[Correspondence of the Herald.]

BOSTON, Oct. 11, 1842.

  DEAR BENNETT:—

  Presuming that your myriads of readers in the New England and middle States, would gladly peruse any thing purporting to be a correct description of the Second Advent Camp Meeting, now holding at Salem, I hereby transmit a brief sketch of the proceedings, as witnessed to-day, having just returned from the encampment.

  Taking the 12 o'clock train of the Eastern Railway, you are hurried rapidly through the flourishing towns of East Boston and Lynn, and, in a brief space of time, the city of Salem bursts upon your vision. On the way, we took in several hundred passengers at Lynn, all bound for the same destination, and among them one could not help observing the roseate appearance of the young ladies; who, here as elsewhere, take an especial interest in the Second Advent of our Lord. Several "colored ladies and gentlemen" kindly accompanied us on our excursion so that we had all shades of character on board, and not a few rich incidents occurred.

  Arrived at Salem, a general rush was made for the coaches, cabs, omnibuses, go-carts, ox-teams, and hand carts, which were soon chartered, and whirled us off, in the twinkling of an eye, at the rate of a shilling a-head, to the scene of action. I happened to secure a place on top of the "Danver and Salem Coach," and seated by my side, was a blooming "colored young lady," who from the side glances that she darted at me from her bewitching eyes, evidently entertained a sort of platonic affection for me, which I neither discountenanced or encouraged. However, the clouds of dust soon closed up her peepers, and I looked nearly as dingy as my fair inamarato, when we alighted from the coach.

  On the road, we had a fine opportunity of beholding the rich scenery of old Massachusetts, and as we passed the crispin town of Lynn, the thoughts of witchcraft would enter our mind, and we could almost fancy we saw old "Moll Pitcher" perched aloft on some crag, performing her incantations.

  As our procession of coaches and carryalls, and go-carts neared the camp field, which is situated on a beautiful slope fronting the river, about two and a half miles from Salem, the crowd of pedestrians, darkies, loafers and divines, which we encountered, announced to us that our journey was at an end. Kindly assisting Miss Arabella Wilhelmina Fitz Eustace to alight, (such was the name of my fair colored companion du voyage,) we instantly repaired to the sacred grove, which being a natural amphitheatre, was admirably adapted for a camp meeting. Here was a rich scene to behold, requiring a graphic pen to describe, and worthy the pencil of an artist. The scenery was of the most romantic kind, the bright sun looking down upon a group of some three or four thousand souls, collected together to prepare for the Lord's Second Advent. Here were ranged tents from Marblehead, Salem, Portland, Danvers, Boston, Portsmouth and Lynn, and by their side, book-stalls and refreshment saloons, where they could strengthen their inward man by draughts of coffee and tea, 'ardents' being absolutely prohibited. This latter injunction was, however, evaded by the 'rummies,' for we noticed a boat moored off in the stream, where the 'critter' could be obtained for nothing, you paying sixpence for the sail. This 'ark of iniquity,' as the preacher termed it, afforded a fruitful topic for prayerful supplication in the tents, and many aspirations were offered up in its behalf.

  As we sauntered along the circular line of tents, we stopped now and then to hear the outpourings of the spirit as they were manifested from the lips of the inspired brethren. We entered the Portsmouth tent, and listened to a female of about forty, with hands uplifted and the most impassioned voice, who was exhorting her sisters and brothers to prepare for the awful coming of the Lord, which is to take place the 23d of April, the next year. She commenced, My dear brothers and sisters, I feel it in me to bless God for having raised me up to show unto you his hidden mysteries. My soul now longs to go where I shall fully know the glories of my Savior, and although I feel that we have but little time to prepare in, yet, bless God, I feel strengthened from above to devote my remaining days to my blessed Savior—(Cries of Amen! Glory to God!) Oh! let us be prepared for the judgment day approaching! (Amen!) Let us, poor Sinners, come to Jesus, and praise him above—And when we see the flames ascending, and the judgment day coming, may we bow down and acknowledge him to be the Lord of Lords and King of Kings! (Cries of Allejah! Bless God! Glory!)

  After the morning services had finished, and dinner was over, we repaired to the great tent, capable of holding three or four thousand persons, where we had an opportunity of hearing the chief men hold forth. Rev. Mr. Fitch and Elder Himes appeared to be the principal speakers, and previously to commencing, the congregation sang the following hymn:—

THE JUDGMENT DAY.

CHORUS.

  After the hymn was sung by a chorus of about six hundred beautiful girls, we secured a seat between a handsome brunette and a whopping darkey, so that it could be literally said, that light and shade were beautifully commingled. Not to detain you with a detailed report of the sermon, we will only say, that the Rev. Mr. Fitch, in a discourse of two hours endeavored to impress upon his congregation the awful truth that in the fourth month of the coming year, the destruction of the world is to come, and that all high and low sinners, from the State street financiers and Phoenix bank directors, and Wall street brokers, down to the lowest denizens of the Five Points and the Hook, are to be swallowed up in one awful convulsion of nature, and that not even the Rev. David Hale, nor the hero of a thousand fights, the valiant Col. Webb, will be allowed to dip the ends of their fingers in a little cold water, considering what extra sinners they have been. The Rev. Mr. Himes then followed in an exhortatory discourse of only three hours duration, at the conclusion of which, as it was getting dark, and several females were beginning to faint, we thought it advisable to be wending our way homewards, much regretting being unable to attend the evening services, which, I learned, were much better attended by the young ladies and gentlemen, as the spirit moves commonly in the grey twilight and dark eve.

  As we promenaded around the encampment on our way to our vehicle, we could not help noticing the number of beautiful young ladies from Salem, Portsmouth and Boston, which the novelty of the scene had attracted. A voluptuous lady of Salem and her betrothed, were listening to a hymn in the grove, and others were on the outskirts of the great tent, listening anon to the sermon, and talking soft nonsense into each other's ears. Major Ben Russel, of Boston, the quondam editor of the Centinel, and the oldest editor in New England, and a large representation of the literary, political and loaferish elite of Boston and its vicinity were present.

  After singing the following hymn, the meeting adjourned:—

FRANK.