I could wish, he said to her as they were sauntering under the yew-trees, that you would not be so ingenious in describing actions better than they are: they can only be appreciated according to the worthiness of the motives, that have inspired them. You will allow, that where money is laid out without inconvenience or regret, pecuniary donations require but little effort, and of course imply but little merit. If I give so secretly that no one can discover me, it is plain I take a secret pleasure in the act of giving; but if I know that my munificence, or my active services, can purchase the approbation of an angel, that will bless and praise me for the deed, what does it prove but that I have been industrious to obtain a reward, that is worthy of my pains, and can only claim the credit of having found out something, that is better than money, and more gratifying than indolence? How then can you be perfectly assured that I did not exert myself in the case of poor Nancy Ap Rees from the desire, which I must naturally have, of recommending myself to you? Whilst conversation of this sort was carried on in shady walks and groves propitious to the cause of love, the seniors of the family, lame Morgan and lame Wilson, who mustered only one effective leg between them, kept house, and whil’d away the lagging hours partly in talk, and partly in such humble resources as human nature is fain to resort to, when age and decrepitude conspire to narrow our enjoyments, and, shutting out all hope of future pleasure, confine us to the recollection only of the past.