"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.
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