had), is seen moving impatiently forward. By that young-old face,
with its large lucid speaking eyes that light it up, as does a rushlight
in a cavern--by that twisted figure with its emaciated legs--by the
large, sensible mouth, the pointed, marked, well-defined nose--by the
wig, or hair pushed off in masses from the broad forehead and falling
behind in tresses--by the dress, that loose, single-breasted black
coat--by the cambric band and plaited shirt, without a frill, but fine
and white, for the poor poet has taken infinite pains that day in
self-adornment--by the delicate ruffle on that large thin hand, and
still more by the clear, most musical voice which is heard welcoming his
royal and noble guests, as he stands bowing low to the Princess
Caroline, and bending to kiss hands--by that voice which gained him more
especially the name of the little nightingale--is Pope at once
recognized, and Pope in the perfection of his days, in the very zenith
of his fame.

One would gladly have been a sprite to listen from some twig of that
then stripling willow which the poet had planted with his own hand, to
talk of those who chatted for a while under its shade, before they went
in-doors to an elegant dinner at the usual hour of twelve. How
delightful to hear, unseen, the repartees of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu,
who comes down, it is natural to conclude, from her villa near to that
of Pope. How fine a study might one not draw of the fine gentleman and
the wit in Lord Hervey, as he is commanded by the gentle Princess
Caroline to sit on her right hand; but his heart is across the table,
with Lady Mary! How amusing to observe the dainty but not sumptuous
repast contrived with Pope's exquisite taste, but regulated by his
habitual economy--for his late father, a worthy Jacobite hatter, erst in
the Strand, disdained to invest the fortune he had amassed, from the
extensive sale of cocked-hats, in the Funds, over which an Hanoverian
stranger ruled; but had lived on his capital of L20,000 (as spendthrifts
do, without either moral, religious, or political reasons), as long as
it lasted him; yet _he_ was no spendthrift. Let us look, therefore, with
a liberal eye, noting, as we stand, how that fortune, in league with
nature, who made the poet crooked, had maimed two of his fingers, such
time as, passing a bridge, the poor little poet was overturned into the
river, and he would have been drowned, had not the postilion broken the
coach window