en, nor the rock-work, nor the summer-house, nor the seats, nor
the fountain, nor the fish pond, nor the big full-rigged ship in front,
nor the weathercocks on the chimneys, but Uncle Boz himself, and his
factotum and follower, Tom Bambo.

How can I describe Uncle Boz--that is to say, to do him justice? I'll
try. He was short, and he was round, and he had lost a leg and wore a
wooden one instead, and his face was full of the most extraordinary
krinklums and kranklums, wrinkles and furrows they might by some have
been called, but all beaming with the most unbounded good nature; and
his little eyes and his big mouth betokened kindness itself. As to how
they did this I cannot tell. I know the fact, at all events. His head
was bald, the hair, he used to affirm, having been blown off in a heavy
gale of wind off Cape Horn, excepting a few stumps, which he managed to
keep on by clapping both hands to the side of his head, to save the rim
of his hat when the crown was carried away. But his nose--foes, if by
possibility he could have had any, might have called it a snub, or a
button; supposing it was either one or the other, or both, it was full
of expression,--the best of snubs, the best of button noses, all that
expression betokening fun and humour, and kindness and benevolence.
Yes, that dear nose of Uncle Boz's was a jewel, though unadorned by a
carbuncle. And Tom Bambo--whereas Uncle Boz was white (at least, I
suppose he once had been, for he was now red, if not ruddy and brown,
with not a few other weather-stained hues), Tom Bambo was the colour he
had ever been since he first saw the light on the coast of Africa,--jet
black. In other respects there was a strong similarity. Uncle Boz had
lost his left leg, Tom his right. In height and figure they were
wonderfully alike. Bambo's mouth was probably wider, and his eyes
rounder, and his teeth whiter, and his nose snubbier, but there was the
same good-natured benevolent expression, the same love of fun and
humour; and, indeed, it was impossible but to acknowledge that the same
nature of soul dwelt within, and that the only difference between the
white man and the black was in the colour of their skin. Yes, there was
a difference: Uncle Boz had lost his hair, while Bambo had retained, in
its woolly integrity, a fine black fleece, which served to keep his
cranium cool in summer and warm in winter. Bambo used to be called the
shadow of Uncle Boz. A jolly, fat noonday