I question if the following is genuinely part of the historical canon or is merely David Crockett apocrypha.  Regardless it is well established as part of the Crockett Legend.

Not Yours To Give

Davy Crockett on The Role Of Government

from: The Life of Colonel David Crockett
compiled by: Edward S. Elis (1884)
“Money with
[Congressmen] is nothing but trash when it is to come out of the people.
But it is the one great thing for which most of them are striving, and
many of them sacrifice honor, integrity, and justice to obtain it.”

Introductory note by Peter Kershaw:
Crockett served four terms in the U.S. Congress from 1827-1835. In 1835
he joined the Whig Party and ran a failed attempt for the Presidency.
Immediately thereafter he departed his native Tennessee for Texas to
secure the independence of the “Texicans.” He lost his life at the
battle of the Alamo and forever secured his legendary status in history
as “king of the wild frontier.” The following story was recounted to
Edward Elis by an unnamed Congressman who had served with Colonel
Crockett in the U.S. House of Representatives.

was then the lion of Washington. I was a great admirer of his
character, and, having several friends who were intimate with him, I
found no difficulty in making his acquaintance. I was fascinated with
him, and he seemed to take a fancy to me. I was one day in the lobby of
the House of Representatives when a bill was taken up appropriating
money for the benefit of a widow of a distinguished naval officer. It
seemed to be that everybody favored it. The Speaker was just about to
put the question when Crockett arose. Everybody expected, of course,
that he was going to make a speech in support of the bill. He commenced:

“Mr. Speaker — I have as much respect for the memory of the
deceased, and as much sympathy for the sufferings of the living, if
suffering there be, as any man in this House; but we must not permit our
respect for the dead or our sympathy for a part of the living to lead
us into an act of injustice to the balance of the living. I will not go
into argument to prove that Congress has no power under the Constitution
to appropriate this money as an act of charity. Every member upon this
floor knows it. We have the right, as individuals, to give away as much
of our own money as we please in charity; but as members of Congress we
have no right so to appropriate a dollar of the public money. “Mr.
Speaker, I am the poorest man on this floor. I cannot vote for this
bill, but I will give one week’s pay to the object, and if every member
of Congress will do the same, it will amount to more than the bill
asks.” He took his seat. Nobody replied. The bill was put upon its
passage, and instead of passing unanimously, as was generally supposed,
and as no doubt it would, but for that speech, it received but a few
votes and was lost. Like many others, I desired the passage of the bill,
and felt outraged at its defeat. I determined that I would persuade my
friend Crockett to move for a reconsideration the next day.

Previous engagements preventing me from seeing Crockett that
night, I went early to his room the next morning and found him franking
letters, a large pile of which lay upon his table.

I broke in upon him rather abruptly, by asking him what the
devil had possessed him to make that speech and defeat that bill
yesterday. Without turning his head or looking up from his work, he
replied: “I will answer your question. But thereby hangs a tale, and one
of considerable length, to which you will have to listen.”

I listened, and this is the tale which I heard:

“Several years ago I was one evening standing on the steps of
the Capitol with some other members of Congress, when our attention was
attracted by a great light over in Georgetown. It was evidently a large
fire. We jumped into the hack and drove over as fast as we could. When
we got there, I went to work, and I never worked as hard in my life as I
did there for several hours. But, in spite of all that could be done,
many houses were burned and many families made houseless, and, besides,
some of them had lost all but the clothes they had on. The weather was
very cold, and when I saw so many women and children suffering, I felt
that something ought to be done for them, and everybody else seemed to
feel the same way. “The next morning a bill was introduced appropriating
$20,000 for their relief. We put aside all other business and rushed it
through as soon as it could be done. I said everybody felt as I did.
That was not quite so; for, though they perhaps sympathized as deeply
with the sufferers as I did, there were a few of the members who did not
think we had the right to indulge our sympathy or excite our charity at
the expense of anybody but ourselves. They opposed the bill, and upon
its passage demanded the yeas and nays. The yeas and nays were recorded,
and my name appeared on the journals in favor of the bill.

