A good story is told on the later Senator Vance.  He was traveling down in North Carolina, when he met an old darky one Sunday morning.  He had known the old man for many years, so he took the liberty of inquiring where he was going.

“I am, sah, pedestrianin’ my appointed way to de tabernacle of de Lord.”

“Are you an Episcopalian?” inquired Vance.

“No, sah, I can’t say dat I am an Epispokapillian.”

“Maybe you are a Baptist?”

“No, sah, I can’t say dat I’s ever been buried wid de Lord in de waters of baptism.”

“Oh, I see you are a Methodist.”

“No, sah, I can’t say dat I’s one of dose who hold to argyments of de faith of de Medodists.”

“What are you, then, uncle?”

“I’s a Presbyterian, Marse Zeb, just de same as you is.”

“Oh nonsense, uncle, you don’t mean to say that you subscribe to all the articles of the Presbyterian faith?”

“’Deed I do sah.”

“Do you believe in the doctrine of election to be saved?”

“Yas, sah, I b’lieve in the doctrine of ’lection most firmly and un’quivactin’ly.”

“Well then tell me do you believe that I am elected to be saved?”

The old darky hesitated.  There was undoubtedly a terrific struggle going on in his mind between his veracity and his desire to be polite to the Senator.  Finally he compromised by saying: 

“Well, I’ll tell you how it is, Marse Zeb.  You see I’s never heard of anybody bein’ ’lected to anything for what they wasn’t a candidate.  Has you, sah?”

A political office in a small town was vacant.  The office paid $250 a year and there was keen competition for it.  One of the candidates, Ezekiel Hicks, was a shrewd old fellow, and a neat campaign fund was turned over to him.  To the astonishment of all, however, he was defeated.

“I can’t account for it,” said one of the leaders of Hicks’ party, gloomily.

“With that money we should have won.  How did you lay it out, Ezekiel.”

“Well,” said Ezekiel, slowly pulling his whiskers, “yer see that office only pays $250 a year salary, an’ I didn’t see no sense in paying $900 out to get the office, so I bought a little truck farm instead.”

The little daughter of a Democratic candidate for a local office in Saratoga County, New York, when told that her father had got the nomination, cried out, “Oh, mama, do they ever die of it?”

“I am willing,” said the candidate, after he had hit the table a terrible blow with his fist, “to trust the people.”

“Gee!” yelled a little man in the audience.  “I wish you’d open a grocery.”

“Now, Mr. Blank,” said a temperance advocate to a candidate for municipal honors, “I want to ask you a question.  Do you ever take alcoholic drinks?”

“Before I answer the question,” responded the wary candidate,

“I want to know whether it is put as an inquiry or as an invitation!”