Part 1

UNCLE TWEAZY

AND HIS

QUIZZICAL NEIGHBOURS.

Plummer and Brewis, Printers, Love-lane, Eastcheap.

UNCLE TWEAZY

AND HIS

QUIZZICAL NEIGHBOURS:

_A COMI-SATIRIC NOVEL_.

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IN THREE VOLUMES.

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BY

_The Author of the_ “_OBSERVANT PEDESTRIAN_,” &c. &c. &c.

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“Holds to the world a picture of itself, “And raises sly the fair impartial laugh.”

_Thomson’s Winter._

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VOL. II.

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_LONDON_: PRINTED FOR W. SIMPKIN AND R. MARSHALL, STATIONERS’-COURT, LUDGATE-STREET.

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1816.

UNCLE TWEAZY

CHAP. I.

The next morning, as soon as we had finished breakfast, my uncle proposed a visit to the Rectory, to take a peep at the paragon Doctor Tonic was so lavish in praise of, and to pass our respective judgment on his perspicuity.

It was a delightful walk to the Rectory, which stood most romantically at the end of a beautiful shrubbery, shaded by the light foilage of a double row of limes; the mansion was a low white building, luxuriantly encircled by honeysuckles and roses, subjoined to a highly cultivated vine, whose abundant clusters hung in rich purple fringe against the Gothic windows, whose octagon panes gave it the appearance of some venerable structure, while the beautiful surrounding prospect of richly fertilized and diversified wood and water rendered it a little Elysian.

As we approached, we distinctly perceived the sylph-like form of a female figure, who, with a basket of roses in one hand, was reclining on the arm of the venerable pastor, exactly bringing to my remembrance the _entree_ of Sterne and Maria to Moulines.

Dr. Markwell perceiving our approach, politely advanced to open the gate and welcomed us in.

“Miss Fitzclarence,” said he, introducing the lady, who gracefully curtsied, but the obtruding shade of a straw hat totally precluded my curiosity, and compelled me to pass on the other side and offer my services to carry the basket--but _such roses_ as struck my view _out_ of the basket, might have dazzled the eye of a basilisk; for in the countenance of the lovely object who stood by my side, I beheld not only the beautiful girl described by Dr. Tonic, but the chef-d’ouvre of nature.

My uncle, who had merely stolen a sidelong glance, preceded us into the house, whither we immediately followed; but never shall I forget his expressive countenance as Miss Fitzclarence took her seat on an opposite chair, his eyes were rivetted on her features, and he seemed lost in astonishment, till roused by Dr. Markwell’s observing what a charming proficient Miss Fitzclarence was on the harp.

“Rosa, if you please, my dear Sir,” replied the blooming angel; “by that familiar title I shall feel myself completely at home.”

“Well, then, my charming, my amiable Rosa,” continued the Rector (charmed with her affability) “will you treat my friends with the dulcet sonnet you played this morning?”

Rosa caught up her harp, and, like a second Cecilia, all was silent rapture; but, when her heavenly voice subjoined, my uncle melted into tears, exclaiming, “I can’t bear it, sweet young lady: in compassion to an old man’s feelings, pause one moment.”

The beauteous minstrel ceased, and the Rector, unperceived by my uncle, gave her a significant wink not to continue the song; whilst I, lost in amazement at my uncle’s conduct, replaced the harp in silence, and various topics of conversation ensued; yet still his scrutinizing eye was fixed on Rosa till the moment of our departure, when pressing her beautiful hand respectfully to his lip, “young lady,” said he, “this is a liberty I have not assumed these thirty years--accept it as the sacred incense due _only_ to yourself.”

“Sir, sir,” said I. “am I unpriviledged to follow your example? surely your gallantry ought not to eclipse mine, and, with Miss Fitzclarence’s leave, thus I avail myself.”

One fervent kiss I pressed upon that hand, which, in the purest marble, chisselled by a Tumerelli, never in symmetry was equalled; ask not, then, gentle reader, when St. Albans left the Rectory, if he was _victor_--No! he was the _captive_ of love, indissolubly bound in the chains of Rosa Fitzclarence.

She escorted us to the gate, over which she reclined till we were out of sight; but how many times my head mechanically turned to catch a last glimpse, I won’t say.

