Gay, in his fine copy of verses entitled "Welcome from Greece to Mr. Pope upon finishing his Translation of the Iliad," describes the poet as welcomed by his beautiful friend;

"Now Hervey, fair of face, I mark full well,

With thee, youth's youngest daughter, sweet Lepel.

burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. It was on this occasion, that the Duchess of St. Albans, chiding her for her irreverence, and telling her "she could not do a worse thing,"

"I beg your grace's pardon," she replied, "but I can do a great many worse things." The betrayer of Miss Howe was Anthony Lowther, brother of Henry, Viscount Lonsdale. In Sir Charles Hanbury Williams' poem, describing the "Mourning" of Isabella, Duchess of Manchester, General Churchill thus introduces the story to a circle of listening gossips :

"The General found a lucky minute now

:

To speak.—“Ah, maʼam, you did not know Miss Howe !"
"I'll tell you all her history," he cried.

At this, Charles Stanhope gaped extremely wide,
Poor Dicky sat on thorns; her Grace turned pale,
And Lovel trembled at the impending tale.
"Poor girl! faith she was once extremely fair,
Till worn by love, and tortured by despair,
Her pining looks betrayed her inward smart ;
Her breaking face foretold her breaking heart.
At Leicester House her passion first began,
And Nanty Lowther was a pretty man:
But when the Princess did to Kew remove,

She could not bear the absence of her love:
Away she flew

Miss Howe is known to have been the heroine of Lord Hervey's poetical epistle from Monimia to Philocles, where she pours forth a long complaint against her lover's cruelty, in lines which have little pathos and less poetry. She died, apparently of a broken heart, in 1726, having survived the loss of her reputation only a very few years.

But perhaps the most remarkable tribute paid to her charms was by Voltaire, who did her the singular honour of celebrating her beauty in English verse: his lines, which will be found in Dodsley's collection, are as follow:

"TO LADY HERVEY.

“ Hervey, would you know the passion,
You have kindled in my breast?
Trifling is the inclination

That by words can be expressed.

In my silence see the lover;

True love is by silence known;
In my eyes you'll best discover,
All the power of your own."

In noticing the various compliments paid to Lady Hervey by her contemporaries, the eulogiums heaped on her taste and accomplishments by so celebrated an arbiter of taste and fashion as Lord Chesterfield, must not be passed over in silence. He writes to his son 22nd of October, 1750,-"Lady Hervey, to my great joy, because to your great advantage, passes all this winter at Paris. She has been bred all her life at Courts, of which she has acquired all the easy good breeding and politeness, without the frivolousness. She has all the reading that a woman should have, and more than any woman need have; for she understands Latin perfectly well, though she wisely conceals it. No woman ever had, more than she has,-le ton de la parfaitement bonne compagnie, les manières engageantes, et le je ne sçais quoi qui plait. Desire her to reprove and correct any,

and every, the least error and inaccuracy in your manner, air, address, &c., no woman in Europe can do it so well; none will do it more willingly, or in a more proper and obliging manner." Again Lord Chesterfield writes to his son on the 28th of February following: "The word pleasing, always puts one in mind of Lady Hervey pray tell her, that I declare her responsible to me for your pleasing; that I consider her as a pleasing Falstaff, who not only pleases herself, but is the cause of pleasing in others.”

We will conclude our notices of the encomiums heaped on Miss Lepel, with the following lively verses believed to be the joint composition of Lords Chesterfield and Bath. The reader will perceive that they are singularly characteristic of the manners of the last age, inasmuch as a lady of the present day would probably be more ready to denounce them for their impropriety, than to value them as a panegyric.

"The Muses quite jaded with rhyming,

To Molly Mogg bid a farewell;
But renew their sweet melody chiming,
To the name of dear Molly Lepel.

Bright Venus yet never saw bedded
So perfect a beau and a belle,
As when Hervey the handsome was wedded
To the beautiful Molly Lepel.

So powerful her charms, and so moving,
They would warm an old monk in his cell,
Should the Pope himself ever go roaming,

He would follow dear Molly Lepel.

If to the seraglio you brought her,

Where for slaves their maidens they sell, I'm sure tho' the Grand Seignior bought her, He'd soon turn a slave to Lepel.

Had I Hanover, Bremen, and Verden,
And likewise the Duchy of Zell!
I'd part with them all for a farthing,
To have my dear Molly Lepel.

Or were I the King of Great Britain,
To choose a minister well,

And support the throne that I sit on,
I'd have under me Molly Lepel.

Of all the bright beauties so killing,
In London's fair city that dwell,
None can give me such joy were she willing,
As the beautiful Molly Lepel.

What man would not give the great Ticket,
To his share if the benefit fell,

To be but one hour in a thicket,
With the beautiful Molly Lepel.

Should Venus now rise from the ocean,
And naked appear in her shell,
She would not cause half the emotion,
That we feel from dear Molly Lepel.

Old Orpheus, that husband so civil,
He followed his wife down to hell,
And who would not go to the devil,
For the sake of dear Molly Lepel.

Her lips and her breath are much sweeter,
Than the thing which the Latins call mel;
Who would not thus pump for a metre,
To chime to dear Molly Lepel.

In a bed

Would

you have seen pinks and roses;

you know a more delicate smell,
Ask the fortunate man who reposes
On the bosom of Molly Lepel.

'Tis a maxim most fit for a lover,
If he kisses he never should tell:
But no tongue can ever discover
His pleasure with Molly Lepel.

Heaven keep our good king from a rising,
But that rising who's fitter to quell,
Than some lady with beauty surprising,
And who should that be but Lepel?

If Curll would print me this sonnet,
To a volume my verses should swell;
A fig for what Dennis says on it,

He can never find fault with Lepel.

Then Handel to music shall set it;
Thro' England my ballad shall sell;
And all the world readily get it,

To sing to the praise of Lepel.

On the 25th of October, 1720, when in her twentieth year, Miss Lepel accepted the hand of the celebrated John, Lord Hervey. About the period of their marriage, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu writes to her sister, Lady Mar,

"The most considerable incident that has happened a good while was the ardent affection that Mrs. Hervey, and her dear spouse,* took to me.

* Lord Hervey at this period had not attained to the title. His elder brother, Carr, Lord Hervey, survived till the 15th November, 1723.