The quarrel with Pope was not the only attack which Lord Hervey had to encounter.  Among the most zealous of his foes was Pulteney, afterwards Lord Bath, the rival of Sir Robert Walpole, and the confederate with Bolingbroke in opposing that minister.  The ‘Craftsman,’ contained an attack on Pulteney, written, with great ability, by Hervey.  It provoked a Reply from Pulteney.  In this composition he spoke of Hervey as ’a thing below contempt,’ and ridiculed his personal appearance in the grossest terms.  A duel was the result, the parties meeting behind Arlington House, in Piccadilly, where Mr. Pulteney had the satisfaction of almost running Lord Hervey through with his sword.  Luckily the poor man slipped down, so the blow was evaded, and the seconds interfered:  Mr. Pulteney then embraced Lord Hervey, and expressing his regret for their quarrel, declared that he would never again, either in speech or writing, attack his lordship.  Lord Hervey only bowed, in silence; and thus they parted.

The queen having observed what an alteration in the palace Lord Hervey’s death would cause, he said he could guess how it would be, and he produced ‘The Death of Lord Hervey; or, a Morning at Court; a Drama:’  the idea being taken it is thought, from Swift’s verses on his own death, of which Hervey might have seen a surreptitious copy.  The following scene will give some idea of the plot and structure of this amusing little piece.  The part allotted to the Princess Caroline is in unison with the idea prevalent of her attachment to Lord Hervey:—­

ACT I.

     SCENE:  The Queen’s Gallery.  The time, nine in the
     morning.

     Enter the QUEEN, PRINCESS EMILY, PRINCESS CAROLINE,
     followed by LORD LIFFORD, and MRS. PURCEL.

     Queen. Mon Dieu, quelle chaleur! en verite on etouffe.  Pray
     open a little those windows.

     Lord Lifford. Hasa your Majesty heara de news?

     Queen. What news, my dear Lord?

     Lord Lifford. Dat my Lord Hervey, as he was coming last night
     to tone, was rob and murdered by highwaymen and tron in a
     ditch.

     Princess Caroline. Eh! grand Dieu!

     Queen [striking her hand upon her knee.] Comment est-il
     veritablement mort?  Purcel, my angel, shall I not have a little
     breakfast?

     Mrs. Purcel. What would your Majesty please to have?

     Queen. A little chocolate, my soul, if you give me leave, and a
     little sour cream, and some fruit. [Exit MRS. PURCEL.