Religiously, I found that these people, almost without exception, were
"professors," and "had jined" not a Christian church, but some one of
these native mountain pastors. The accompanying illustration gives a
good idea of the mountain church; it is built of logs, and is without
windows; the pulpit is an unpainted board; the seats slabs from the
nearest saw mill, turned flat side up, with pegs driven in for legs.
The ministry is in strict keeping with the church, and intellectually
little in advance of the people. They take pride in the fact that
"These yer home-spun jeans have never brushed no dust from off no
college walls," and exultantly declare that "The Lord taught me how to
preach: and when the Lord teaches a man how to preach, you may just
reckon he don't make no mistakes."

[Illustration: A NATIVE MOUNTAIN CHURCH.]

On every hand, I found indications that the day of isolation for this
people is rapidly passing away. Yankee inquisitiveness has discovered
that these mountains are full of the best coal and iron--Northern
capital has already begun to strip them of their rich forests of black
walnut, oak and pine. The rivers are carrying these logs by the
thousands to the immense mills, which in turn are making the large
towns, toward which already the railroad is hastening.

Engineering skill is bridging streams, crossing valleys, climbing
mountains or piercing them through. On every hand we see the change.
From their long sleep of a century, these valleys, these homes, this
whole people are awakening. A new life is beginning, a new future,
opening.

And as a result of all this, I found a field of missionary work, which