acid smile. "He's a poet--or thinks he's one--and poets love not one
another. Nothing is so blinding to the merits of others as one's own
vanity."

"Nay, Mr. Pope, is not that assumption too sweeping?" put in the fourth
man, of cheerful, rubicund countenance and, like Gay, inclined to
corpulency. "What about yourself and Mr. Gay? Is there anyone more
conscious of his talents and has done more to foster and encourage them
than you? Who spoke and wrote in higher praise of Will Congreve than
John Dryden?"

"Your argument's just, Arbuthnot," rejoined Pope. "And that's why I
rejoice that the King, his Consort and the Statesman who panders to her
spite and lives only for his own ambition have insulted our friend.
Their taste and their appreciation of letters found their level when
they considered the author of the 'Trivia' and the 'Fables' was
fittingly rewarded by the appointment of 'gentleman usher' to a
princess--a footman's place, forsooth!"

It was too true. George the First was dead, George the Second had
succeeded and with the change of government Gay hoped to obtain the
"sinecure" which would have kept him in comfort to the end of his days.
He was bitterly disappointed. The post bestowed upon him was a
degradation.

"Say no more on that head," exclaimed Gay hastily, "I would forget that
affront."

"But not forgive. We're all of us free to carry the battle into the
enemy's camp and with the more vigour since you are fighting with us,