;
with that, to be a man of fashion, and the admiration of the town; with
another, to consummate a great work of art or poetry, and go to
immortality that way; and with another, for a certain time of his life,
the sole object and aim is a woman.

Whilst Esmond was under the domination of this passion, he remembers many
a talk he had with his intimates, who used to rally our Knight of the
Rueful Countenance at his devotion, whereof he made no disguise, to
Beatrix; and it was with replies such as the above he met his friends'
satire. "Granted, I am a fool," says he, "and no better than you; but you
are no better than I. You have your folly you labour for; give me the
charity of mine. What flatteries do you, Mr. St. John, stoop to whisper in
the ears of a queen's favourite? What nights of labour doth not the
laziest man in the world endure, forgoing his bottle, and his boon
companions, forgoing Lais, in whose lap he would like to be yawning, that
he may prepare a speech full of lies, to cajole three hundred stupid
country gentlemen in the House of Commons, and get the hiccuping cheers of
the October Club! What days will you spend in your jolting chariot!" (Mr.
Esmond often rode to Windsor, and especially, of later days, with the
secretary.) "What hours will you pass on your gouty feet--and how humbly
will you kneel down to present a dispatch--you, the proudest man in the
world, that has not knelt to God since you were a boy, and in that posture
whisper, flatter, adore almost, a stupid woman, that's often boozy with
too much meat and drink, when Mr. Secretary goes for his audience! If my
pursuit is vanity, sure yours is too." And then the secretary would fly
out in such a rich flow of eloquence, as this pen cannot pretend to
recall; advocating his scheme of ambition, showing the great good he would
do for his country when he was the undisputed chief of it; backing his
opinion with a score of pat sentences from Greek and Roman authorities (of
which kind of learning he made rather an ostentatious display), and
scornfully vaunting the very arts and meannesses by which fools were to be
made to follow him, opponents to be bribed or silenced, doubters
converted, and enemies overawed.

"I am Diogenes," says Esmond, laughing, "that is taken up for a ride in
Alexander's chariot. I have no desire to vanquish Darius or to tame
Bucephalus. I do not want what you want, a great name or a high place: to
have them would bring me no pleasu