NEWARK, Saturday, Nov. 12.

  To-morrow is the last day that Miller and his men will hold forth in this city; so let all in New York, who want to hear and see them, come out to-day, or if his doctrines be true, they will never have another opportunity. The heavy rain of to-day has caused them to hire the large iron foundry on the hill, which was built in the times of speculation; so that those who come over to-morrow can all be accommodated under cover, in case it should rain. There are seats provided for 5000 people, and the crowds of country girls and bumpkins will be immense, as well as the influx from New York.

  The portrait of Mr. Miller, in yesterday's Herald, was a most admirable likeness, and was so spoken of here by all who have seen the old gentleman. And even Miller himself, and Himes, and the other preachers, pronounced it a good likeness. And now that we are upon the subject of the old gentleman's person, let me give you a brief account of it, and his past and present condition, history and views:—Mr. William Miller was born at Pittsfield, Massachusetts, in 1781, consequently he is now 61 years of age. He spent the early part of his life as a farmer. Thirty years ago he entered the United States army, and was then a wild character, and a Deist; but even then, he said in one of his sermons, it was always a matter of astonishment to him that the Almighty had not made a revelation of some kind to the people of this earth. During the last war he was a captain in the United States army, and took part in one or two battles on the frontier. After the peace, he settled down at Low Hampton, in the State of New York, about eight miles from Whitehall, where he bought a farm which he owns to this day, but which is managed by his wife and sons, he having taken no part in his worldly affairs for the last eleven or twelve years, during which time he has been preaching his peculiar doctrines, although they have only attracted particular attention as the time draws nigh, 1843. After he left the army he filled the office of Sheriff in the county in which he lived; and was called irrespectively Captain Miller, 'Squire Miller, Sheriff Miller. About thirty years ago, he set about searching the Scriptures with a view to refute them, and this gave him his extensive knowledge of the prophesies. In 1816 he was converted, and ever since then became a close student of the prophesies and of history. In 1822, he says he became fully convinced that the world would come to an end in 1842; and about six or seven years afterwards he began to preach and write about it, and continued to do so till this day; he has written a great number of works on his peculiar views, which are sold by one of the preachers named Himes at the depot, 14 Devonshire street, Boston. I believe they are about to set up a depot in New York, with a view to prepare and cleanse that "sink of iniquity," as they call it.

