year, on the debt contracted under the British treaty, and convention and upwards of four millions of principal and four millions of interest on the public debt. Besides this, four millions and a half remained in the Treasury on the 30th day of September; and it had not been necessary to borrow the money as authorized by the act of 1803, to meet the claims of our citizens assumed by the convention with France. On the 6th of December, the President sent in a confidential message entering more fully upon our affairs with Spain. He stated the aggressive conduct of that power-that our special minister, Mr. Monroe, and our resident minister, Mr. Pinckney, had long been fruitlessly employed in attempting to procure some adjustment-that Spain claimed that our Louisiana boundaries did not extend east of the Iberville, and that "our line to the west was one which would have left us but a string of land on that bank of the Mississippi." The conduct of France in this controversy was then alluded to. He said, "she was prompt and decided in her declarations, that her demands on Spain for French spoliations carried into Spanish ports, were included in the settlement between the United States and France; that she took at once the ground, that she had acquired no right from Spain, and had meant to deliver us none, eastward of the Iberville." He concluded: "The present crisis in Europe is favorable for pressing a settlement, and not a moment should be lost in availing ourselves of it. Should it pass unimproved, our situation would become much more difficult. Formal war is not necessary; it is not probable it will follow; but the protection of our citizens, the spirit and honor of our country require, that force should be interposed to a certain degree; it will probably contribute to advance the object of peace. But the course to be pursued will require the command of means which it belongs to Congress exclusively to deny or to yield. To them I communicate every fact material for their information, and the documents necessary to enable them to judge for themselves. To their wisdom, then, I look for the course I am to pursue, and will pursue with sincere zeal that which they shall approve." The above message was referred to a committee of which John Randolph was chairman. It reported January 3rd (the doors being closed) denouncing the conduct of Spain in severe terms, and declaring that she had given "ample cause for a formal declaration of war;" but by reason of our debts and other circumstances, peace was recommended if it could be main tained compatibly with the honor and interests of the country. The report concluded with the following resolution: "Resolved, That such number of troops (not exceeding - -) as the President of the United States shall deem sufficient to protect the Southern frontiers of the United States from Spanish inroad and insult, and to chastise the same, be immediately raised." Bidwell, a member of the committee, moved as a substitute for this resolution, that an appropriation be made to enable the President to defray any extraordinary expenses which might arise in our intercourse with foreign nations. The object of this, which was not concealed, was to enable the President to purchase Florida, a solution hinted at in his special message, and which he and his Cabinet were known to favor. Both the resolutions were warmly debated, with closed doors, until the 11th of January, when the question was taken on the original resolution (Randolph's), and it was defeated by a vote of seventy-two to fifty-eight. The Federalists voted in the minority. Bidwell's resolution passed, after a protracted contest in regard to its phraseology, and the sum of two millions of dollars was appropriated. Randolph led the opposition, and he made an open quarrel with the Administration. The burden of his grievance was that the President had not directly explained his objects and asked for a specific sum, thereby (insisted this modest gentleman) shifting off the responsibility which the Executive ought to have assumed, somewhat on the House, but specially and particularly on the shoulders of Mr. John Randolph, chairman of the committee of Ways and Means. Mr. Randolph had been for some time uneasy in his position. His taste was not for that grave, argumentative, and laborious exposition, which is the province of a majority leader. He delighted more in brilliant declamation, fierce personal retorts, and burning invective. His mind, like his education, was desultory-rather cultivated at points which enabled him to make a brilliant display, than comprehensive or profound. Even his knowledge was picked out of a mass of promiscuous reading rather than attained by systematic investigation, or by a broad and thorough culture on the given topic. He was like those diligent review readers, who gather a collection of pithy quo tations from every book, without troubling themselves to wade through the original. He had a most retentive memory, which culled and laid aside for future use everything which could be introduced into a speech with particular effect. Perhaps it would not be just to say that, like Sheridan, he manufactured his finest rhetoric, and laid in wait for some occasion when he could palm it off as impromptu; but still his fine sayings, as a class, are those which are as likely to borrow the raw material or the groundwork from recollection as from the original conceptions of the moment. Both nature and cultivation had made him the master of one kind of wit. It was not the genial variety which delights all hearers, enlivens with a refreshing laugh the humdrum of ordi- nary parliamentary routine, or adds zest to social intercourse. It was bitter, cynical, and often appeared malignant, because it came in the form of attack without any reasonable provocation, and on the heads of those who could not make any effective defence. If, for example, an obscure and particularly if a new and plain member presumed to appear in debate on a different side of the question