I will now endeavour, with Boswell’s guidance, to describe a few of the characteristic scenes which can be fully enjoyed in his pages alone.  The first must be the introduction of Boswell to the sage.  Boswell had come to London eager for the acquaintance of literary magnates.  He already knew Goldsmith, who had inflamed his desire for an introduction to Johnson.  Once when Boswell spoke of Levett, one of Johnson’s dependents, Goldsmith had said, “he is poor and honest, which is recommendation enough to Johnson.”  Another time, when Boswell had wondered at Johnson’s kindness to a man of bad character, Goldsmith had replied, “He is now become miserable, and that insures the protection of Johnson.”  Boswell had hoped for an introduction through the elder Sheridan; but Sheridan never forgot the contemptuous phrase in which Johnson had referred to his fellow-pensioner.  Possibly Sheridan had heard of one other Johnsonian remark.  “Why, sir,” he had said, “Sherry is dull, naturally dull; but it must have taken him a great deal of pains to become what we now see him.  Such an excess of stupidity, sir, is not in Nature.”  At another time he said, “Sheridan cannot bear me; I bring his declamation to a point.”  “What influence can Mr. Sheridan have upon the language of this great country by his narrow exertions?  Sir, it is burning a farthing candle at Dover to show light at Calais.”  Boswell, however, was acquainted with Davies, an actor turned bookseller, now chiefly remembered by a line in Churchill’s Rosciad which is said to have driven him from the stage—­

  He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.

Boswell was drinking tea with Davies and his wife in their back parlour when Johnson came into the shop.  Davies, seeing him through the glass-door, announced his approach to Boswell in the spirit of Horatio addressing Hamlet:  “Look, my Lord, it comes!” Davies introduced the young Scotchman, who remembered Johnson’s proverbial prejudices.  “Don’t tell him where I come from!” cried Boswell.  “From Scotland,” said Davies roguishly.  “Mr. Johnson,” said Boswell, “I do indeed come from Scotland; but I cannot help it!” “That, sir,” was the first of Johnson’s many retorts to his worshipper, “is what a great many of your countrymen cannot help.”

Poor Boswell was stunned; but he recovered when Johnson observed to Davies, “What do you think of Garrick?  He has refused me an order for the play for Miss Williams because he knows the house will be full, and that an order would be worth three shillings.”  “O, sir,” intruded the unlucky Boswell, “I cannot think Mr. Garrick would grudge such a trifle to you.”  “Sir,” replied Johnson sternly, “I have known David Garrick longer than you have done, and I know no right you have to talk to me on the subject.”  The second blow might have crushed a less intrepid curiosity.  Boswell, though silenced, gradually recovered sufficiently to listen, and afterwards to note down parts of the