thought he was, I would take his," he spoke a jest in earnest.

Walking along Market Street in the city of Saint Louis, with a friend, not
long ago, my comrade suddenly stopped and excitedly pointed out a man
across the way--"Look quick--there he goes!" exclaimed my friend, "that
man with the derby and duster--see? That's the husband of Mrs. Lease of
Kansas!" And all I could say was, "God help him!"

Not but that Mrs. Lease is a most excellent and amiable lady; but the
idea of a man, made in the image of his Maker, being reduced to the social
state of a drone-bee is most depressing.

Among that worthy class of people referred to somewhat ironically as "the
reading public," Boswell is read, but Johnson never. And so sternly true
is the fact that many critics, set on a hair-trigger, aver that were it
not for Boswell no one would now know that a writer by the name of Johnson
ever lived. Yet the fact is, Boswell ruined the literary reputation of
Johnson by intimating that Johnson wrote Johnsonese; but that is a
mistake.

Johnson never wrote Johnsonese. The piling up of reasons, the cumulation
of argument--setting off epigram against epigram--that mark Johnson's
literary style are its distinguishing features. He is profound, but always
lucid. And lucidity is just what modern Johnsonese lacks. The word was
coined by a man who had neither the patience to read Johnson nor the
ability to comprehend him. Only sophomores, and private secretaries who
write speeches for able Congressmen, write Johnsonese.

Quibblers possibly may arise and present Johnson's definition of
network--"anything reticulated or decussated at equal distances with