CHAP. I._Uncle Tweazy and his quizzical neighbours, vol. 1 of 3

In the centrical part of a small village, not an hundred and fifty

miles from the capital, resided my old uncle Peter Tweazy, one of the

most petulant and unprepossessing of human beings, but so eminently

endowed with the favours of fortune, that not a mushroom-picker or

a plough-boy passed his gate, without dropping a bob-curtsey or a

hob-nail scrape and a nod, if they could but discover the tip of

Squire Tweazy’s red velvet night-cap through any window in the

house; or if that was not the case, they mechanically bowed to the

gate itself; for they were told always to homage the squire, as he

could, when he pleased, be bountiful to the children of indigence.

Petulant beyond all idea, he was literally a living monument of

self perplexity; for having been crossed in love in the early part

of life, he had never forgot the disappointment, and was now in

his sixty-fifth year, the most ill-natured man in existence, and

certainly one of the most unpleasant companions upon earth. If he

frowned, every brow must instantly contract; if perchance he forced a

smile, every body must dilate their muscles from a simper to a broad

grin; in short, the whole world must conform to his humour, though he

took especial care never to conform to any body’s.

One poor slave in the shape of a housekeeper, who had patiently borne

the yoke of his troublesome services thirty years, and old Geoffry,

who officiated in the united capacities of butler, groom, valet, and

gardener, composed the favourites of the family, with the exception

only of Alice the cook, whom he boasted could alike dress him a

turtle or potatoe in perfection, a qualification which few women

possessed; and my poor uncle being a great epicure, Mrs. Alice’s

culinary talents were highly prized by her master, which with the

occasional promise of being scratched down in one corner of his will,

as a reward for past services, made her doubly diligent.

Now, though my uncle was excessively morose, he could, when the

humour suited, be sociable with his neighbours; and as every one

was aware of his temper, they heeded not his petulance; all looked

upon him as an eccentric being; the opulent admired him for his

talents, which at times, when he liked his companions, he could

most ably exert; and the indigent feared his frowns. So that upon

the whole, his virtues counterpoised his vices, temper excepted,

which overbalanced all bounds; but as people used to say, there was

no knowing _who_ might become his heir, (having quarrelled all his

life with the major part of his family, my father excepted,) and I

happening to have been a great favourite with him when a school boy,

I determined to try my luck with the old gentleman, and accordingly,

self-invited, I formed a plan of passing a fortnight with him; and

receiving his most gracious answer and assent, I left London with a

full determination to _bear_ and _forbear_, and in thirty hours found

myself at his gate.

“How is your master, Geoffry?”

“Much as _usual_, Sir,” and Geoffry sighed. I therefore concluded by

the doleful cast of his countenance, that all was not right; however,

he opened the parlour door, and in I walked, greeting the old squire,

as I thought, very politely.

“How d’ye do, good Sir? I’m rejoiced to see you.”

“I guessed as much, nephew; I guessed as much, by your being in too

great a hurry to _wipe_ your shoes, but I can assure you, my servants

won’t _rejoice_ at the trouble of cleaning the hall; you have made

more dirt in one moment, than I do in a year.”

“I beg ten thousand pardons, Sir.”

“Pshaw, boy!” (and he curled up his nose like a snarling dog) “that’s

nine hundred and ninety-nine too many. Why exaggerate? Why talk

nonsense?”

“Wrong again,” said I to myself; “well, but how do you find yourself,

Sir?” and I ventured to take a chair.

“Why, I find myself every thing I should not be; a mere composition

of pain and perplexity; every body and every thing conspires to

torment me. How’s your father and mother, hey, boy?”

“Charming, Sir, I thank you.”

“Charming?” repeated my uncle with a sarcastic drawl, “that is

impossible.”

“I must beg leave to differ from you in that point, Sir; there are

not two more worthy people on earth than my father and mother.”

“Different people, different opinions,” rejoined my uncle, carelessly

taking a pinch of snuff. “Any news in town, child?”

“Nothing particular, Sir.”

“Aye, we live in a sad world; I’m sick of it.”

“Very troublesome times, indeed, Sir,” replied I, most humbly

acquiescent.

“Not troublesome at all, if a parcel of foolish headstrong folks did

not trouble themselves with what don’t concern them; but pray don’t

talk politics in my presence; it’s a subject I detest. Well, but now

you haven’t told how your father and mother do?”

“Both well, Sir; they have sent you a turbot, of which they beg your

acceptance.”

“Humph! Why did they do that, child, when it’s the _only_ fish I

detest; I can’t bear the very name of it.”

“Bless me, how unlucky!” exclaimed I.

“Not at all,” replied my uncle; “I shall make a present of it to the

parson; he won’t think it unlucky, I’ll be bound; so it’s all mighty

well, if it’s honestly _paid_ for.”

This sarcasm uttered with much gravity, gave my temper a fillip; but

I swallowed the pill, and directing my eye towards the garden, I

observed how delightfully pleasant it appeared.

“I don’t think it looks pleasant at all,” said my uncle.

“It’s a delightful day, Sir.”

“By no means; it’s too sultry; it’s going to rain; there’s a nasty

blight hanging in the air.”

“Well, I’m no great judge, to be sure, Sir.”

“So it’s a sign; you need not have blown a cracked trumpet.”

“Why, I’m a cockney to be sure, Sir.”

“So much the better,” said my uncle; “an honest cockney can never be

a bad man.”

Unfortunately, at this moment I happened to stretch my listless form

upon the chair, and slid one of my legs across the marble hearth.

“Mercy defend me!” exclaimed my uncle, “is that the new fashioned

way of sitting on a chair, or are you inventing caricature postures?

See, your shoes are sprawled over my hearth. If I had wanted the

polish rasped off in that manner, I could have sent for one of my

plough-boys.”

I begged pardon, withdrew my truant foot, seated myself in an upright

posture; but, alas, having assumed the indulgence of lolling my elbow

on the table, and drumming a little stave of vexation with my fingers.

“Boy! boy!” rejoined my uncle, “have a care; see how you are spoiling

your coat, and ruining my bright table. What, are you making

drumsticks of your fingers, on purpose to render them as dubby as

a cobler’s; dear me, how terribly troublesome an unthinking person

makes himself for want of a moment’s attention.”

The flush of vexation crossed my cheek, and I took out my

handkerchief to erase the spots, which I began rubbing off.

“Zounds!” exclaimed my uncle, “why, the fellow’s mad; d’ye think

we have not something of less value in the house than a silk

handkerchief, to make a dishclout of? Ring the bell; do, pray, if you

can.” Not doubting my own abilities, I seized the pull and off set

such alarum as might have roused the whole village.

My uncle jumped up, stamped his feet, stopped his ears, and paced the

room like a madman, till the vibration ceased, and old Geoffry stood

bowing before him to know what he pleased to want.

“My hearing, my senses, a new pair of drums to my ears,” said my

uncle; “I’ll tell you what, nephew, in cool blood,” (though he foamed

with passion,) “if ever you ring a bell again in such a manner in my

house, I’ll knock you down; you’ll excuse me, but I shall certainly

knock you down.” I bowed, and assured him I should for the future be