“Ye ’low ye air comin up inter a new land!” cried out one of the brethren suddenly, expressing, perhaps, the thought of many of the congregation. The exhorting voice had a strange staccato effect in the midst of the chanting, which diminished gradually and quavered into silence,—“inter a new lan’, whar godliness finds a smooth path an’ needs no staff fur its steppin’ out strong, an’ the way is plain, an’ the end in view! Oh, my frien’s, this ain’t Canaan, an’ nuthin’ like it; jes’ old Kildeer County, whar the devil loves ter roam an’ rage. An’ now’s yer chance to show yer heart air changed! Ye’ll find yer besettin’ sins like tares in the groun’, an’ Satan a-waitin’ in the briers ter tempt yer steps. The day is dark, an’ the way—ah!—is long—ah!—an’ no man kin see whar it leads—ah! Oh, be not a castaway!” His voice rose into song and the docile chorus followed:— “Oh, be not a castaway, Ye whom Jesus loves.” A heavily built man of forty was one of the exceptions to the prevalent youthfulness of the candidates. He went down in a hesitant and circumspect manner, and he entered the cold water so slowly as to suggest reluctance. “He ain’t used ter that thar kind o’ liquor,” one of the unregenerate horsemen observed, in a low tone. He had crossed his right leg over on the pommel of his saddle, and he leaned his elbow on his knee, and rested his chin in his hand as he talked, looking between his horse’s intent ears. “An’ he ain’t got no real interus’ in the lan’ a-flowin’ with milk an’ honey. He’d git mighty happy, now, though, ef somebody ez knowed could make him b’lieve they hed a quiet leetle still hid up in one e-end o’ Canaan.” “What ailed him ter git religion, ennyhow?” demanded the other, whose horse was restive, bowing down his head and tossing his mane, and from time to time lifting his fore-foot and pawing impatiently. “His wife died, an’ that reminded him he war mortial hisse’f. His religion’ll las’ him jes’ ’bout ez long ez he ’members his wife.” “An’ that’ll be till he kin git him another one—ez ain’t dead,” rejoined his co-cynic. The candidate assumed a port of religious joy, as he rose with a commotion of the water that reached in concentric circles from bank to bank. A yellow flicker glanced along the dark ripples, for the sharp blades of the lightnings cleft the clouds. The wooded slopes, the crags, the level reaches of the valley, were lifted, with all their tints distinct in this unnatural, dream-like light for a moment, then sank into the dull purple monotony of the overhanging cloud. His bearded face and wild eyes were illumined for the instant, as he came struggling to the shore, hoarsely shouting that he had viewed heaven and was risen from the dead, while the faint, sullen thunder muttered among the mountain-tops.