A fire of pine knots blazes in the centre of a mound, and over it hangs an iron kettle, on a straddle, filled with corn-grits.  Around this, and anxiously watching its boiling, are the lean figures of negroes, with haggard and sickly faces, telling but too forcibly the tale of their troubles.  They watch and watch, mutter in grumbling accents, stir the homony, and sit down again.  Two large mule carts stand in the shade of a pine tree, a few yards from the fire.  A few paces further on are the mules tethered, quietly grazing; while, seated on a whiskey-keg, is the Elder, book in hand, giving out the hymn to some ten or a dozen infirm negroes seated round him on the ground.  They have enjoyed much consolation by listening with wondrous astonishment to the Elder’s exhortations, and are now ready to join their musical jargon to the words of a Watts’s hymn.

On arriving opposite the spot, our good lady requests Bradshaw to stop; which done, the Elder recognises her, and suddenly adjourning his spiritual exercises, advances to meet her, his emotions expanding with enthusiastic joy.  In his eagerness, with outstretched hand, he comes sailing along, trips his toe in a vine, and plunges head foremost into a broad ditch that separates the road from the rising ground.

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