Garrick.  ’Of all the translations that ever were attempted, I think Elphinston’s Martial the most extraordinary.  He consulted me upon it, who am a little of an epigrammatist myself, you know.  I told him freely, “You don’t seem to have that turn.”  I asked him if he was serious; and finding he was, I advised him against publishing.  Why, his translation is more difficult to understand than the original.  I thought him a man of some talents; but he seems crazy in this.’  Johnson.  ’Sir, you have done what I had not courage to do.  But he did not ask my advice, and I did not force it upon him, to make him angry with me.’  Garrick.  ’But as a friend, Sir—.’  Johnson.  ‘Why, such a friend as I am with him—­no.’  Garrick.  ‘But if you see a friend going to tumble over a precipice?’ Johnson.  ’That is an extravagant case, Sir.  You are sure a friend will thank you for hindering him from tumbling over a precipice; but, in the other case, I should hurt his vanity, and do him no good.  He would not take my advice.  His brother-in-law, Strahan, sent him a subscription of fifty pounds, and said he would send him fifty more, if he would not publish.’  Garrick.  ’What! eh! is Strahan a good judge of an Epigram?  Is not he rather an obtuse man, eh?’ Johnson.  ’Why, Sir, he may not be a judge of an Epigram:  but you see he is a judge of what is not an Epigram.’  Boswell.  ’It is easy for you, Mr. Garrick, to talk to an authour as you talked to Elphinston; you, who have been so long the manager of a theatre, rejecting the plays of poor authours.  You are an old Judge, who have often pronounced sentence of death.  You are a practiced surgeon, who have often amputated limbs; and though this may have been for the good of your patients, they cannot like you.  Those who have undergone a dreadful operation, are not very fond of seeing the operator again.’  Garrick.  ’Yes, I know enough of that.  There was a reverend gentleman, (Mr. Hawkins,) who wrote a tragedy, the siege of something, which I refused.’  Harris.  ‘So, the siege was raised.’  Johnson.  ’Ay, he came to me and complained; and told me, that Garrick said his play was wrong in the concoction.  Now, what is the concoction of a play?’ (Here Garrick started, and twisted himself, and seemed sorely vexed; for Johnson told me, he believed the story was true.) Garrick.  ‘I—­I—­I—­said first concoction.’  Johnson. (smiling,) ’Well, he left out first. And Rich, he said, refused him in false English:  he could shew it under his hand.’  Garrick.  ’He wrote to me in violent wrath, for having refused his play:  “Sir, this is growing a very serious and terrible affair.  I am resolved to publish my play.  I will appeal to the world; and how will your judgement appear?” I answered, “Sir, notwithstanding all the seriousness, and all the terrours, I have no objection to your publishing your play; and as you live at a great distance, (Devonshire, I believe,) if you will send it to me, I will convey it to the press.”  I never heard more of it, ha! ha! ha!’