“The next summer, when it began to be time to think about
election, I concluded I would take a scout around among the boys of my
district. I had no opposition there, but, as the election was some time
off, I did not know what might turn up, and I thought it was best to let
the boys know that I had not forgot them, and that going to Congress
had not made me too proud to go to see them. “So I put a couple of
shirts and a few twists of tobacco into my saddlebags, and put out. I
had been out about a week and had found things going very smoothly,
when, riding one day in a part of my district in which I was more of a
stranger than any other, I saw a man in a field plowing and coming
toward the road. I gauged my gait so that we should meet as he came to
the fence. As he came up I spoke to the man. He replied politely, but,
as I thought, rather coldly, and was about turning his horse for another
furrow when I said to him: ‘Don’t be in such a hurry my friend; I want
to have a little talk with you, and get better acquainted.’ He replied:
“‘I am very busy, and have but little time to talk, but if it does not
take too long, I will listen to what you have to say.’ “I began: ‘Well,
friend, I am one of those fortunate beings called candidates, and . . .
.’ “‘ Yes, I know you; you are Colonel Crockett. I have seen you once
before, and voted for you the last time you were elected. I suppose you
are out electioneering now, but you had better not waste your time or
mine. I shall not vote for you again.’ “This was a sockdolager …. I
begged him to tell me what was the matter. “‘Well, Colonel, it is hardly
worthwhile to waste time or words upon it. I do not see how it can be
mended, but you gave a vote last winter which shows that either you have
not capacity to understand the Constitution, or that you are wanting
the honesty and firmness to be guided by it. In either case you are not
the man to represent me. But I beg your pardon for expressing it that
way. I did not intend to avail myself of the privilege of the
constituent to speak plainly to a candidate for the purpose of insulting
or wounding you. I intend by it only to say that your understanding of
the Constitution is very different from mine; and I will say to you
what, but for my rudeness, I should not have said, that I believe you to
be honest. … But an understanding of the Constitution different from
mine I cannot overlook, because the Constitution, to be worth anything,
must be held sacred, and rigidly observed in all its provisions. The man
who wields power and misinterprets it is the more dangerous the more
honest he is.’ “‘I admit the truth of all you say, but there must be
some mistake about it, for I do not remember that I gave any vote last
winter upon any constitutional question.’ “‘No, Colonel, there’s no
mistake. Though I live here in the backwoods and seldom go from home, I
take the papers from Washington and read very carefully all the
proceedings of Congress. My papers say that last winter you voted for a
bill to appropriate $20,000 to some sufferers by a fire in Georgetown.
Is that true?’ “‘Certainly it is, and I thought that was the last vote
which anybody in the world would have found fault with.’ “‘Well,
Colonel, where do you find in the Constitution any authority to give
away the public money in charity?’

“Here was another sockdolager; for, when I began to think about
it, I could not remember a thing in the Constitution that authorized it.
I found I must take another tack, so I said: “‘Well, my friend; I may
as well own up. You have got me there. But certainly nobody will
complain that a great and rich country like ours should give the
insignificant sum of $20,000 to relieve women and children, particularly
with a full and overflowing Treasury; and, I am sure, if you had been
there, you would have done just as I did.’ “‘It is not the amount,
Colonel, that I complain of; it is the principle. In the first place,
the government ought to have in the Treasury no more than enough for its
legitimate purposes. But that has nothing to do with the question. The
power of collecting and disbursing money at pleasure is the most
dangerous power that can be intrusted to man, particularly under our
system of collecting revenue by a tariff, which reaches every man in the
country, no matter how poor he may be, and the poorer he is the more he
pays in proportion to his means. What is worse, it presses upon him
without his knowledge where the weight centers, for there is not a man
in the United States who can ever guess how much he pays to the
government. So you see, that while you are contributing to relieve one,
you are drawing it from thousands who are even worse off than he. “‘If
you had the right to give anything, the amount was simply a matter of
discretion with you, and you had as much right to give $20,000,000 as
$20,000. If you have the right to give to one, you have the right to
give to all; and as the Constitution neither defines charity nor
stipulates the amount, you are at liberty to give to any and everything
which you believe, or profess to believe, is a charity, and to any
amount you may think proper. You will very easily perceive what a wide
door this would open for fraud and corruption and favoritism, on the one
hand, and for robbing the people on the other. “‘No, Colonel, Congress
has no right to give charity. Individual members may give as much of
their own money as they please, but they have no right to touch a dollar
of the public money for that purpose. There are about two hundred and
forty members of Congress. If they had shown their sympathy for the
sufferers by contributing each one week’s pay, it would have made over
$13,000. There are plenty of wealthy men in Washington, who could have
given $20,000 without depriving themselves of even a luxury of life. The
congressmen chose to keep their own money, which, if reports be true,
some of them spend not very creditably; and the people about Washington,
no doubt, applauded you for relieving them from the necessity of giving
what was not yours to give. The people have delegated to Congress, by
the Constitution, the power to do certain things. To do these, it is
authorized to collect and pay moneys, and for nothing else. Everything
beyond this is usurpation, and a violation of the Constitution.’

