land fisheries and the mouths of the Mississippi, and then he left it to the sense of justice of the House if one who was as devoted as himself, who, with the rest of his followers from Kentucky, knew nothing but to vote on all cardinal questions as Mr. Clay dictated, might not claim the right to vote as he thought fit on a matter not involving party principles without having his loyalty questioned. He would not appeal to the justice of the House alone, but to that magnanimity for which the gentlemen had always been distinguished, to allow him a little cooling time until the next day, at least, and he hoped that Mr. Clay would then ask a reconsideration of the matter, so as to allow him a chance to still prove himself loyal by changing his vote.* "He had a great ovation at the end of his speech, particularly from the opposite party; but his friends advised him not to allow his remarks to be published, and they were accordingly suppressed. Mr. Clay became so enraged that he left the house." There was a bill introduced by Colonel R. M. Johnson this session, commonly known afterward as the "Compensation Law." Theretofore members of Congress had received for their services, besides mileage, six dollars per diem. The bill referred to changed this mode of compensation to fifteen hundred dollars per annum. The chief argument for the bill was that six dollars per day were inadequate, yet where the session was protracted members were charged with doing so to obtain their per diem. The measure met with but little outspoken opposition, and was made a law. All the Kentucky delegation voted for it save Mr. Desha, who voted nay. This simple story, like many another, has a sequel which will be related in another chapter. *This is not meant for a substantial report, but merely a specimen of the tone of his remarks. CHAPTER VII. AN OLD-TIME SALARY GRAB. EW congressmen were ever more active, efficient, and influential, during their first session, than had been Mr. Hardin. FE He had not been restrained by unfamiliarity with parliamentary rules. not indulging long speeches, he had expressed his views on all proper occasions forcibly and perspicuously. He had acted on the principle that it was his right and duty to promote good, and defeat bad legislation, and that he should be no mute or idle spectator of its progress. He had made himself felt by Clay as an opponent-by Randolph as a friend. He had demonstrated signal ability in the business of legislation, and had taken high rank in Congress when that body, according to Mr. Webster, was at its best in the way of talent.* The first session of the Fourteenth Congress adjourned April 30, 1816. Mr. Hardin journeyed homeward, conscious that he had made a faithful effort to do his whole duty. The newspapers had reported congressional proceedings, as the session progressed, and reports showed he had been active. He had been accustomed to professional success, and, thus far, his brief political career had been fortunate. Under these circumstances, it was but natural that he should have anticipated the welcome and approving plaudits of his constituents. Indeed, he felt entitled to no less. But, alas! for human hopes, this reasonable expectation was dismally disappointed. On his arrival at home, Mr. Hardin found Kentucky, in common. with the whole country, suffering from a fit of consuming wrath, over the passage of the Compensation Law. The center of this excitement was Kentucky. George D. Prentice said the "demagogues had stirred this tempest. Doubtless, they had contributed their mite, but it was denounced everywhere, and by all classes. It was the topic of conversation in private circles, and the theme of harangue in popular assemblies. The argument went nem. con. The feeling grew from day to day, and from week to week, until, at length, popular exasperation arose to such a height (if we may trust the hyperbole of Mr. Prentice) that the "habitual and long-cherished reverence for their Daniel Webster, by Henry Cabot Lodge, page 64. favorite Clay seemed half forgotten by the people, and there was every probability that he would be cast down like a worshiped idol, when its votary has found that the tale of its divinity is but a fable."* This was further illustrated during the heated congressional race that ensued between Clay and Pope ("one-armed" John Pope), by the remark of an Irish voter: "For whom, Jerry, do you mean to vote," he was asked. With a shrewd look, he replied: "Faix an' sure, docthur, I mane to vote for the man who can't put more nor one hand into the threasury." What seems to modern observation “much ado about nothing" presented a different aspect in 1816. The purchasing power of money was far greater than now. The popular estimate of the value of official services was extremely low. There was an idea afloat that patriotism ought to actuate those charged with legislation rather than motives of gain. The members of the Kentucky Legislature then received but $1 per day besides mileage. The judges of the Court of Appeals had received an annual salary not greater than $1,000 prior to 1815. It was easy for selfish aspirants to make a strong point against the compensation bill from such premises. Mr. Hardin had not only voted for the obnoxious bill, but approved it in face of all opposition. In his judgment it was both a just and wise