It was my lot on the 21st of June, 1831, to stand a helpless spectator, when that noble edifice, adorned with the statue of the father of his country, was a sheet of blinding, hissing flame, and to hear, amidst the almost breathless silence of the stupified multitude around it, the piteous exclamation of a child: "Poor State-house, poor statue, I so sorry." There were thousands of adults present as sorrowful and as powerless as that child. It was my lot as Chief Magistrate of the Commonwealth, on the fourth day of July, 1833, to lay the corner-stone of the present capitol, supposed on its completion to be the most magnificent structure of the kind in the Union. It was my lot on the morning of the 13th of April, 1865, as the friend and representative of Governor Vance, to find, on approaching the southern front of the capitol, the doors and windows closed, and a deeper, more dreadful silence shrouding the city than during the sad catastrophe to which I have referred. I met at the south front of the capitol, however, a negro servant, who waited on the executive department, the only human being who had dared to venture beyond his doors. He delivered me the keys, and assisted me in opening the doors and windows of the executive office, and I took my station at the entrance, with a safe-conduct from General Sherman in my hand, prepared to surrender the capitol at the demand of his approaching forces. At that moment a band of marauders, stragglers from Wheeler's retiring cavalry, dismounted at the head of Fayetteville street, and began to sack the stores directly contiguous to and south of Dr. Haywood's residence. I apprised them immediately that Sherman's army was just at hand; that any show of resistance might result in the destruction of the city, and urged them to follow their retreating comrades. A citizen, the first I saw beyond his threshold that morning, came up at the moment and united his remonstrances to mine, but all in vain, until I perceived, and announced, that the head of Kilpatrick's column was in sight. In a moment every member of the band, with the exception of their chivalric leader, was in the saddle, and his horse spurred to his utmost speed. He drew his bridle-rein, halted in the center of the street, and discharged his revolver until his stock of ammunition was expended in the direction, but not in carrying distance of his foe, when he too fled, but attempted to run the gauntlet in vain. His life was the forfeit at a very brief interval.