from the overbearing lord "of Roanoke," and if that member had anything in his appearance, manners, diction, or the like, which could be made the subject of an insulting sarcasm, it generally came; and there was always enough of real or supposed application to inflict personal mortification and pain; and sometimes enough to make its victim the butt of an undying joke. Nor did Mr. Randolph save all these javelins for opponents. He did not at all like to have later and common men in his own party claim equality or right of judgment. He treated them with intolerable hauteur. If they followed him, it was through fear, and the force of party obligations. They could have no affection for him. Such leadership would have been fatal to a political organization, the situation of which demanded skill or good judgment. In looking back at his speeches, it is difficult to resist the impression that his talents, even in his own line, were considerably exaggerated. One is inclined to suspect that he was often admired because it had become the fashion to admire himthat, as in the case of established wits and beauties, people cried bravo to prove their own cleverness. At least, most of the scathing bolts seem rather harmless now; and this is not the case with some of those which Fox and Burke and Pitt hurled at each other's heads during parallel parliamentary epochs. Specimens of Franklin's retorts are preserved which are as fresh and keen as when they originally went whizzing to their mark. It is probable, too, that Randolph's peculiarities heightened and gave a degree of extraneous and scenic effect to what he uttered. His pride, his isolation, his rich appointments, his clains to a baronial family consequence, his aristocratic assumption of superiority, his capricious and dangerous temper, all set him apart, and made him a popular marvel. His personal appearance, also, was unusual and striking. He was tall and excessively meagre; his face cadaverous and beardless. There was something in his general aspect which reminded one of his lineage from the royal Powhattan. His eye was piercingly brilliant; and had the power of freezing or burning as it reflected the passion-torrent within. The shrill key of his voice approached that of those victims of jealous barbarity who watch Eastern harems, and its least whisper smote on the ear like the ringing clink of metal. Each word seemed vitalized into a substantive thing-an impinging material body-by the intensity of his mental action, and the vehemence of his feelings. His modes of thought were so eccentric and took such unexpected turns—his attacks were so capriciously made or withheld, that curiosity always stood tiptoe awaiting some wonder. Lastly, strange gleams of approaching or actual insanity came to increase the feverish interest of the spectacle. He did not lack genius. His declamation was often splendid. In some respects he had great penetration. None could so skillfully appeal to the feelings and prejudices of his own class in Virginia and elsewhere. He well understood the pulse of a deliberative body. We shall soon find Mr. Jefferson speaking of his "popular eloquence." This does not seem to accurately define his kind of oratory. It certainly was neither profound nor philosophic. It never exhausted the facts of the topic. It rarely even instructed. It piquantly seized upon some striking analogy, or some overlooked flaw, and coruscated about it with a medley of historic and semi-poetical illustration, uttered in a unique way, by a most unique man. And having roused a train of feeling, he could keep it up and urge it along with much apparent effect. But there was no depth in the current thus set flowing. Men listened as in a good dramatic exhibition. They laughed, they almost wept. When it was over, they drew one long breath, and then fell back into common life, as if nothing had happened. No stern resolves were planted in the bosom, as if the hearer had been listening to Otis or John Adams. Men gazed not aslant for arms or firebrands, as if Henry's fiery invocations had been ringing in their ears. It would be easy to descend two or three grades lower among American "popular" orators, and still find those superior to John Randolph. Before wonder and adulation, or the fever-fire of excitement, had turned his brain, Randolph did not lack considerable judg ment in political affairs. His integrity was unquestionable. He scorned meanness, duplicity, or cowardice. His loves, like his hates, were sincere and vehement. He could be a captivating companion, and the pure and noble Macon loved him like a brother to the end of his life. He was But every good gift had a concomitant bad one. He was a bundle of opposite extremes, curiously bound together in one incongruous and diseased human frame. He was a living antithesis. We have mentioned some of his parliamentary and other contradictions. His private ones were not less marked. His integrity, for example, did not place him above the most paltry suspicions of other men, whose standards were notoriously as high as his own; and the virulence and egotism of his temper made him ready to pour out these suspicions at once, and if chafed by opposition, to swell them to a torrent of invective. His courage was combined with quarrelsomeness. more than ready to put every dispute on the footing of personal offence. He fought a number of duels for words which were uttered in parliamentary debate, and which were characterized by less than his own habitual personalities. If not truculent by disposition (and we do not believe he was) his overstrained pride and punctiliousness generally left no other escape from a controversy with those who acknowledged what is termed the "code of honor." Even his friendships and hates, deep though they were for the time being, rarely survived an important difference of opinion. Or rather, love of opposition and change was a disease of his organization. He followed Jefferson devotedly for years, and then broke off on the provocation, or |
