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Updated: June 11, 2025
Then he stood half an hour on his poor old gouty feet, desperately edging toward the door. "Ah, certainly," says he, with a weary smile, repeatedly endeavoring to break the spell that bound him. "One word more, and I am done," cries my Uncle Popworth, for the fiftieth time; and Wortleby, in despair, sat down again. Then our friends arrived.
I thought I was the biggest raskil on the face av the earth. I wondher if it's true. The Lord presarve me from the timptation av great power, or I'll abuse it, an' abuse me felly-men and the Church!" Harper's Magazine, May, 1872. Did I never tell you the story? Is it possible? Draw up your chair. Stick of wood, Harry. Smoke? You've heard of my Uncle Popworth, though. Why, yes!
Dolly and I, who had all the while been benevolently wishing Wortleby would go, and trying to help him off, now selfishly hoped he would remain and share our entertainment and our Uncle Popworth. We cruelly wished that he might continue to engage my uncle in conversation; but that would have been too much to hope from the sublime endurance of a martyr, if ever there was one more patient than he.
While we were consulting keeping up our scattering fire of small-arms under the old talker's heavy guns our parish minister called, old Doctor Wortleby, for whom we have a great liking and respect. Of course we had to introduce him to Uncle Popworth, for they met face to face; and of course Uncle Popworth fastened at once upon the brother clergyman.
Dolly soon came running out to ask what was the matter; Popworth was actually packing his carpet-bag! I called Andrew, and ordered him to be in readiness with the buggy to take the old gentleman over to the railroad. "What! going?" I cried, as my uncle presently appeared, bearing his book and his baggage. "Nephew Frederick!" said he, "after this treatment, can you ask me if am going?"
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