the house where she was, to lose that only pleasure of beholding the adorable maid, gave him all the pains, without the hope of one pleasure; and he began to fear he should have a world of difficulty to secure the dear object of his continual thoughts: he found no way to send to her, and dreads all his malicious uncle and rival may say to his disadvantage: he dreads even that infinite tenderness and esteem he had for the good old man, who had been so fond a parent to him; lest even that should make him unwilling to use that extremity against him in regaining _Sylvia_, which he could use to any other man. Oh, how he curses the fatal hour that ever he implored his aid for her release; and having overcome all difficulties, even that of his fears of _Philander_, (from whom they had received no letter in two months) and that of _Sylvia’s_ disdain, and had established himself in her soul and her arms; he should, by employing his uncle’s authority for _Sylvia’s_ service, be so unfortunate to involve them into new dangers and difficulties, of which he could foresee no other end, than that which must be fatal to some of them. But he believed half his torture would be eased, could he but write to _Sylvia_, for see her he could not hope: he bethought himself of a way at last. His uncle had belonging to his house the most fine garden of any in that province, where those things are not much esteemed; in which the old gentleman took wonderful delight, and kept a gardener and his family in a little house at the farther end of the garden, on purpose to look to it and dress it. This man had a very great veneration for _Octavio_, whom he called his young lord. Sure of the fidelity of this gardener, when it was dark enough to conceal him, he wrapped himself in his cloak, and got him thither by a back way, where with presents, he soon won those to his interest, who would before have been commanded by him in any service. He had a little clean room, and some little _French_ novels which he brought; and there he was as well concealed as if he had been in the _Indies_; he left word at home, that he was gone out of the town. He knew well enough that _Sylvia_’., lodgings looked that way; and when it was dark enough, he walked under her window, till he saw a candle lighted in _Sylvia_’. bed-chamber, which was as great a joy to him as the star that guides the traveller, or wandering seaman, or the lamp at _Sestos_, that guided the ravished lover over the _Hellespont_. And by that time he could imagine all in bed, he made a little noise with a key on the pummel of his sword; but whether _Sylvia_ heard it or not, I cannot tell, but she anon came to the window, and putting up the sash, leaned on her arms and looked into the garden. Oh! Who but he himself that loved so well as _Octavio_, can express the transports he was in, at the sight? Which, more from the sight within than that without, he saw was the lovely