“Victor!” cried my uncle, “where is your heart? the moment of trial is arrived: be candid, be noble, where is your heart?”

“Gone!” exclaimed I, “irrecoverably, for ever; I adore Miss Fitzclarence; and, if there is perfection in woman, ’tis combined in her, for I never saw her equal.”

My uncle’s eye glanced fire, and he quickly replied, “But I have seen her _model_, her most _perfect image_, her every _feature_, and her _voice_--Oh, Victor, ’twas daggers to my soul.”

“As how, dear Sir?” I asked with much impatience.

“You shall know that to-night; at present I must drop a subject I feel myself incapable to enlarge upon.”

We now strolled home, arm-in-arm. “You have done for me, Sir,” said I, “completely.”

“And, indeed, Victor, I’ve done for myself,” replied he, as we ascended the hall steps, when my uncle retired to his study, as was his constant custom when his mind was ruffled or oppressed, and I threw my listless form upon the sofa in all the tortures of love, hope, and despair, and in this commixed rumination I lay, till roused by Geoffry coming in to lay the cloth.

“Lack-a-daisey, Sir,” cried the garulous old fellow, “have you and master called at the Rectory this morning? and did you see Miss Fitzclarence? of all God’s creatures she’s the _beautifulest_. I’ve seen a many fine girls in my days, but nobody never see nothing like she I’ll swear; I happened this morning to go up with a drop of cream, one of their _keows_ being dry, and who should I pop upon but an angel, as I thought, for I declare I stood _putrified_ and _stagnated_ at her uncommon beauty: I dare say she’s got a _thousand sweethearts_.”

Had Geoffry stuck the carving knife he was so dexterously handling into the centre of my heart, I could not have leaped more precipitately from my recumbent posture.

“Laws, Sir, how you made I jump,” exclaimed he; “I hope you beant affronted at my boldness in axing you such a question?”

“Not at all, good fellow,” said I, recovering myself from that lacerating word _sweetheart_.

“But don’t you think her handsome, Sir?” enquired Geoffry.

“Yes, very handsome,” replied I cautiously.

“She _clipses_ all the ladies in the _willage_, however,” said Geoffry, “and if I was a rich handsome young gentleman, I know I should go mad after her.”

At this moment my uncle opened the door, and his presence always being the signal of taciturnity to Geoffry, he withdrew to serve up dinner; doing which, little passed on either side; and, when the wine was placed on the table by the side of a plate of beautiful peaches, my uncle, examining them severally, declared there was not one with the cheek of a Rosa; he then drew his chair close to mine, and, laying his hand on my arm, to enforce attention, thus addressed me:--

“Victor, my dear, boy, I am in few words going to explain the mystery of my conduct this morning at the Rectory, which was to you, of course, enigmatical; but the moment my eye fixed on Rosa Fitzclarence, I beheld the _polygraph_ of Cecilia Delmond----”

I started.

“Nay, start not,” continued my uncle, “my assertion is fact; for were it even possible she was her _own child_, so strong a resemblance could scarcely exist; I surely, then, need not repeat what sort of woman she was whom I so fervently adored, for you have already her portrait subjoined to every quality the human heart was capable of possessing; we met by accident at an assembly, and one hour’s pleasure rendered us reciprocally dear to each other. But, alas! the disparity of fortunes precluded all hopes of our union, till time or circumstances should ameliorate the rigid temper of her father; for she was an only child, most duteous and obedient to his stern command; thus situated, our only resource of correspondence or intercourse rested entirely on the basis of juvenile duplicity, as occasion presented itself; but both young and unpractised in the wiles of dissimulation, our bosoms were the mansions of love, honour, and fidelity.”

CHAP. II.

At this important moment, in popped our perpetual interrupter, Dr. Tonic.

“Psha, d--n it,” said my uncle, as he opened the door.

“How d’ye do, Sir, have you heard of the female levee at the Rectory this morning?”

“Not I,” answered my uncle, peevishly, “nor do I want to know any thing about it.”

“Oh, but I must tell you,” continued the doctor, “Mrs. Tonic, my daughters, the widow Quiz, Mrs. Prolix, Mrs. Fungus, and Mrs. Deposit, have all been up in a possee to pay their compliments.”

