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, flung themselves headlong on the straw into the penitents’ pen—­the old dames leading the way.  The preachers, to the number of a dozen, gave a loud shout and rushed into the thick of the penitents.  A scene now ensued that beggars all description.  About twenty women, young and old, were lying in every direction and position, with caps and without caps, screeching, bawling, and kicking in hysterics, and profaning the name of Jesus.  The preachers, on their knees amongst them, were with Stentorian voices exhorting them to