Froin Macón, Ga., a correspondent senda a picture of a late camp-meeting near that place : " It is night, and, I der au extensive leaf arbor, a swaying mass of black forms oscillate to every passing emotion, while torches of pine tlirow a yellow glare around and under the canopy, and cast long shadows on the ground outside the covering. In front of a rough stand used as a pulpit is a small inclosure, thickly strewn with leaves and pine straw, and in this inclosure the f avored few lie in trances or sbout prophecies, and teil what wonders the Lord has done for their souls. Around this inclosuro a multitude of men and women form the 'holy dance.' In this the men turn their iaces outward and the women toward the center of the circle, and, taking hands, each steps in time to the hymn t ïat all are singing. Their singing is wild and weird, and yet there is a charm in the song of the negro, who, untaught, sings in strict time and with full, round tones that seem to well up from the heart. It is like the mournful whoop of our ' whippoor-will.' Your correspondent bas leen a negro woman carried from the iioly dance ín sucb a 'trance,' as they cali it, that her body was perfectiy rigid, not bending in the least, although one man carried her head and the other her feet, and she lay in this condition several hourr. While these poor, deluded creatures were wallowing in the straw before the pulpit at this campmeeting, one old woman, very fantastically dressed, with a queer bonnet covered with plumes of various colors, broté from the altar in a holy frenzy, and ran shouting from nader the shelter. Just outside the arbor she climbed to the top of a tal], burnt pihe tump about flve feet high, and there she titood, and, flapping her arms much as a fowl would its wings, she cried out : ' Hallclujah ! Haliélujah ! Glory to God ! Glory ! Glory ! If I just had two wings and a few more feathers on my head I'd fly away to glory 1' "