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.