that ruin should not attend a long service in Congress.” Such arguments prevailed, and the bill passed both houses. But many of Clay's constituents thought differently. To the Kentucky farmers a yearly income of $1,500 for a few months sitting on cushioned chairs in the Capitol looked monstrously extravagant. They were sure men could be found who would do the business for less money. When the election of members of Congress came on, Clay was fortunate enough to force the candidate opposing him into a “joint debate,” in which, as that gentleman had been “against the war,” Clay made short work of him. But he himself had an arduous canvass. It was then that his meeting with the old hunter occurred, which furnished material for a school-book anecdote. The old hunter, who had always voted for Clay, was now resolved to vote against him on account of the back-pay bill. “My friend,” said Clay, “have you a good rifle?” “Yes.” “Did it ever flash?” “Yes, but only once.” “What did you do with the rifle when it flashed, — throw it away?” “No, I picked the flint, tried again, and brought down the game.” “Have I ever flashed, except upon the compensation bill?” “No.” “Well, will you throw me away?” “No, Mr. Clay; I will pick the flint and try you again.” Clay was tried again, but only by a majority of some six or seven hundred votes. At the next session of Congress he voted for the repeal of the compensation act, avowedly on the ground of its
