Carlo" bring before
us the gambler "steeped in the colors of his trade," so the mere
mention of Bladensburg calls to mind the duellist, pistol in hand,
standing in front of his slain antagonist.

Personal difficulties are now rarely if ever in this country adjusted
by an appeal to "the code." The custom, now universally condemned
as barbarous, was at an early day practically upheld by an
almost omnipotent public opinion. As is well known, in many
localities to have declined an invitation to "the field of honor" from
one entitled to the designation of a "gentleman" would have entailed
not only loss of social position, but to a public man would have
been a bar to future political advancement. Thanks to a higher
civilization, and possibly a more exalted estimate of the sacredness
of human life, the code in all our American States is a thing of
the past.

And yet, revolting as the custom now appears, it held its place as
a recognized method for the settlement of personal controversies
among "gentlemen," to a time within the memories of men still
living. The code, a heritage from barbaric times, lingered till
it had caused more than one bloody chapter to be written, until it
had taken from the walks of life more than one of our most
gifted American statesmen.

Truer words were never written than those of Franklin at the
time when the code was appealed to for the settlement of every
dispute pertaining to personal honor: "A duel decides nothing;
the man appealing to it, makes himself judge in his own cause,
condemns the offender without a jury, and undertakes himself to be
the executioner." And yet, the startling record remains that in
the State of New Jersey, one of the ablest and most brilliant of
statesmen met death at the hands of an antagonist scarcely less
gifted, who was at the time Vice-President of the United States.
The survivor of an encounter equally tragic, occurring near the
banks of the Cumberland in 1806, was a little more than a score of
years later elevated to the Presidency. The valuable life of
the Secretary of State during the administration of the younger
Adams was saved only by his antagonist magnanimously refusing to
return the fire which came within an ace of ending his own life.
Thirteen years after the Clay and Randolph duel, a member of Congress
from Maine perished in an encounter at Bladensburg with a
representative from Kentucky. Sixty-six years ago, a challenge to
mortal combat was