To Colonel Rivers.
Temple-house, Nov. 1.
You wrong me excessively, my dear Rivers, in accusing me of a natural levity in love and friendship.
As to the latter, my frequent changes, which I freely acknowledge, have not been owing to any inconstancy, but to precipitation and want of caution in contracting them.
My general fault has been the folly of chusing my friends for some striking and agreable accomplishment, instead of giving to solid merit the preference which most certainly is its due.
My inconstancy in love has been meerly from vanity.
There is something so flattering in the general favor of women, that it requires great firmness of mind to resist that kind of gallantry which indulges it, though absolutely destructive to real happiness.
I blush to say, that when I first married I have more than once been in danger, from the mere boyish desire of conquest, notwithstanding my adoration for your lovely sister: such is the force of habit, for I must have been infinitely a loser by changing.
I am now perfectly safe; my vanity has taken another turn: I pique myself inon keeping the heart of the loveliest woman that ever existed, as a nobler conquest than attracting the notice of a hundred coquets, who would be equally flattered by the attention of any other man, at least any other man who had the good fortune to be as fashionable.
Every thing conspires to keep me in the road of domestic happiness: the manner of life I am engaged in, your friendship, your example, and society; and the very fear I am in of losing your esteem.