  Such is a brief sketch of the life of Father Miller, as Dr. Brownlee calls him; although Miller says that he shall be ashamed to own Dr. Brownlee for a son, unless he makes use of better arguments than he used the other night. I believe that Mr. Miller will reply to Dr. Brownlee here to-morrow. With regard to the various stories that have been circulated about Miller, it is but fair to give his own statements made in the course of one of his sermons to-day, in relation to these points. He said:—"My friends, I wish to say a few words in respect to the many stories that have been circulated about Father Miller. People say, oh "Father Miller is only an old humbug, who is going about to make money, and get all he can; he don't believe a word of his own doctrine; for he won't sell his farm." My friends, it is true that Judge Northrup offered me $2000 for my farm, and he wouldn't take possession of it till the end of 1843. Well, I told him that if he could show me that that warn't gambling, he should have the farm; but I'm not a wicked man now, as I once was, that I will allow myself to gamble in that way. If I meant to gamble, I'd rather sit down and do it with a pack of cards at once. Why, I won't do it if he was to offer me $4000 for the farm; and if I was to sell it, I should sell it for less than that. Well, then, they say, "Oh, but Mr. Miller, you're building a stone wall on your farm." Why, my friends, those who know me, know that I've had nothing to do with my farm or with worldly concerns for more than eleven years. My boys at home know well that they never dare ask father anything about the business at all. All I do is clothe myself, and live decent, and pay my way. And no man shall be able to say that I wronged him of a single cent. And I never took up a contribution in my life. Then, again, I've been dead a good many times; and I've been killed a great many different ways. And then they say, "Oh, but you've altered the time of Christ's coming—you've postponed the end of the world from April to the 4th of July." Why, my friends, all these are lies. I never fixed any particular time in 1843. All I have said about days was that the 70 weeks or 490 years were fulfilled to a single day. Ezra went out with the decree to build the walls of Jerusalem, on the 12th day of the 1st week. The 1st month began at the vernal equinox, the 21st of March. The 12th day of that month would be the 1st of April. Christ was crucified two days before the passover; the passover was on the 14th day of the month; consequently he was crucified on the 12th of the 1st month, so that here the 490 years were fulfilled to a day. And now, sinners, what say you to the second coming of Christ next year? You reply to me perhaps, "You know nothing about it, Mr. Miller." Well, do you believe the old world was deluged? "Yes." Why do you believe it? "Because philosophers and science tell us there are a great many signs remaining of the flood, and we can believe them." Well, are there no signs of the approach of the day of Judgment?—What say the Prophets and the Apostles and Christ? Are they not equal to your philosophers? If you don't believe me, examine your Bibles and see; weigh all the evidence well.—Your everlasting happiness in Heaven or misery in Hell, depends on your decision. But perhaps you'll say, "Mr. Miller you were very foolish to fix on 1843 for the end of the world, because that is close at hand, and it will not come, and then you'll feel ashamed." Oh, my friends, I feel certain that it will come next year. This has been my comfort for 20 years. And where will you be if it does come? How can you dare to say it will not come? You who have made no pretensions to studying the Bibles or comparing the prophecies with history?—And if it does come, where will you be? No time then to repent, poor sinner. No! No! Too late! Too late! The harvest over and past—the summer gone,—the bridegroom come—the gate shut and your soul not saved—but you left to flame and torments with the wicked in hell where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth. Oh, get ready. I can't deceive you long, if it is a deceit—I'm not a fanatic—I'm too cold for that. Next year will soon be here. If I had wanted to deceive you, I should have put off longer; but up, it will surely come. I'm slow to believe. Then soul, get ready. ("Amen.") O, Sinner get ready. ("Amen.") Lord give me one of these souls in Newark. [Cries "Amen, do Lord."] Lord which one shall I have?["Glory to God."] Give me another minister to-day snatched from hell.—[Cries of "Do Lord," "Amen," "Glory."] Sinners, seek God and his salvation while it is called to-day! ["Amen," "Glory to God," Hallelujah!" "Amen!"] Such are Father Miller's views and feelings on these matters. In person, he is about five feet seven inches in height, very thick set, broad shoulders; lightish brown hair, a little bald, a benevolent countenance, full of wrinkles, and his head shakes as though he was slightly afflicted with the palsy. His manners are very much in his favor; he is not a very well-educated man; but he has read and studied history and prophecy very closely; has much strong common sense, and is evidently sincere in his belief. So much for Father Miller, his person, conduct, conversation, and creed. I haven't heard the old gentleman allude to money matters or contributions at all yet, nor any of his regular preachers.—The only allusion I have heard made to it was a curious one uttered by a young round-headed, hard-faced, looking man, who got upon the platform and said his name was Dayton F. Reed, he was a local preacher among the Methodists, at Geneva, and he had been converted about six hours, as he said.—After Mr. Miller got through one of his sermons, this young convert launched forth the following tirade:—"My friends, I've been studying these prophecies of Daniel a long time; and I asked one of our preachers for an explanation, and I found he knew less about them than I did. So I determined to come to Newark, so I could hear what Father Miller had to say about them. And as I came through the woods, I prayed to God that he would enable me so to read the book of Daniel that I might understand it. And he opened my eyes; and though when I got here I was not convinced, yet six hours ago my mind was fully made up that Father Miller was right. Now, when Matthias sprung up, every thing depended on his say-so. In regard to the Mormons, it depends on Joe Smith, who says he has a revelation from God. But all that is humbug. Not so with the doctrines of the Millerites. And it's no use for you to sneer at them. Your ungodly lightness and trifling won't enable you to look God in the face when the day of judgment comes, next year. And for those who pretend to preach the speedy coming of Christ to deny the prophecies, is to kindle up a bigger and hotter fire in hell than I ever expect to see there. These other preachers say that they look for the coming of Christ hourly, and bid you be ready. Why, they lie all the time they say so. They know they lie. And they tell more lies than would sink a nation. Now you see you are loth to leave this earth. Here's the pull, brethren. The world or heaven—the devil against Christ. I know who'll come off second best in that scuffle. Let not your heart rest upon dollars and cents, and upon the miserable vanity of a woman's pretty face or form, or the fluttering of her fine ribbons or the rustling of her petticoats. Give 'em up—give 'em up. (Cries of "amen," "make 'em give 'em all up, Lord.") The poor man will believe this doctrine; but the rich man with $10,000 a year, don't like it; he don't like to give up his money; but I believe in my heart before God that it's that man's duty to hand over his cash to Jesus Christ right off! But they won't give up the money; and that's the secret of your damnation.—Now mark the words of prophecy and the time. If you don't repent—if you don't believe—if you don't seek Christ and give up all to him and his glory—I believe you'll all be damned as sure as there's a God in Heaven; a devil in hell, or blood in your veins!" So says Dayton F. Reed, four years a local preacher among the Methodists, and six hours a convert to Millerism.

