and dragged the tiny body through the aperture. We mark,
however, that he generally contrives to hide this defect, as he would
fain have hidden every other, from the lynx eyes of Lady Mary, who knows
him, however, thoroughly, and reads every line of that poor little heart
of his, enamoured of her as it was.

[Illustration: POPE AT HIS VILLA--DISTINGUISHED VISITORS.]

Then the conversation! How gladly would we catch here some drops of what
must have been the very essence of small-talk, and small-talk is the
only thing fit for early dinners! Our host is noted for his easy
address, his engaging manners, his delicacy, politeness, and a certain
tact he had of showing every guest that he was welcome in the choicest
expressions and most elegant terms. Then Lady Mary! how brilliant is her
slightest turn! how she banters Pope--how she gives _double entendre_
for _double entendre_ to Hervey! How sensible, yet how gay is all she
says; how bright, how cutting, yet how polished is the _equivoque_ of
the witty, high-bred Hervey! He is happy that day--away from the coarse,
passionate king, whom he hated with a hatred that burns itself out in
his lordship's 'Memoirs;' away from the somewhat exacting and pitiable
queen; away from the hated Pelham, and the rival Grafton.

And conversation never flags when all, more or less, are congenial; when
all are well-informed, well-bred and resolved to please. Yet there is a
canker in that whole assembly; that canker is a want of confidence; no
one trusts the other; Lady Mary's encouragement of Hervey surprises and
shocks the Princess Caroline, who loves him secretly; Hervey's
attentions to the queen of letters scandalizes Pope, who soon afterwards
makes a declaration to Lady Mary. Pope writhes under a lash just held
over him by Lady Mary's hand. Hervey feels that the poet, though all
suavity, is ready to demolish him at any moment, if he can; and the only
really happy and complacent person of the whole party is, perhaps,
Pope's old mother, who sits in the room next to that occupied for
dinner, industriously spinning.

This happy state of things came, however, as is often the case, in close
intimacies, to a painful conclusion. There was too little reality, too
little earnestness of feeling, for the friendship between Pope and Lady
Mary, including Lord Hervey, to last long. His lordship had his
affectations, and his effeminate nicety was proverbial. One day being
asked at dinner if he would take