Horace Walpole who had written the anonymous book that everybody was talking about, adding that he had discovered the secret through the author’s own carelessness, three of the characters being taken from a comedy shown him by a young clergyman at Magdalen College, Cambridge.  This was the Rev. Francis Coventry, then some twenty-five years of age.  The discovery of the authorship made Coventry a nine-days’ hero, while his book went into a multitude of editions.  It was one of the most successful jeux d’esprit of the eighteenth century.

The copy of the first edition of Pompey the Little, which lies before me, contains an excellent impression of the frontispiece by Louis Boitard, the fashionable engraver-designer, whose print of the Ranelagh Rotunda is so much sought after by amateurs.  It represents a curtain drawn aside to reveal a velvet cushion, on which sits a graceful little Italian lap-dog with pendant silky ears and sleek sides spotted like the pard.  This is Pompey the Little, whose life and adventures the book proceeds to recount. “Pompey, the son of Julio and Phyllis, was born A.D. 1735, at Bologna in Italy, a place famous for lap-dogs and sausages.”  At an early age he was carried away from the boudoir of his Italian mistress by Hillario, an English gentleman illustrious for his gallantries, who brought him to London.  The rest of the history is really a chain of social episodes, each closed by the incident that Pompey becomes the property of some fresh person.  In this way we find ourselves in a dozen successive scenes, each strongly contrasted with the others.  It is the art of the author that he knows exactly how much to tell us without wearying our attention, and is able to make the transition to the next scene a plausible one.

There is low life as well as high life in Pompey the Little, sketches after Hogarth, no less than studies a la Watteau.  But the high life is by far the better described.  Francis Coventry was the cousin of the Earl of that name, he who married the beautiful and silly Maria Gunning.  When he painted the ladies of quality at their routs and drums, masquerades, and hurly-burlies, he knew what he was talking about, for this was the life he himself led, when he was not at college.  Even at Cambridge, he was under the dazzling influence of his famous and fashionable cousin, Henry Coventry, fellow of the same college of Magdalen, author of the polite Philemonto Hydaspes dialogues, and the latest person who dressed well in the University.  The embroidered coats of Henry Coventry, stiff with gold lace, his “most prominent Roman nose” and air of being much a gentleman, were not lost on the younger member of the family, who seems to paint him slyly in his portrait of Mr. Williams.