  I perceive that you propose publishing views of the camp ground to-morrow. They will be a most appropriate accompaniment to the reports, which I have taken unusual pains to have accurate; and to get at all the points of their doctrine. I have to attend their meetings morning, noon and night, until I feel completely fagged out. Some days I have scarcely had time to get my meals, and write out the report between the acts. I thought the Methodists were pretty indefatigable at camp meetings, but these people can beat 'em hollow. They seem to be making the most of the little time they have left 'em, to preach, sing, shout and pray all the time. They begin at daylight in the small tents and are at it in some shape or other till nearly or quite midnight; and I doubt very much whether they are not at it also during the still watches of night. They are most vehemently and voraciously pious. I took a stroll down to the camp ground yesterday, and although the big tent was lowered, they were at it in one of the smaller tents, into which about 25 men and 15 women were crammed around a stove, till the air was reeking hot, and the stench was insupportable. They were all, men and women, down in the straw, lying and sitting in every conceivable posture; praying, shouting, and singing indiscriminately with all their might.

  I have already described the Camp Ground, and the position of the tents and their occupation. Imagine, then, half a dozen other tents set up in a row along one side of the field, then several oyster stands on barrels, with sickly looking oysters in plates, dirty salt in dirtier salt cellars, root beer bottles looking as if they had the black vomit, hacks, cabs and omnibusses driving down load after load handsome young women, (which Newark excels in) dressed in their best, young men half intoxicated, from all parts of the country, trying to stare the girls out of countenance, a shout, a groan, a part of a prayer, an oath, a snatch of a hymn, a cry for a shilling's worth of oysters, and the "loud laugh that speaks the vacant mind"—all coming up in one amalgamated swell on the wind together, and you have a faint idea of the doings at the Camp Ground.

  Before I conclude, I must give you the following three hymns, which I heard sung, not by the Millerites in their meetings, but by some of the zealous sisters and brethren in and around the small praying tents:—

HYMN.

TUNE—"Where first to London I arrived."

HYMN.

TUNE—"Hey, Jim-a-long, ."

HYMN.

TUNE—"I went down to Sandy Hook."

CHORUS.

Oh! the world will end,

CHORUS.

For the world will be wound up in 1843,

CHORUS.

