Gelidus, the philosopher, he meant to represent Mr. Coulson, a
mathematician, who formerly lived at Rochester. The man immortalised for
purring like a cat was, as he told me, one Busby, a proctor in the Commons.
He who barked so ingeniously, and then called the drawer to drive away the
dog, was father to Dr. Salter, of the Charterhouse. He who sang a song,
and by correspondent motions of his arm chalked out a giant on the wall,
was one Richardson, an attorney. The letter signed "Sunday" was written by
Miss Talbot; and he fancied the billets in the first volume of the
'Rambler' were sent him by Miss Mulso, now Mrs. Chapone. The papers
contributed by Mrs. Carter had much of his esteem, though he always blamed
me for preferring the letter signed "Chariessa" to the allegory, where
religion and superstition are indeed most masterly delineated.

When Dr. Johnson read his own satire, in which the life of a scholar is
painted, with the various obstructions thrown in his way to fortune and to
fame, he burst into a passion of tears one day. The family and Mr. Scott
only were present, who, in a jocose way, clapped him on the back, and said,
"What's all this, my dear sir? Why, you and I and HERCULES, you know, were
all troubled with MELANCHOLY." As there are many gentlemen of the same
name, I should say, perhaps, that it was a Mr. Scott who married Miss
Robinson, and that I think I have heard Mr. Thrale call him George Lowis,
or George Augustus, I have forgot which. He was a very large man, however,
and made out the triumvirate with Johnson and Hercules comically enough.
The Doctor was so delighted at his odd sally that he suddenly embraced him,
and the subject was immediately changed. I never saw Mr. Scott but that
once in my life.

Dr. Johnson was liberal enough in granting literary assistance to others, I
think; and innumerable are the prefaces, sermons, lectures, and dedications
which he used to make for people who begged of him. Mr. Murphy related in