Though utterly abortive were all the attempts of the enemies of Mr. Clay, to injure him in the estimation of the unprejudiced and the good, still, they managed to make political capital out of the charges of bargain and corruption. Notwithstanding this final appeal to the people, embraced, substantially, the numerous evidences of their falsehood, evidences that had been repeated again and again, still, there were found thousands who believed these charges, and many servile partisan presses to circulate them, and carefully suppress the proofs of their untruth. These labored unremittingly, to make the community believe, that general Jackson was absolutely cheated out of his election by Mr. Clay, and multitudes settled down on this belief, and clung to it with an obstinacy, that would not have been moved, had he _sealed his protestation of their falsehood with his blood_. This belief was so congenial to the feelings of many, as to cause them to turn a deaf ear to any statement calculated to weaken it. A specimen of this class of individuals fell under the personal observation of Mr. Clay, while, in 1828, he was travelling in Virginia, accompanied by some friends. ‘We halted,’ said he, ‘at night, at a tavern kept by an aged gentleman, who, after supper, sat down by me, and, without hearing my name, but understanding that I was from Kentucky, remarked, that he had four sons in that state, and that he was very sorry they were divided in politics, two being for Adams, and two for Jackson. He wished they were all for Jackson. Why? I asked him. Because, he said, that fellow _Clay, and Adams, had cheated Jackson out of the presidency_. Have you ever seen any evidence, my old friend, said I, of that? No, he replied, _none, and he wanted to see none_. But, I observed, looking him directly and steadily in the face, suppose Mr. Clay were to come here and assure you, upon his honor, that it was all a vile calumny, and not a word of truth in it, would you believe him? No, replied the old man, promptly and emphatically. I said to him, in conclusion, will you be good enough to show me to bed, and bade him good night. The next morning, having in the interval learnt my name, he came to me full of apologies, but I at once put him at his ease, by assuring him that I did not feel, in the slightest degree, hurt or offended with him.’