Of clear rosy hue, and generous too,
Like the cheek and the heart of our friend, Uncle
Tim!
So now stir the fire, let business retire,
The door shut on Mammon, we'll have none of him!
But tell the sly fox, when he quietly knocks,
We are only at home to thy Tome, Uncle Tim!
Mr. Bosky trimmed the lamp, drew the curtains, wheeled round the sofa, opened the morocco-bound manuscript, and began. But Mr. Bosky's beginning must stand at the head of our next chapter.