Once, at the house of Garrick, to the terror of every one, Burke contradicted Johnson flatly, but Johnson’s good sense revealed itself by his making no show of resentment.  Burke’s experience was, it must be said, exceptional.  An equally exciting, but harmless occasion, was the only time that the author of “Rasselas” met the man who wrote the “Wealth of Nations,” Johnson called Adam Smith a liar, and Smith promptly handed back an epithet not in the Dictionary.  Nevertheless, old Ursa spoke in an affectionate praise of “Adam,” as he called him thereafter, thus recognizing the right of the other man to be frank if he cared to be.  Johnson wanted no privilege that he was not willing to grant to others—­except perhaps that of dictator of opinions.

When Blair asked Johnson if he thought any modern man could have written “Ossian,” Johnson replied, “Yes, sir—­many men, many women, and many children.”  And if Blair took umbrage at the remark, so much the worse for Blair.

We have recently heard of the Boston lady who died and went to Heaven, and on being questioned by an archangel as to how she liked it, replied languidly, “Very, very beautiful it all is!” And then sighed and added, “But it is not Boston!” This story seems to illustrate that all tales have their prototype, for Boswell tells of taking Doctor Johnson out to Greenwich Park, and saying, “Now, now, isn’t this fine!” But Johnson would not enthuse; he only grunted, “All very fine—­but it’s not Fleet Street.”

On another occasion when a Scotchman was dilating on the noble prospects to be enjoyed among the hills of Scotland, Johnson called a halt by saying, “Sir, let me tell you that the noblest prospect a Scotchman ever sees is the highroad that leads him to England.”

This seems to evince a strong prejudice toward Scotland, and several Scots, with their usual plentiful lack of wit, have so solemnly written it down.  But the more sensible way is to conclude that the situation simply afforded opportunity for a little harmless banter.

Another equally indisputable proof of prejudice is shown when Boswell tells Johnson of the wonderful preaching of a Quaker woman.  Johnson listened in grim, cold silence and then exclaimed:  “Sir, a woman’s preaching is like a dog’s walking on its hind legs.  It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all.”

One of the leading encyclopedias, I see, says, “Doctor Johnson was one of the greatest conversationalists of all time.”  The writer evidently does not distinguish between talk, conversation and harangue.  Johnson could talk and he often harangued; but he was not a conversationalist.  Neither could he address a public assembly, and I do not find that he ever attempted it.  Good talkers are seldom orators.  One reads with amusement tinged with pity, of Carlyle’s sleepless nights and cold, terror-fraught anticipations of his Lord Rector’s speech.  In deliberative gatherings a very small man could apply the snuffers to the great Dictator of Letters.