 indeed been once
an Object of Desire; but was now entered at least into the Autumn of Life;
though she wore all the Gayety of Youth both in her Dress and Manner; nay, she
contrived still to maintain the Roses in her Cheeks; but these, like Flowers
forced out of Season by Art, had none of that lively blooming Freshness with
which Nature, at the proper Time, bedecks her own Productions. She had, besides,
a certain Imperfection, which renders some Flowers, tho' very beautiful to the
Eye, very improper to be placed in a Wilderness of Sweets, and what above all
others is most disagreeable to the Breath of Love.
    Though Jones saw all these Discouragements on the one Side, he felt his
Obligations full as strongly on the other; nor did he less plainly discern the
ardent Passion whence those Obligations proceeded, the extreme Violence of which
if he failed to equal, he well knew the Lady would think him ungrateful; and,
what is worse, he would have thought himself so. He knew the tacit Consideration
upon which all her Favours were conferred; and as his Necessity obliged him to
accept them, so his Honour, he concluded, forced him to pay the Price. This
therefore he resolved to do, whatever Misery it cost him, and to devote himself
to her, from that great Principle of Justice, by which the Laws of some
Countries oblige a Debtor who is no otherwise capable of discharging his Debt,
to become the Slave of his Creditor.
    While he was meditating on these Matters, he received the following Note
from the Lady.
    »A very foolish, but a very perverse Accident hath happened since our last
Meeting, which makes it improper I should see you any more at the usual Place. I
will, if possible, contrive some other Place by To-morrow. In the mean Time,
Adieu.«
    This Disappointment, perhaps, the Reader may conclude was not very great;
but if it was, he was quickly relieved; for in less than an Hour afterwards
another Note was brought him from the same Hand, which contained as follows.
    »I have altered my Mind since I wrote, a Change, which if you are no
Stranger to the tenderest of all Passions, you will not wonder at. I am now
resolved to see you this Evening, at my own House, whatever may be the
Consequence. Come to me exactly at seven; I dine abroad, but will be at Home by
that Time. A Day, I find, to those that sincerely love seems longer than I
imagined.
    If you