“And I dare say they passed a great many,” replied my uncle, snappingly, the thread of his interesting theme having been so unexpectedly broke.

“Why, Mrs. Tonic, and the girls, and Mrs. Prolix, think her very handsome.”

“And pray who says otherwise?” interrupted my uncle.

“Why, Mrs. Fungus, and Mrs. Deposit, oppose the pretension.”

“I thought so,” rejoined my uncle; “I wish either of them would tell _me_ so, that’s all; I’ll bet her little finger against the sense of the whole parish; and, pray, what may their scandalous audacious tongues take the liberty of saying.”

“Why, Mrs. Deposit calls her a little milk and water wax doll, who strums the harp with just taste enough to please the old Rector.”

“S’death,” exclaimed my uncle, “she’s the female Weippart of the age; her skill and taste are exquisite.”

“Well, I don’t know how it was,” continued the Doctor, “but Mrs. Fungus could not allow her a single perfection, and declared she was never more disappointed; she thought her just fit for the celebrated _heroine of a romance_; a little insipid soul, a wild flower of nature, that required the hand of _tonish cultivation_ to bring into perfection.”

“And if it flourishes in proportion to the _weeds_ of their own _notoriety_, sprung from dunghill consequence, it will soon overspread the village, and you may go back and tell them _I_ say so,” said my uncle.

“Hey dey,” exclaimed the Doctor, “you’re warm--you’ve seen this little paragon, then?”

“Yes, Sir, I am warm, and I have seen more than a paragon,” replied my uncle.

“Why, why, you hav’nt fell in love; sure she ee’nt to be Mrs. Tweazy, is she?” asked the Doctor, blinking his squiney eye, and bursting into a laugh.

“What an old fool you must be,” cried my irritated uncle, “to talk such idle jargon; are you going to carry that pretty idea over the village? egad you’d better set the cryer to work; do step to Ladies Deposit and Fungus, and give them the nut to crack, and I’ll take care of the shell, I warrant me.”

The Doctor now began to draw in his horns, observing, he had merely repeated what he had heard.

“Then don’t believe it,” continued my uncle, “it’s all lies and envy; what the d--l, can’t you analyze woman?”

“No,” said the Doctor, “it is not possible in some cases.”

“I’ll bet a guinea, though I’m no physician,” replied my uncle, “that I analyze both Mrs. Fungus and Mrs. Deposit, from the crowns of their head to the soles of their feet.”

“You’re a clever man, we all know,” answered the Doctor, “I dare say you could analyze the brain, now I should only attempt the corporeal system, according to my own _discretional_ powers.”

“You’ll pardon me, Doctor,” resumed my uncle, “when I say that my opinion of your _discretion_ does not extend beyond a _dose of physic_, and a _game at cribbage_.”

“Hey! what,” cried the Doctor, “you’ve a high opinion of my abilities at that rate, Squire; why, now, my son Bob entertains a very great opinion of Mrs. Deposit.”

“Like enough,” resumed my uncle, “she may be one of his sort of favourites; and I’ll be sworn there is not a man in the parish would contend rivalship with him; God help his fancy: his own little wife’s worth a hundred such.”

“There are more tempting trees than _one_ in an _orchard_,” said the Doctor.

“There are,” reiterated my uncle, “and the finest tree in the Rectory orchard is the _new planted nonpariel_.”

“There you go again,” cried the Doctor; “pray, Mr. Victor, what say you of the charms of Miss Fitzclarence?”

I replied, “from what little I had seen of the young lady, she appeared extremely sensible and agreeable; but, in regard to her musical talents, I considered myself quite sufficient judge of the science to know that there were few, very few, (if any) private performers, could excel her abilities.”

“Indeed!” cried the doctor, “egad, if that’s the case, I must make my girls scrape acquaintance, and try what they can do; my Elizetta is reckoned a tight hand at the piano, I assure you: there are few girls in the village _rattle_ the keys like her: she’s got the knack of it; don’t you think so?”

Disgusted with his odious comparison, I merely observed, “the instruments were so different, as well as the performance, that I could not pass my judgment at present.”

