great highways, much of antagonism between
the various religious denominations. At times much of the sermons
of the rural preachers consisted of denunciations of other churches.
By a perusal of the autobiography of the Rev. Peter Cartwright, it
will be seen that western North Carolina was only in line with
other portions of the great moral vineyard. The doctrines peculiar
to the particular denomination were preached generally with
great earnestness and power. "Blest be the tie that binds our
hearts in Christian love," was too seldom heard in the rural
congregations. In too many, indeed, Christian charity, even in
a modified form, was an unknown quantity.

Under the conditions mentioned, to say that seekers of public place
obeyed the Apostolic injunction to be "all things to all men" is
only to say that they were--_candidates._

It so fell out that our candidate for Congress at the time mentioned
was quietly threading his way on horseback to meet his appointment.
Far out from the county seat, in a wild and sparsely populated
locality, at a sudden turn in the road he found himself in the
immediate presence of a worshipping congregation in God's first
temple. It was what is known in mountain parlance as a "protracted
meeting." The hour was noon, and the little flock had just been
called from labor to refreshment. The cloth was spread in the
shade of a large tree, and liberally supplied with ham, fried
chicken, salt-rising bread, corn dodgers, cucumber pickles, and
other wholesome edibles. When Vance appeared upon the scene,
the leader of the little flock at once greeted him with cordial
invitation to "light and take a bite with us." The candidate
accepted the invitation, and fastening his horse to a convenient
tree, approached the assembled worshippers, introducing himself as
"Zeb Vance, Whig candidate for Congress." The thought uppermost
in his soul as he shook hands all around and accepted the proffered
hospitality was, "What denomination is this? Methodist? Baptist?
_What?"_ As soon as this inquiry could be satisfactorily answered,
he was, of course, ready to join; his "letter" was ready to be
handed in. But as he quickly scanned the faces about him, he could
get no gleam of light upon the all-important question. Suddenly
his meditations were ended, the abstract giving way to the concrete,
by the aforementioned leader abruptly inquiring, "Mr. Vance,
what persuasion are you of?"

The hour had struck.