These dear relations, on this generous Friend. They ate, they drank, each striving to appear Fond, frank, forgiving—above all, sincere. Such kindred souls could not admit disguise, 1000 Or envious fears, or painful jealousies; So each declared, and all in turn replied, “’Tis just indeed, and cannot be denied.” Now various subjects rose—the country’s cause, The war, the allies, the lottery, and the laws. The widow’d Sister then advantage took Of a short pause, and, smiling softly, spoke: She judged what subject would his mind excite— “Tell us, dear Captain, of that bloody fight, When our brave Uncle, bleeding at his gun, 1010 Gave a loud shout to see the Frenchmen run.” “Another day”—replied the modest host; “One cannot always of one’s battles boast. Look not surprise—behold the man in me! Another Uncle shall you never see. No other Dyson to this place shall come; Here end my travels, here I place my home; Here to repose my shatter’d frame I mean, Until the last long journey close the scene.” The Ladies softly brush’d the tear away; 1020 James look’d surprise, but knew not what to say; But Doctor Dyson lifted up his voice, And said, “Dear Uncle, how we all rejoice!” “No question, Friends! and I your joy approve, We are, you know, a Family of Love.” So said the wary Uncle, but the while } Wore on his face a questionable smile, } That vanish’d, as he spake in grave and solemn style— } “Friends and relations! let us henceforth seem Just as we are, nor of our virtues dream, 1030 That with our waking vanish.—What we are Full well we know—t’ improve it be our care. Forgive the trial I have made: ’tis one That has no more than I expected done. If as frail mortals you, my Friends, appear, I look’d for no angelic beings here, For none that riches spurn’d as idle pelf, Or served another as he served himself. Deceived no longer, let us all forgive; I’m old, but yet a tedious time may live. 1040 This dark complexion India’s suns bestow, These shrivell’d looks to years of care I owe; But no disease ensures my early doom— And I may live—forgive me—years to come. But, while I live, there may some good be done, Perchance to many, but at least to One.”— Here he arose, retired, return’d, and brought The Orphan boy, whom he had train’d and taught For this his purpose; and the happy boy, Though bade to hide, could ill suppress, his joy.— 1050 “This young relation, with your leave, I take, That he his progress in the world may make— Not in my house a slave or spy to be, And first to flatter, then to govern me;— He shall not nurse me when my senses sleep, Nor shall the key of all my secrets keep, And be so useful that a dread to part Shall make him master of my easy heart;— But to be placed where merit may be proved, And all that now impedes his way removed. 1060