“Well, well,” said my uncle, (willing to abolish the subject, lest the crafty old fox should extract my sentiments, as he did his chemicals) “now, pray let this parley cease, for as we don’t agree, we’ll adjourn the subject, because I have some agricultural business demands attention this morning; and, therefore, my moments are too precious to waste in nonsense, and I’m sure many of your patients, Doctor, must be anxiously waiting for your visits, and so for the present you’ll excuse me.”

“Certainly, certainly,” hemm’d the Doctor, who, having no alternative but to take his departure, brushed off, half grumpy, leaving my uncle to laugh in his sleeve at his _agricultural fudge_, by which means he had completely got rid of the Doctor; and thus again re-seating ourselves, he continued the sequel of his story.

CHAP. III.

“Three months had flown on airy wing, and neither our interviews, or correspondence, had been discovered, which, through the medium of a bosom friend, we had mutually enjoyed; when, one morning, by mere chance, in conversation with the father of Cecilia, he learnt, that he meant to take immediately his passage in the first ship that sailed for ----, in Italy, where, having an extensive magazine that required his inspection, he had apprised his partner of his intention, and also that he meant to bring over his daughter with him as a companion to himself, and to improve her for one twelve-months in the language and musical science of that inimitable country.

“This intelligence, as my friend well knew, was instant annihilation to our hopes and happiness, to lose her beloved society for so tedious a period was distraction; and, when I reflected on the probability of an Italian lover superceding my humble pretension, the world had no longer any charms for me; this, Victor, I mused to madness, for I, like you, was _young_, was _gay_, was _happy_; the impregnate cloud of sorrow had never veiled the sunshine of my heart, and I dreamed but of bliss, nor knew it was a vision, till I grasped the airy shade that flitted from my touch.

“I sought Cecilia--we met: her beauteous eyes, suffused in sparkling tears, proclaimed the fact; mutual we wept: we swore eternal constancy. Alas! poor idle children of delusion, we little knew how inefficient were our weak resolves opposed to wealth and power; to have declared my sentiments to her inexorable father, would have made her a perpetual exile; again, I suggested assuming the habit of a domestic, sailing in the same vessel, and obtaining, on my arrival, a capacity in her father’s household; but there, again, the negative predominated; and, to be as brief possible in my relation, within ten days from the first intelligence of the voyage, I saw the vessel recede from shore, which contained my soul’s best treasure--yes, Victor, I kissed, I blessed her; and, on my bended knee, invoked the blessings of heaven for her safety and protection. She promised a regular correspondence by every post; and, compelled to be satisfied with this mutual alleviation of our sorrows, involved in all the agonies of love, we parted--_never to meet again_. I saw her faint upon the deck--I saw her borne in the rude arms of sailors to the cabin--but I saw no more: a temporary stupor seized my brain, and I found myself waked from a lethargic dream, and surrounded by officious strangers, one of whom calling a coach, conveyed me to my father’s house, where a violent illness ensued, which lasted many weeks, and caused me to explain to my parents the cause of my disorder. My mother, all meekness and gentleness, soothed my perturbed mind with the angelic balm of every comfort she could invent; but my father ridiculed my boyish folly, laughed me to scorn, and reprobated my daring presumption in fixing my ideas on an object so eminently my superior.”

I sighed from the bottom of my soul--my uncle paused--looked stedfastly in my face to perceive the effect of his narrative--shook his head--wiped an intruding tear of recollection, and thus continued:

“The lingering day rolled on in solemn sadness, and the only consolation I possessed, was in the valuable society and endearing communion of heart, that reciprocally passed between me and my ever lamented friend Victor Montalbert: ’twas to _him_, my noble boy, I consecrated _your_ name, and may you ever be like him in benevolence, friendship, and virtue; for his soul was the mansion of honour, and his heart the realm of fidelity; but fate snatched him, like every other blessing, from my embrace; and in his loss I never risked a substitute: one sincere friend is all a man can ever dare expect; his loss was another dagger to my soul, but I had yet an embryo grief in store.