law. But to stem the tide against it and the unpopularity of having voted for it was difficult, and the result uncertain. So he discreetly declined standing for re-election. Only two of those who had voted for it were returned-Henry Clay (after a hard contest) and Colonel R. M. Johnson. Mr. Desha, who had voted against it, was again elected. The remaining seven of the delegation, including Mr. Hardin, succumbed to the inevitable. "Colonel Johnson took the stump and made a resolute effort to justify the measure, but he soon found it was all in vain. It was amusing to hear the colonel, who was not an eloquent man, make a passionate speech in favor of the measure, and conclude by promising to vote for its repeal, because such was the will of the people." So wrote Amos Kendall, who erroneously stated that every Kentucky member who had voted for the law was defeated except Clay and Johnson. Hardin was not a candidate-neither was his colleague, Alney McLean.† But for his unlucky support of this law Mr. Hardin would doubtless have been re-elected, and thus have enjoyed the advantage of continuous service, which frequency of terms, with intervals, can never bestow. What with these advantages he might have accomplished for himself and his country it is needless to conjecture. It was unfort * Henry Clay, by George D. Prentice, page 124. † Autobiography, page 178. unate for his career that it was thus interrupted so soon after it had auspiciously begun. The vacation passed and Mr. Hardin again set out for Washington to attend the second session of the Fourteenth Congress. He had concluded to visit his birthplace in Pennsylvania, which did not require much diversion from his direct route. Before starting from home he had equipped himself with a good horse and saddle-bags, carrying in the latter such wardrobe as the exigencies of society demanded of oldtime Congressmen. The journey was a long one, and, as it proved in this instance, a lonesome one. Much of his road was rough and through a wilderness where he esteemed himself fortunate in finding lodging places at nightfall. As he passed the Virginia line the country was better populated, and occasionally the tedium of his journey was interrupted by the company of a traveler going his way. One even ing, as his road was passing the eastern declivities of the Blue Ridge, he approached a town where he proposed to rest for the night. Behind him he heard the sound of horses' hoofs. In a few minutes three dapper-looking young gentlemen mounted on spirited horses overtook him. From their dress, outfit, and manner he readily recognized them as belonging to the Virginia gentry. They exchanged the salutations of the road, and Mr. Hardin discovered that they-as was characteristic of this class-were sprightly, good humored, and satisfied with themselves on all points. On the other hand the young men, from a certain air of careless awkwardness and the unpretentious character of his trappings, set Mr. Hardin down as a country bumpkin. But few words passed before he discovered how he was esteemed by his young companions, and he thereupon resolved to act the part attributed to him. He soon learned from them that they were on their way to the town near by; that a debating society would meet there that evening, and that they were to participate, and, in fact, were leaders in the debate. He inquired the question to be debated. It proved to be one with which he was entirely familiar, having had occasion frequently to debate it in his congressional canvass. He was asked if he ever made speeches. He replied that he had spoken in debating societies, but that they never debated questions like that in Kentucky where he lived. "Which produced the most happiness, pursuit or possession," and the like, he said, were the kind of questions debated in the West. From his artless questions and answers the young gentlemen concluded that they had found a character who would afford some amusement if he could be induced to speak at the debating society. After having made several awkward excuses, he yielded to solicitation and agreed to speak if allowed to come last. He said he could "pick up some points from other speakers and be sort o' prepared." He asked how many taverns there were in the town, and which was the cheapest. His new friends told him there were two, but that they would stop at the better one, and he must go with them—which under hospitable compulsion he did. The young men were convinced they had' encountered an innocent abroad, and privately gave out in town on their arrival that there was fun in prospect. A larger crowd than usual gathered that evening at the debating hall. Expectation was on tip-toe. The young gentlemen escorted their guest (for such they now esteemed him) to the hall, and ostentatiously seated him where the audience could have a fair view of him. Mr. Hardin was more artless than ever. The audience made no attempt to conceal its amusement. The debate in due time began. Mr. Hardin's young friends of the road made speeches, and as they had carefully prepared for the occasion, they acquitted themselves with credit. Finally it came to his time. He had managed to tell his name in such way that it had not been understood. In fact, his name had been a matter of indifference to his new friends. "At that moment," said Hardin long afterward, |