re. But my moderation is taste, not
virtue; and I know that what I do want, is as vain as that which you long
after. Do not grudge me my vanity, if I allow yours; or rather, let us
laugh at both indifferently, and at ourselves, and at each other."

"If your charmer holds out," says St. John, "at this rate, she may keep
you twenty years besieging her, and surrender by the time you are seventy,
and she is old enough to be a grandmother. I do not say the pursuit of a
particular woman is not as pleasant a pastime as any other kind of
hunting," he added; "only, for my part, I find the game won't run long
enough. They knock under too soon--that's the fault I find with 'em."

"The game which you pursue is in the habit of being caught, and used to
being pulled down," says Mr. Esmond.

"But Dulcinea del Toboso is peerless, eh?" says the other. "Well, honest
Harry, go and attack windmills--perhaps thou art not more mad than other
people," St. John added, with a sigh.

Chapter III. A Paper Out Of The "Spectator"

Doth any young gentleman of my progeny, who may read his old grandfather's
papers, chance to be presently suffering under the passion of Love? There
is a humiliating cure, but one that is easy and almost specific for the
malady--which is, to try an alibi. Esmond went away from his mistress and
was cured a half-dozen times; he came back to her side, and instantly fell
ill again of the fever. He vowed that he could leave her and think no more
of her, and so he could pretty well, at least, succeed in quelling that
rage and longing he had whenever he was with her; but as soon as he
returned he was as bad as ever again. Truly a ludicrous and pitiable
object, at least exhausting everybody's pity but his dearest mistress's,
Lady Castlewood's, in whose tender breast he reposed all his dreary
confessions, and who never tired of hearing him and pleading for him.

Sometimes Esmond would think there was hope. Then again he would be
plagued with despair, at some impertinence or coquetry of his mistress.
For days they would be like brother and sister, or the dearest
friends--she, simple, fond, and charming--he, happy beyond measure at her
good behaviour. But this would all vanish on a sudden. Either he would be
too pressing, and hint his love, when she would rebuff him instantly, and
give his vanity a box on the ear: or he would be jealous, and with perfect
good reason, of some new admirer that had sprung up, or some rich you