I have studied the craft so diligently that by merely clapping my eyes upon a bookseller I can tell you with certainty what manner of books he sells; but you must know that the ideal bookseller has no fads, being equally proficient in and a lover of all spheres, departments, branches, and lines of his art.  He is, moreover, of a benignant nature, and he denies credit to none; yet, withal, he is righteously so discriminating that he lets the poor scholar have for a paltry sum that which the rich parvenu must pay dearly for.  He is courteous and considerate where courtesy and consideration are most seemly.

Samuel Johnson once rolled into a London bookseller’s shop to ask for literary employment.  The bookseller scrutinized his burly frame, enormous hands, coarse face, and humble apparel.

``You would make a better porter,’’ said he.

This was too much for the young lexicographer’s patience.  He picked up a folio and incontinently let fly at the bookseller’s head, and then stepping over the prostrate victim he made his exit, saying:  ``Lie there, thou lump of lead!’’

This bookseller was Osborne, who had a shop at Gray’s Inn Gate.  To Boswell Johnson subsequently explained:  ``Sir, he was impertinent to me, and I beat him.’’

Jacob Tonson was Dryden’s bookseller; in the earlier times a seller was also a publisher of books.  Dryden was not always on amiable terms with Tonson, presumably because Dryden invariably was in debt to Tonson.  On one occasion Dryden asked for an advance of money, but Tonson refused upon the grounds that the poet’s overdraft already exceeded the limits of reasonableness.  Thereupon Dryden penned the following lines and sent them to Tonson with the message that he who wrote these lines could write more: 

      With leering looks, bull-faced and freckled fair
      With two left legs, with Judas-colored hair,
      And frowzy pores that taint the ambient air.

These lines wrought the desired effect:  Tonson sent the money which Dryden had asked for.  When Dryden died Tonson made overtures to Pope, but the latter soon went over to Tonson’s most formidable rival, Bernard Lintot.  On one occasion Pope happened to be writing to both publishers, and by a curious blunder he inclosed to each the letter intended for the other.  In the letter meant for Tonson, he said that Lintot was a scoundrel, and in the letter meant for Lintot he declared that Tonson was an old rascal.  We can fancy how little satisfaction Messrs. Lintot and Tonson derived from the perusal of these missent epistles.

Andrew Millar was the publisher who had practical charge of the production of Johnson’s dictionary.  It seems that Johnson drew out his stipulated honorarium of eight thousand dollars (to be more exact, L1575) before the dictionary went to press; this is not surprising, for the work of preparation consumed eight years, instead of three, as Johnson had calculated.  Johnson inquired of the messenger what Millar said when he received the last batch of copy.  The messenger answered:  ``He said `Thank God I have done with him.’ ‘’ This made Johnson smile. ``I am glad,’’ said he, quietly, ``that he thanks God for anything.’’