“I am your mother, you are my son, and I love you always,” she said, holding her hands over him:  and he went away comforted and humbled in mind, as he thought of that amazing and constant love and tenderness with which this sweet lady ever blessed and pursued him.

CHAPTER XI.

The famous Mr. Joseph Addison.

The gentlemen ushers had a table at Kensington, and the Guard a very splendid dinner daily at St. James’s, at either of which ordinaries Esmond was free to dine.  Dick Steele liked the Guard-table better than his own at the gentlemen ushers’, where there was less wine and more ceremony; and Esmond had many a jolly afternoon in company of his friend, and a hundred times at least saw Dick into his chair.  If there is verity in wine, according to the old adage, what an amiable-natured character Dick’s must have been!  In proportion as he took in wine he overflowed with kindness.  His talk was not witty so much as charming.  He never said a word that could anger anybody, and only became the more benevolent the more tipsy he grew.  Many of the wags derided the poor fellow in his cups, and chose him as a butt for their satire:  but there was a kindness about him, and a sweet playful fancy, that seemed to Esmond far more charming than the pointed talk of the brightest wits, with their elaborate repartees and affected severities.  I think Steele shone rather than sparkled.  Those famous beaux-esprits of the coffee-houses (Mr. William Congreve, for instance, when his gout and his grandeur permitted him to come among us) would make many brilliant hits—­half a dozen in a night sometimes—­but, like sharp-shooters, when they had fired their shot, they were obliged to retire under cover till their pieces were loaded again, and wait till they got another chance at their enemy; whereas Dick never thought that his bottle companion was a butt to aim at—­only a friend to shake by the hand.  The poor fellow had half the town in his confidence; everybody knew everything about his loves and his debts, his creditors or his mistress’s obduracy.  When Esmond first came on to the town, honest Dick was all flames and raptures for a young lady, a West India fortune, whom he married.  In a couple of years the lady was dead, the fortune was all but spent, and the honest widower was as eager in pursuit of a new paragon of beauty, as if he had never courted and married and buried the last one.

Quitting the Guard-table one Sunday afternoon, when by chance Dick had a sober fit upon him, he and his friend were making their way down Germain Street, and Dick all of a sudden left his companion’s arm, and ran after a gentleman who was poring over a folio volume at the book-shop near to St. James’s Church.  He was a fair, tall man, in a snuff-colored suit, with a plain sword, very sober, and almost shabby in appearance—­at least when compared to Captain Steele, who loved to adorn his jolly round person with the finest of clothes, and shone in scarlet and gold lace.  The Captain rushed up, then, to the student of the book-stall, took him in his arms, hugged him, and would have kissed him—­for Dick was always hugging and bussing his friends—­but the other stepped back with a flush on his pale face, seeming to decline this public manifestation of Steele’s regard.