time is chosen for breaking a promise formerly
made to me; when a pretended honour, known to be most unpalatable to me,
is thrust upon me; when, at this very time, too, six vacant ribbons of
the garter flaunt by me,--one resting on the knee of this Harley, who
was able to obtain an earldom for himself,--the others given to men of
far inferior pretensions, though not inferior rank to my own,--myself
markedly, glaringly passed by: how can I avoid feeling that things
despicable in themselves are become of a vital power, from the evident
intention that they should be insults to me? The insects we despise as
they buzz around us become dangerous when they settle on ourselves and
we feel their sting! But," added Bolingbroke, suddenly relapsing into a
smile, "I have long wanted a nickname: I have now found one for myself.
You know Oxford is called 'The Dragon;' well, henceforth call me 'St.
George;' for, as sure as I live, will I overthrow the Dragon. I say this
in jest, but I mean it in earnest. And now that I have discharged my
bile, let us talk of this wonderful poem, which, though I have read it a
hundred times, I am never wearied of admiring."

"Ah--'The Rape of the Lock'. It is indeed beautiful, but I am not fond
of poetry now. By the way, how is it that all our modern poets speak to
the taste, the mind, the judgment, and never to the _feelings_? Are they
right in doing so?"

"My friend, we are now in a polished age. What have feelings to do with
civilization?"

"Why, more than you will allow. Perhaps the greater our civilization,
the more numerous our feelings. Our animal passions lose in excess, but
our mental gain; and it is to the mental that poetry should speak. Our
English muse, even in this wonderful poem, seems to me to be growing,
like our English beauties, too glitteringly artificial: it wears _rouge_
and a hoop!"

"Ha! ha!--yes, they ornament now, rather than create; cut drapery,
rather than marble. Our poems remind me of the ancient statues. Phidias
made them, and Bubo and Bombax dressed them in purple. But this does not
apply to young Pope, who has shown in this very poem that he can work
the quarry as well as choose the gems. But see, the carriage awaits us.
I have worlds to do; first there is Swift to see; next, there is some
exquisite Burgundy to taste; then, too, there is the new actress: and,
by the by, you must tell me what you think of Bentley's Horace; we will
drive first to my bookseller's to se