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Updated: June 4, 2025
Joseph Hubbard remained looking over the fence in silent amazement; he could scarcely believe his senses, so entirely was he taken by surprise. In good sooth, Uncle Dozie had managed matters very slily, through that little gate in the garden paling; not a human being had suspected him.
When the mystery was explained, Elinor's amazement was great. "It is incredible!" she exclaimed. "My Aunt Wyllys actually going to marry that prosing, napping Mr. Hubbard; Uncle Dozie!" "When I remember her husband," said Miss Agnes, with feeling, "it does seem incredible; my dear, warm-hearted, handsome, animated brother George!"
He came nearer than most Christians, out of Weathersfield, to sympathy with the old Egyptians in their onion-worship. With such tastes and partialities, Uncle Dozie was generally to be found in his garden, between the hours of sun-rise and sun-set; gardening having been his sole occupation for nearly forty years. His brother, Mr.
Uncle Dozie turned round, saw the volume, picked it up, and thrust it in his pocket. "Did you drop it? I didn't know you ever carried a book about you," replied his brother, with some surprise. "What is it?" "A book of poetry." "Whose poetry?" "I am sure I've forgotten," replied Uncle Dozie, taking a look askance at the title, as it half-projected from his pocket.
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