"Who discovered Boston, anyhow?" asked Doctor Johnson. "It wasn't
Columbus, was it?"

"Oh no," said Emerson. "Old Governor Winthrop is to blame for that. When
he settled at Charlestown he saw the old Indian town of Shawmut across
the Charles."

"And Shawmut was the Boston microbe, was it?" asked Johnson.

"Yes," said Emerson.

"Spelt with a P, I suppose?" said Shakespeare. "P-S-H-A-W, Pshaw, M-U-T,
mut, Pshawmut, so called because the inhabitants are always muttering
pshaw. Eh?"

"Pretty good," said Johnson. "I wish I'd said that."

"Well, tell Boswell," said Shakespeare. "He'll make you say it, and
it'll be all the same in a hundred years."

Lord Bacon, accompanied by Charon and the ice for Nero and the ale for
Doctor Johnson, appeared as Shakespeare spoke. The philosopher bowed
stiffly at Doctor Johnson, as though he hardly approved of him, extended
his left hand to Shakespeare, and stared coldly at Nero.

"Did you send for me, William?" he asked, languidly.

"I did," said Shakespeare. "I sent for you because this imperial
violinist here says that you wrote _Othello_."