the preachers, and attended all the "camp-meetings" in the country.

The psalmodies were performed in the true Yankee style of nasal-melody,
and at proper and seasonable intervals the preachings were delivered. The
preachers managed their tones and discourses admirably, and certainly
displayed a good deal of tact in their calling. They use the most
extravagant gestures--astounding bellowings--a canting hypocritical
whine--slow and solemn, although by no means _musical_ intonations, and
the _et ceteras_ that complete the qualifications of a regular
camp-meeting methodist parson. During the exhortations the brothers and
sisters were calling out--Bless God! glory! glory! amen! God grant! Jesus!
&c.

At the adjournment for dinner, a knowing-looking gentleman was appointed
to deliver an admonition. I admired this person much for the ingenuity he
displayed in introducing the subject of collection, and the religious
obligation of each and every individual to contribute largely to the
support of the preacher and his brothers of the vineyard. He set forth the
respectability of the county, as evinced by former contributions, and
thence inferred, most logically, that the continuance of that respectable
character depended on the amount of that day's collection. A conversation
took place behind me, during this part of the preacher's exhortation,
between three young farmers, which, as being characteristic, I shall
repeat.

"The old man is wide awake, I guess."

"I reckon he knows a thing or two."

"I calculate he's been on board a flat afore now."

"Yes, I guess a Yankee 'd find it damned hard to sell him _hickory_
nutmegs."

"It'd take a pretty smart man to poke it on to a parson any how."

"I guess'd it'd come to dollars and cents in the end."

After sunset the place was lighted up by beacon fires and candles, and the
scene seemed to be changing to one of more deep and awful interest. About
nine o'clock the preachers began to rally their forces--the candles were
snuffed--fuel was added to the fires--clean straw was shook in the
"penitents' pen"--and every movement "gave dreadful note of preparation."
At length the hour was sounded, and the faithful forthwith assembled. A
chosen leader commenced to harangue--he bellowed--he roared--he whined--he
shouted until he became actually hoarse, and the perspiration rolled down
his face. Now, the faithful seemed to take the infection, and as if
overcome by their excited feelings, f