“I have given you,” continued Crockett, “an imperfect account of
what he said. Long before he was through, I was convinced that I had
done wrong. He wound up by saying: “‘So you see, Colonel, you have
violated the Constitution in what I consider a vital point. It is
precedent fraught with danger to the country, for when Congress once
begins to stretch its power beyond the limits of the Constitution, there
is no limit to it, and no security for the people. I have no doubt you
acted honestly, but that does not make it any better, except as far as
you are personally concerned, and you see that I cannot vote for you.’
“I tell you I felt streaked. I saw if I should have opposition, and this
man should go to talking, he would set others to talking, and in this
district I was a gone fawn-skin. I could not answer him, and the fact
is, I was so fully convinced that he was right, I did not want to. But I
must satisfy him, and I said to him: “‘Well, my friend, you hit the
nail upon the head when you said I had not sense enough to understand
the Constitution. I intended to be guided by it, and thought I had
studied it fully. I have heard many speeches in Congress, but what you
have said here at your plow has got more hard, sound sense in it than
all the fine speeches I have ever heard. If I had ever taken the view of
it that you have, I would have put my head into the fire before I would
have given that vote; and if you will forgive me and vote for me again,
if I ever vote for another unconstitutional law I wish I may be shot.’

“The farmer laughingly replied: ‘Yes, Colonel, you have sworn to
that once before, but I will trust you again upon one condition. You
say that you are convinced that your vote was wrong. Your acknowledgment
of it will do more good than defeating you for it. If, as you go around
the district, you will tell people about this vote, and that you are
satisfied it was wrong, I will not only vote for you, but will do what I
can to keep down opposition, and, perhaps, I may exert some little
influence in that way.’ “‘If I don’t,’ said I, ‘I wish I may be shot;
and to convince you that I am in earnest in what I say I will come back
this way in a week or ten days, and if you will get a gathering of the
people, I will make a speech to them. Get up a barbecue, and I will pay
for it.’ “‘No, Colonel, we are not rich people in this section, but we
have plenty of provisions to contribute for a barbecue, and some to
spare for those who have none. The push of crops will be over in a few
days, and we can then afford a day for a barbecue. This is Thursday; I
will see to getting it up on Saturday seek. Come to my house on Friday,
and we will go together, and I promise you a very respectable crowd to
see and hear you.’ “‘Well, I will be here. But one thing more before I
say good-bye. I must know your name.’ “‘My name is Bunce.’ “‘Not Horatio
Bunce?’ “‘Yes.’ “‘Well, Mr. Bunce, I never saw you before, though you
say you have seen me, but I know you very well. I am glad I have met
you, and very proud that I may hope to have you for my friend. You must
let me shake your hand before I go.’ “We shook hands and parted that day
in gentlemanly friendship and amity.

