We heard much fine chanting by the choir, and an admirable sermon, preached by a venerable prebend, on "Tares and Wheat." The congregation was numerous and attentive.

After service we returned to our inn, and at two o'clock dined.

During dinner our conversation ran almost entirely on the sermon, which we all agreed was one of the best sermons we had ever heard, and most singularly adapted to country people like ourselves, being on "Wheat and Tares." When dinner was over my wife and daughter repaired to the neighbouring church, and I went in quest of the camp-meeting, having a mighty desire to know what kind of a thing Methodism at Chester was.
I found about two thousand people gathered together in a field near the railroad station; a waggon stood under some green elms at one end of the field, in which were ten or a dozen men with the look of Methodist preachers; one of these was holding forth to the multitude when I arrived, but he presently sat down, I having, as I suppose, only come in time to hear the fag-end of his sermon.

Another succeeded him, who, after speaking for about half an hour, was succeeded by another.

All the discourses were vulgar and fanatical, and in some instances unintelligible at least to my ears.