ernment. “Congress,” he said, “could at some future day examine into the constitutionality of the question, and if it had the power, it could exercise it; if it had not, the Constitution, there could be no doubt, would be so amended as to confer it.” At any rate, he wished to have the fund set apart. Clay himself did not doubt that Congress had the constitutional power to use that fund, and possibly he thought that, if only the money were provided to be spent, Congress would easily come to the same conclusion.
The bill passed both houses, but old-school Republicanism once more stemmed the tide. President Madison, who himself had formerly expressed opinions favorable to internal improvements, vetoed it on strictly constitutional grounds, much to the astonishment and disgust of the young Republican statesmen. It was his last act.
Clay had in the mean time, by way of episode, gone through the experience of flagging popularity. It was not on account of his constitutional doctrines, or any other great question of state, but by reason of a matter to which he had probably given but little thought. At the previous session he had voted for a bill to increase the pay of members of Congress from a per diem of six dollars to a fixed salary of $1,500 a year, the law to apply to the Congress then in session. He supported it on the ground that he had never been able to make both ends meet at Washington. “The rate of compensation,” he said, “ought to be such at least as