“It was one of the luckiest hits of my life that I met that man.
He mingled but little with the public, but was widely known for his
remarkable intelligence, incorruptible integrity, and, for a heart
brimful and running over with kindness and benevolence, which showed
themselves not only in words but in acts. He was the oracle of the whole
country around him, and his fame extended far beyond the circle of his
immediate acquaintance. Though I had never met him before, I had heard
much of him, and but for this meeting it is very likely I should have
had opposition, and had been beaten. One thing is very certain, no man
could now stand up in that district under such a vote. “At the appointed
time I was at his house, having told our conversation to every crowd I
had met, and to every man I stayed all night with. In fact I found that
it gave the people an interest and a confidence in me stronger than I
had ever seen manifest before. “Though I was considerably fatigued when I
reached the home of Mr. Bunce, and under ordinary circumstances should
have gone early to bed, I kept him up until midnight, talking about the
principles and affairs of government, and got more real, true knowledge
of them than I had got all my life before. “I have told you Mr. Bunce
converted me politically. He came nearer converting me religiously than I
had ever been before. He did not make a very good Christian of me, as
you know; but he has wrought upon my feelings a reverence for its
purifying and elevating power such as I had never felt before. “I have
known and seen much of him since, for I respect him — no, that is not
the word — I reverence and love him more than any living man, and I go
to see him two or three times every year; and I will you sir, if every
one who professes to be a Christian lived and acted and enjoyed it as he
does, the religion of Christ would take the world by storm.

“But to return to my story. The next morning we went to the
barbecue, and, to my surprise, found about a thousand me there. I met a
good many whom I had not known before, and they and my friend introduced
me around until I had got pretty well acquainted — at least, they all
knew me. “In due time notice was given that I would speak to them. They
gathered up around a stand that had been erected. I opened my speech by
saying: “‘Fellow-citizens — I present myself before you today feeling
like a new man. My eyes have lately been opened to truths which
ignorance or prejudice, or both, had heretofore hidden from my view. I
feel that I can today offer you the ability to render you more valuable
service than I have ever been able to render before. I am here today
more for the purpose of acknowledging my error than to seek your votes.
That I should make this acknowledgment is due to myself as well as to
you. Whether you will vote for me is a matter for your consideration
only.’ “I went on to tell them about the fire and my vote for the
appropriation as I have told it to you, and then told them why I was
satisfied it was wrong. I closed by saying: “‘And now, fellow-citizens,
it remains only for me to tell you that most of the speech you have
listened to with so much interest was simply a repetition of the
arguments by which your neighbor, Mr. Bunce, convinced me of my error.
“‘It is the best speech I ever made in my life, but my friend Horatio
Bunce is entitled to the credit of it. And now I hope he is satisfied
with his convert and that he will get up here and tell you so.’ “He came
upon the stand and said: “‘Fellow-citizens — It affords me great
pleasure to comply with the request of Colonel Crockett. I have always
considered him a thoroughly honest man, and I am satisfied that he will
faithfully perform all that he has promised you today.’ “He went down,
and there went up from the crowd such a shout for Davy Crockett as his
name never called forth before. “I am not much given to tears, but I was
taken with a choking then and felt some big drops rolling down my
cheeks. And I tell you now that the remembrance of those few words
spoken by such a man, and the honest, hearty shout they produced, is
worth more to me than all the honors I have received and all the
reputation I have ever made, or ever shall make, as a member of

“Now, sir,’ concluded Crockett, “you know why I made that speech
yesterday. I have had several thousand copies of it printed, and was
directing them to my constituents when you came in. “There is one thing
now to which I will call your attention. You remember that I proposed to
give a weeks pay. There are in that House many very wealthy men — men
who think nothing of spending a week’s pay, or a dozen of them, for a
dinner or a wine party when they have something to accomplish by it.
Some of those same men made beautiful speeches upon the debt of
gratitude which the country owed the deceased — a debt which could not
be paid by money — and the insignificance and worthlessness of money,
particularly so insignificant a sum as $10,000, when weighed against the
honor of the nation. “Yet not one of those Congressmen responded to my
proposition. Money with them is nothing but trash when it is to come out
of the people. But it is the one great thing for which most of them are
striving, and many of them sacrifice honor, integrity, and justice to
obtain it.”