Says a correspondent of the Newark Daily Advertiser, ‘Ihave frequently observed ladies’ albums circulating through the house and senate chamber, with the view of collecting the autographs of the members. I saw one this morning which contained a page of well written poetry, dated twenty-third July, 1842, in the tremulous hand-writing of John Q. Adams, descriptive of the wild chaos at present spread over our political affairs, and anticipated coming events, which would bring order out of disorder. The closing verse was as follows:
‘Say, for whose brow this laurel crown?
For whom this web of life is spinning?
Turn this, thy album, upside down,
And take the end for the beginning.’
The meaning of this was somewhat mystical, but, by turning to the back of the book, and inverting it, on its last page a piece was found with the signature of ‘H. CLAY!’
Seldom, perhaps, has an administration been assailed with more violence, or with less cause, than that of Mr. Adams. Perhaps the hostility manifested towards it, was occasioned, to a considerable extent, by Mr. Clay’s connection with it, and from the fact that the views of the president, in relation to the great measures of national policy, harmonized perfectly with his own. This gave to the opposition, of the ultra advocates of state rights, its bitterest venom, which was profusely lavished upon it. As soon as Mr. Clay left the house, his old eccentric foe, Mr. Randolph, cast off all restraint, and spoke and acted as though law and order were not for him; suffering no occasion to pass unimproved in abusing Mr. Clay, and often travelling out of his way to seek one. The subject of the Panama mission furnished him rich materials for exercising his peculiar genius, which he employed in the most insulting manner towards him. He characterized that unison of sentiment to which we have alluded, which existed between the president and Mr. Clay, as a ‘coalition of Blifil and Black George—a combination of the Puritan with the black-leg’—and charged Mr. Clay with ‘stealing a leaf from the curse book of PANDEMONIUM.’ Such language would be disgraceful under any circumstances, but especially on the floor of the senate chamber. Mr. Randolph seemed determined to bring about a personal conflict with Mr. Clay, from what motives it is difficult to determine, for the latter gave him no cause of abuse, carefully avoiding him as he did. But the former went on, day after day, unprovoked, adding injury to injury, heaping insult upon insult upon the latter, until further forbearance became exceedingly difficult, to say the least, especially as Mr. Clay was surrounded by his family. Says an individual intimately acquainted with the parties, ‘Mr. Randolph knew that his every word, whether spoken in his sober or inebriated moments, was pregnant with death, to the pride and the happiness of the innocent and the lovely.’ Although he himself had no family; although hewas an individual in reference to whom a distinguished friend of ours once thanked God in congress, that monsters could not perpetuate their species; still he must have known, from hearsay, that the feelings of a wife and a daughter are keenly sensitive. Had Mr. Clay held a seat in the senate, Mr. Randolph, dark as were his designs, and much as he longed for a quarrel, would not have dared to use the language of open outrage. There was ever something in Mr. Clay’s eye, before which his spirit quailed and blinked, like a frighted thing. Mr. Clay, however, was absent, and every day of his forbearance added bitterness to the insults that were heaped on him. What could he do? Undoubtedly, that religion, whose kingdom is not of this world, required him to endure patiently unto the end. It is a matter of regret that he did not, but who shall censure him harshly, for having, in a moment of uncontrollable exasperation, turned upon his pursuer and dared him to single combat!
Of the duel, itself, it is not necessary to say much. Mr. Randolph, in defiance of established usage, went upon the field in a huge morning gown; and the seconds, had not Mr. Clay interfered, would have made this singular conduct the occasion of a quarrel. In due time the parties fired, and luckily for both of them, or at least for Mr. Clay, Mr. Randolph’s life was saved by his gown. The unseemly garment constituted such a vast circumference, that the locality of ‘the thin and swarthy senator’ was at least a matter of very vague conjecture. Mr. Clay might as well have fired into the outspread top of an oak, in the hope of hitting a bird that he supposed to be snugly perched somewhere among the branches. His ball hit the centre of the visible object, but Randolph was not there! and of course the shot did no harm and no good. After the first discharge, Mr. Randolph, by firing into the air, showed his disinclination to continue the fight. He immediately walked up to Mr. Clay, who was still standing in his place, and, parting the folds of his gown, pointed to the hole where the bullet of the former had pierced his coat, and, in the shrillest tones of his squeaking voice, exclaimed, ‘Mr. Clay, you owe me a COAT, you owe me a COAT!’ to which he replied, in a voice of slow and solemn emphasis, at the same time pointing directly to Mr. Randolph’s heart, ‘MR. RANDOLPH, I thank God that I am no DEEPER in your debt!’
We are no apologist for the duelist; we regard the practice of duelling with the deepest detestation and abhorrence, and believe it unjustified, under any circumstances; still, we unhesitatingly say, that those which surrounded Mr. Clay, were approximated as nearly to a justification, as any possibly could. He had resorted to all honorable means to avoid a duel with Mr. Randolph; calling upon and desiring him to explain or retract his insulting language, but he flatly refused. It may not be amiss to state, in this connection, that Mr. Clay reprobated the practice of duelling, himself.This appears from his avowed sentiment relative thereto. ‘I owe it,’ said he, ‘to the community, to say, that whatever, heretofore, I may have done, or by inevitable circumstances may be forced to do, no man in it holds in deeper abhorrence than I do, the pernicious practice of duelling. Condemned as it must be, by the judgment and philosophy, to say nothing of the religion, of every thinking man, it is an affair of feeling, about which we cannot, although we should, reason. The true corrective will be found, when all shall unite, as all ought to unite, in its unqualified proscription.’
The hostile meeting between Mr. Randolph and Mr. Clay, occurred April eighth, 1826. Their last interview took place in March, 1833, a short time previous to the decease of the former. He was on his way to Philadelphia, where he died. Being unable to walk or stand without assistance, he was borne into the senate chamber, to which he was about to pay his last visit. The senate was in session by candlelight. Mr. Clay had risen to make some remarks on the compromise act. ‘Help me up,’ said Mr. Randolph, sitting in a chair, and speaking to his half-brother, Mr. Tucker, ‘help me up; I have come to hear that voice once more.’ When Mr. Clay concluded, he approached, and shook Mr. Randolph cordially by the hand, and thus terminated their intercourse forever.