What is the meaning of fidelity in love, and whence the birth of it?  ’Tis a state of mind that men fall into, and depending on the man rather than the woman.  We love being in love, that’s the truth on’t.  If we had not met Joan, we should have met Kate, and adored her.  We know our mistresses are no better than many other women, nor no prettier, nor no wiser, nor no wittier.  ’Tis not for these reasons we love a woman, or for any special quality or charm I know of; we might as well demand that a lady should be the tallest woman in the world, like the Shropshire giantess,* as that she should be a paragon in any other character, before we began to love her.  Esmond’s mistress had a thousand faults beside her charms; he knew both perfectly well!  She was imperious, she was light-minded, she was flighty, she was false, she had no reverence in her character; she was in everything, even in beauty, the contrast of her mother, who was the most devoted and the least selfish of women.  Well, from the very first moment he saw her on the stairs at Walcote, Esmond knew he loved Beatrix.  There might be better women—­he wanted that one.  He cared for none other.  Was it because she was gloriously beautiful?  Beautiful as she was, he had heard people say a score of times in their company that Beatrix’s mother looked as young, and was the handsomer of the two.  Why did her voice thrill in his ear so?  She could not sing near so well as Nicolini or Mrs. Tofts; nay, she sang out of tune, and yet he liked to hear her better than St. Cecilia.  She had not a finer complexion than Mrs. Steele, (Dick’s wife, whom he had now got, and who ruled poor Dick with a rod of pickle,) and yet to see her dazzled Esmond; he would shut his eyes, and the thought of her dazzled him all the same.  She was brilliant and lively in talk, but not so incomparably witty as her mother, who, when she was cheerful, said the finest things; but yet to hear her, and to be with her, was Esmond’s greatest pleasure.  Days passed away between him and these ladies, he scarce knew how.  He poured his heart out to them, so as he never could in any other company, where he hath generally passed for being moody, or supercilious and silent.  This society** was more delightful than that of the greatest wits to him.  May heaven pardon him the lies he told the Dowager at Chelsey, in order to get a pretext for going away to Kensington:  the business at the Ordnance which he invented; the interview with his General, the courts and statesmen’s levees which he didn’t frequent and describe; who wore a new suit on Sunday at St. James’s or at the Queen’s birthday; how many coaches filled the street at Mr. Harley’s levee; how many bottles he had had the honor to drink over-night with Mr. St. John at the “Cocoa-Tree,” or at the “Garter” with Mr. Walpole and Mr. Steele.

     * ’Tis not thus woman loves:  Col.  E. hath owned to this
     folly for a score of women besides.—­R.