, compared with my consciousness of their necessity! England, I sometimes think, stands on the verge of some mighty convulsion. The corruption of her government and her principal men, the discontents of her needy and profligate lower orders, the acts of her Cobbetts and Burdetts, all seem to threaten the overthrow of her establishment, in Church and State. Jacobinism has, I believe, a stronger hold in that country than in any other in Europe. But the foolishness of human wisdom, nothing daunted by repeated overthrows of all its speculations and the confusion of its plans, yet aspires to grasp and to control the designs of the Almighty."

But the period had come for John Randolph to appear again on the public stage. The times had been truly eventful. The cycle of five and twenty years, in which the spirit of human liberty fought for her existence, had rolled round and come to a close. Born of the divine love shed forth in the gospel of Jesus Christ, bursting up in radiant majesty from the crumbling ruins of an effete feudalism, the cheerful voice of the Spirit of Liberty was first heard in the National Assembly of France, speaking in the accents of hope and of joy to the down-trodden millions of the earth. But, alas in the wanton excess of an untried freedom, she quickly ran into a wild fanaticism, and swept the good as well as the evil into one common ruin. Seeking to break the oppressor's rod, and to tear down his tow