The accident is very unfortunate at this moment; the Elder's enthusiasm is somewhat cooled, nevertheless; but, as there is seldom a large loss without a small gain, he finds himself strangely bespattered from head to foot with the ingredients of a quagmire. "U'h! u'h! u'h! my dear madam, pardon me, I pray;--strange moment to meet with a misfortune of this kind. But I was so glad to see you!" he ejaculates, sensitively, making the best of his way out, brushing his sleeves, and wiping his face with his never-failing India handkerchief. He approaches the carriage, apologising for his appearance. He hopes our lady will excuse him, having so far lost himself in his enthusiasm, which, together with the fervency and devotion of the spiritual exercises he was enjoying with his poor, helpless property, made him quite careless of himself. Begging a thousand pardons for presenting himself in such a predicament (his gallantry is proverbially southern), he forgets that his hat and spectacles have been dislodged by his precipitation into the ditch. The good lady reaches out her hand, as a smile curls over her face; but Bradshaw must grin; and grin he does, in right good earnest. "Bless me, my dear Elder! what trade are you now engaged in?" she enquires. "A little devotional exercises, my dear madam! We were enjoying them with so much christian feeling that I was quite carried away, indeed I was!" He rubs his fingers through his bristly hair, and then downwards to his nasal organ, feeling for his devoted glasses. He is surprised at their absence-makes another apology. He affirms, adding his sacred honour, as all real southerners do, that he had begun to feel justified in the belief that there never was a religion like that preached by the good apostles, when such rural spots as this (he points to his encampment) were chosen for its administration. Everything round him made him feel so good, so much like the purest christian of the olden time. He tells her, with great seriousness, that we must serve God, and not forget poor human nature, never! To the world he would seem labouring under the influence of those inert convictions by which we strive to conceal our natural inclinations, while drawing the flimsy curtain of "to do good" over the real object.