rage. Only a few months before he had, in the address to his constituents, spoken of the duel as a relic of barbarism, much to be discountenanced. The same Clay now promptly sent a challenge to Randolph. The explanation, which might have averted the duel, Randolph refused to give. On April 8 they “met,” Randolph not intending to harm Clay, but Clay in terrible earnest. They exchanged shots, and both missed; only Randolph's coat was touched. At the second fire Clay put another bullet through Randolph's coat, but Randolph emptied his pistol into the air, and said: “I do not fire at you, Mr. Clay.” Thereupon they shook hands, and all was over. Randolph's pistol had failed to prove that Clay was a “blackleg,” and Clay's pistol had also failed to prove that Randolph was a calumniator; but, according to the mysterious process of reasoning which makes the pistol the arbiter of honor, the honor of each was satisfied. Webster wrote to Judge Story: “You will have heard of the bloodless duel. I regret it very much, but the conduct of Mr. Randolph has been such that I suppose it was thought that it could no longer be tolerated.” Benton looked at the matter from a different point of view. With the keen relish of a connoisseur, he describes the whole affair down to the minutest detail in his “Thirty Years' View,” devoting nearly eight of its large pages to it, and sums up: “It was about the last high-toned duel that I have witnessed, and among the highest toned I have ever witnessed,
