State, attended the mission at their own charge. Each of them had
his own carriage, his own horses, and his own train of servants.
Two less wealthy persons, who, in different ways, attained great
note in literature, were of the company. Rapin, whose history of
England might have been found, a century ago, in every library,
was the preceptor of the ambassador's eldest son, Lord Woodstock.
Prior was Secretary of Legation. His quick parts, his industry,
his politeness, and his perfect knowledge of the French language,
marked him out as eminently fitted for diplomatic employment. He
had, however, found much difficulty in overcoming an odd
prejudice which his chief had conceived against him. Portland,
with good natural abilities and great expertness in business, was
no scholar. He had probably never read an English book; but he
had a general notion, unhappily but too well founded, that the
wits and poets who congregated at Will's were a most profane and
licentious set; and, being himself a man of orthodox opinions and
regular life, he was not disposed to give his confidence to one
whom he supposed to be a ribald scoffer. Prior, with much
address, and perhaps with the help of a little hypocrisy,
completely removed this unfavourable impression. He talked on
serious subjects seriously, quoted the New Testament appositely,
vindicated Hammond from the charge of popery, and, by way of a
decisive blow, gave the definition of a true Church from the
nineteenth Article. Portland stared at him. "I am glad, Mr.
Prior, to find you so good a Christian. I was afraid that you
were an atheist." "An atheist, my good lord!" cried Prior. "What
could lead your Lordship to entertain such a suspicion?" "Why,"
said Portland, "I knew that you were a poet; and I took it for
granted that you did not believe in God." "My lord," said the
wit, "you do us poets the greatest injustice. Of all people we