ng, storming, and exhorting at a camp-meeting. He told us all how
he had become so sanctified by the Lord, that small-pox could not touch
him, though he went into the midst of it and nursed people down with the
deadly disease, right straight through.

In fact, he seemed to think sanctification a certain preventative
against small-pox, only I suppose you must be sure to get the genuine
thing, just as he had got it.

Then another little fellow got up and told us that he had been an awful
bad boy in his early days, and learned to chew tobacco and drink
cider-brandy when he wasn't more than knee-high to a grasshopper. That
the cider-brandy and tobacco had stuck in and defiled him through and
through, till nothing but saving grace could have washed him clean and
made his soul white as a lamb, which it then was, Glory hallelujah.

All the congregation chimed in here and struck up a solemn chorus of
Glory, Glory, Glory, Glory, which ended in a rejoicing "Amen," when the
young man informed us that religion had reformed all his depraved
tastes, and now he both hated and despised cider-brandy, tobacco, and
all the abominations he had formerly hankered after.

Before the young man sat down, another was on his feet, brimming over
with sympathy.

"I too," says he, "have got an experience which urges me to bear
testimony that what our precious brother says is true. I know it. I feel
it in my own soul, for I, too, have met with regeneration, whereby all
things with me have become new. Why, brethren, before I got religion I
couldn't bear the sight of tomatoes, cooked or raw. They were an
abomination to my unconverted mind; but now that I have got religion,
there isn't a wigitable that grows, which I set store by as I do
tomatoeses. So I can testify that old things pass away, and everything
becomes new."

After bearing this testimony, the man wiped his mouth with one hand, and
sat down, his head meekly bowed.

"Cousin," says I to E. E., "as camp-meetings do not belong to our
special persuasion, and as I do not feel the regenerating spirit grow
strong in my bosom just at present, supposing you and I go back to the
tent? Don't you see it is getting to be after dark now, and we have had
an awfully warm day in all respects."

Cousin E. E. arose, looking heavy-eyed and worn out.

"Yes, Phoemie," says she, "I have gone through a good deal, and feel
the nothingness of everything but religion. Oh, cousin, if one could
always feel as