For the world will be burnt up in 1843,

  As to the praying, I think that as strange as the singing. Those who have heard it can testify that language cannot portray the wildness, and to some sensitive minds, the apparent blasphemy of these proceedings. Here is a fair sample, taken down in the space of five minutes, of a praying scene in one of the small tents I have described above; bearing in mind that half a dozen joined in at random. It seems that they had a person half convicted, and half roasted round the stove, and a woman whose tongue seemed hung in the middle, took up the key note:—"Lord, bless us now-a—now Lord-a [Amen—do Lord] Yes, Lord-a, come right down into us—[Amen, glory to God.] Do Lord-a. [Amen.] Lord smite us on the thigh a-while we wrestle with you-a—[Yes, do Lord, Amen.] Lord we won't let you go-a. [No, we won't Lord, Amen.] My God, bless us-a. [Amen.] Do it-a. [Amen.] Come a little nearer Lord-a. [Amen.] We feel perfectly at liberty, Lord-a, [Amen,] perfectly free-a—[Glory to God]—prick us, as Peter was pricked to the heart-a. [Amen, do Lord.] We have a great deal of sin in us-a—burn it up, Lord—[Amen.] Bless us now—now—now—now—Lord—[Amen.] Shake Satan's kingdom,—[Glory to King Jesus]—Lord convert the scoffers and sinners that stand round the tent—[Amen.] They think that we're crazy—[No, bless God] They makes fun of us—[Lord stave 'em all to pieces—Amen.]—Lord there's a great deal of bad stuff in this tent—[Burn it out, Lord—Amen.] Send thy power—[Burn it up.] There's a great deal of stuff in this tent that isn't right-ah—[Drive it out, Lord—clear it out—Amen.] Slay the Devil and his horns—[Amen, hallelujah to King Jesus.] The scoffers say there's no religion in this noise-a—[Amen.] But Lord those that are full of thy religion have so much love and so much feeling-a—that they can't help showing it and making a noise—a—[Amen.] [Glory to God.] And, Lord, if the sinner can't stand-a noise now-a, how can they stand-a the noise-a of Gabriel's trumpet-a at last day-a, next year-a. [Amen. Glory to king Jesus—Hallelujah.]

  I could not stand and listen to this, what I considered blasphemy, any longer; but I suppose these people might possibly be sincere. At the same time, all round the ground, were heard all sorts of noises and remarks. In the preacher's tent, there were a large collection of books, and people pricing and buying them; in the great "Newark Boarding Tent No. 1," the clatter of plates and rattling of knives and forks might be heard. Then the noise of the cars on the railroad going to Philadelphia, with the steam-whistle; the rattling of omnibusses and all sorts of conversation; something after this fashion:—"Ride up—going to Stewart's—ride up—only sixpence—Shake the sinner—oysters, sir, shilling a plate, fresh from Amboy.—My soul is very happy, happy.—There go the cars—by George we shall be too late—Drive out Satan—Here, Mrs., give me another plate of that cold pork.—The world will be wound up—wound up—I want some warm coffee, this is cold—when does the preaching begin—the very next year—stand away from the front of this tent, I tell ye. If you put me away you must be a stronger man than I am. Come down among us. Here's a wagon load from Bound Brook; that's a pretty girl, look at her legs. Who's a going 'long with us up to Jordan? I say, old feller, got any thing to drink? Yes, root beer. Root beer be ——. Blessed forever. Amen. More pork for that, gentlemen. Ride up. Oysters, sir. Going down. Til-ling—til-ling—there's the bell—now the preaching is going to begin.

  We go inside the big tent, and see it crammed with human beings, pretty well mixed together; although these notices are stuck up all round:—

*No Gentlemen
on this
side of the tent.*

*No Smoking
in the Tent,*

*No Ladies
on this side of
the Tent.*

*Hands off.
All persons are forbidden
to lean against the sides or
borders of the tent.*
 

  Thus I have given you a fair outline of the whole proceedings. To-day is their last day. They go south afterwards. To those who are coming up here I would say, put up at Capt. Stewart's, at the Roff House, or Blake's, at the Mansion House; both good hotels. Blake's is very quiet and retired. But Capt. Stewart's is the great emporium for news, and all the choice spirits of the place, and he sets a superb table. It seems that more can be learnt there in one hour than in the balance of Newark in a day. At least such is the opinion of

AU REVOIR.