“I had received only four faithful and affectionate letters from my lovely exile, when, lo! the next packet from Italy brought me a letter from the pen, the direful pen, of her exasperated father, informing me he had discovered my audacious correspondence with his daughter, by means of an Italian servant, on whose probity Cecilia had confided, and dared me ever to address another to his daughter on peril of immediate punishment to both parties; and concluded by asserting, he had engaged her hand, not to a _pitiful pennyless puppy_, but a man of honour and _fortune suitable_ to her own rank in life, which nuptials he should instantly _enforce_ her _obedience_ to celebrate.

“Distracted by this unexpected stroke of misfortune, I again relapsed into a paroxysm of despair. No letter arrived from Cecilia, by which I concluded she was deprived of every resource of future correspondence, well knowing the austere tyrant she had to deal with.

“Six months elapsed in the torments of cruel suspense, when one day I met, by chance, the identical captain of the vessel in which Cecilia left England; of him I enquired intelligence of the Delmond family--but what words can express my horror and astonishment, when I learned that my beloved Cecilia had been inhumanly sacrificed by her barbarian parent, in a compulsatory marriage with an opulent merchant residing at Florence, whose name was Lausanne. Thus ended my hopes and happiness; for in vain my friends diverted my mind--in vain their helpless pity soothed my grief, or roused my energies: all, all, were dormant; and, though I was lead in the unceasing round of common-place amusements, though I was introduced to the most accomplished and lovely women, not one had power to extract a smile, or warm this icy heart, for I had sworn I had abjured all women; and from that hour my character and manner grew so misanthropical, that even _time_, that leveller of good and evil, will ne’er irradicate the poisonous root that still entwines the fibres of my heart; and so perfectly have I cherished her image in my remembrance, that every feature of Cecilia Delmond burst like a beam of sunshine on my soul, when first that angelic girl, that Rosa Fitzclarence, met my eye. Do you now _wonder_, Victor, at my agitation? can you pity an old man’s sorrows, and not indicate feelings that ought perhaps to be extinct, after being a pupil in the school of experience to the present age.”

He ceased; and, as he reclined back in his chair, I caught his hand. “My dear, my revered uncle,” exclaimed I, “I never till this moment knew the virtues of your heart--Why, ah! why have you concealed from the world those principles which so justly ennoble the human heart; was love a crime on your part! No, ’twas the voluntary effusions of a soul replete with virtue, and crowned with honour, that bowed in silent submission to the decree of fate.--Alas! good sir, while contemplating your sorrows of the heart, how much may I one day experience of my own; ah! should my destiny be consonant with your’s, where shall I find an antidote?”

“Victor,” resumed my uncle, “heaven avert it--why look so serious? why speak with so much energy, my boy?”

“Oh, sir,” replied I, “I cannot explain; make but Rosa Fitzclarence, Cecilia Delmond, and search no farther the lacerated heart of St. Alban: your own feelings must tell you what mine are at this moment, equally, alas! hopeless as sincere.”

“My uncle started forward on his seat, “_hopeless_,” ejaculated he,“Oh! heaven forbid; if my most sanguine wishes and endeavours can constitute your felicity: but crush, I conjure crush, the impetuous flame, nor let false hope, in cob-web guise, flit her visionary form before your love-filmed eye to lead you to destruction. Rosa Fitzclarence is an orphan heiress, in which case she is left in the power of her guardians till she becomes of age, which I understand a few months will complete; should the sentiments of those guardians be rigidly enforced, contrary to the inclination and future happiness of their ward, it’s more than probable she will adopt the system her own good judgment impels, and give her hand where love and prudence best direct it, for she has no stern father to oppose her happiness like her dear hapless polygraph: but be very cautious how you proceed--you have won my heart by your candour, and it shall not go unrewarded.”

He wept like an infant; I forced a glass of Madeira through his trembling lips--nature wanted its revival.

“One word more,” continued he, “do not, I conjure you, drop the slightest hint of your prepossession to Dr. Tonic; the mischief-making imp would be a living chronicle of vexation: and, if a _shade_ could cross your interest, in his _own behalf_, depend upon it you would rue the result of such communication.”

I promised peculiar attention to his desire. “But, sir,” observed I, “e’er the subject drops, did you never receive any further intelligence of the fate, fortune, or family, of Madame Lausanne?”