ve often regretted it since,
and if the opportunity of doing so again were presented I should
hesitate a long time before embracing it. But I was young then, and
cherished a species of humor which I have since abjured. Still, when I
remember the character of the people who were burlesquing and bringing
into disrepute the letter and spirit of our holy religion I feel a
certain satisfaction in having contributed one feeble effort toward
making them ridiculous. In consideration of the little good I may have
done in that way, I beg the reader to judge my conceded error as
leniently as possible. This is the story.

Some years ago the town of Harding, in Illinois, experienced "a revival
of religion," as the people called it. It would have been more accurate
and less profane to term it a revival of Rampageanism, for the craze
originated in, and was disseminated by, the sect which I will call the
Rampagean communion; and most of the leaping and howling was done in
that interest. Amongst those who yielded to the influence was my friend
Thomas Dobsho. Tom had been a pretty bad sinner in a small way, but he
went into this new thing heart and soul. At one of the meetings he made
a public confession of more sins than he ever was, or ever could have
been guilty of; stopping just short of statutory crimes, and even
hinting, significantly, that he could tell a good deal more if he were
pressed. He wanted to join the absurd communion the very evening of his
conversion. He wanted to join two or three communions. In fact, he was
so carried away with his zeal that some of the brethren gave me a hint
to take him home; he and I occupied adjoining apartments in the Elephant
Hotel.

Tom's fervor, as it happened, came near defeating its own purpose;
instead of taking him at once into the fold without reference or
"character," which was their usual way, the brethren remembered against
him his awful confessions and put him on probation. But after a few
weeks, during which he conducted himself like a decent lunatic, it was
decided to baptise him along with a dozen other pretty hard cases who
had been converted more recently. This sacrilegious ceremony I persuaded
myself it was my duty to prevent, though I think now I erred as to the
means adopted. It was to take place on a Sunday, and on the preceding
Saturday I called on the head revivalist, the Rev. Mr. Swin, and craved
an interview.

"I come," said I, with simulated reluctance and embarrassm