is the spring of life, the bloom of gaudy years [with a theatrical air,
she spoke it:] and for her part, she could not but admire in my spouse
that charming vivacity which so well suited his time of life.

Mr. Lovelace bowed. The man is fond of praise. More fond of it, I
doubt, than of deserving it. Yet this sort of praise he does deserve.
He has, you know, an easy free manner, and no bad voice: and this praise
so expanded his gay heart, that he sung the following lines from
Congreve, as he told us they were:

Youth does a thousand pleasures bring,
Which from decrepid age will fly;
Sweets that wanton in the bosom of the spring,
In winter's cold embraces die.

And this for a compliment, as he said, to the two nieces. Nor was it
thrown away upon them. They encored it; and his compliance fixed them
in my memory.

We had some talk about meals, and the widow very civilly offered to
conform to any rules I would set her. I told her how easily I was
pleased, and how much I chose to dine by myself, and that from a plate
sent me from any single dish. But I will not trouble you, my dear, with
such particulars.

They thought me very singular; and with reason: but as I liked them not
so very well as to forego my own choice in compliment to them, I was the
less concerned for what they thought.--And still the less, as Mr. Lovelace
had put me very much out of humour with him.