Rising
from her seat, she paces the room several times, and then orders a
servant to command Uncle Bradshaw to get the carriage ready, and be
prepared for a drive into the city.
Soon Bradshaw has got the carriage ready, and our good lady is on
the road, rolling away toward the city. As they approach a curvature
that winds round a wooded hill, Bradshaw intimates to "missus" that
he sees signs of a camp a short distance ahead. He sees smoke
curling upwards among the trees, and very soon the notes of a
long-metre tune fall softly on the ear, like the tinkling of distant
bells in the desert. Louder and louder, as they approach, the sounds
become more and more distinct. Then our good lady recognises the
familiar voice of Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy. This worthy
christian of the Southern Church is straining his musical organ to
its utmost capacity, in the hope there will be no doubt left on the
minds of those congregated around him as to his very sound piety.
The carriage rounds the curvature, and there, encamped in a grove of
pines by the road side, is our pious Elder, administering
consolation to his infirm property. Such people! they present one of
the most grotesque and indiscriminate spectacles ever eyes beheld.
The cholera has subsided; the Elder's greatest harvest time is gone;
few victims are to be found for the Elder's present purposes. Now he
is constrained to resort to the refuse of human property (those
afflicted with what are called ordinary diseases), to keep alive the
Christian motive of his unctuous business.
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