“Not I, sir. But, if I have been doing so, what then?”
“What then? Why, then you may count upon the eternal enmity of the little Scotchman whom you once described not as a cur but only a bur. Sir, Boswell robbed of his Johnson would be worse than—than——”
“A lioness robbed of her whelps?”
“Well, better say a she-bear robbed of her cubs, only that Johnson is the bear and Boswell the cub. Boswell has been going about saying that you had boasted to him of your intention to become Johnson's biographer; and the best of the matter is that Johnson has entered with great spirit into the jest and has kept his poor Bossy on thistles—reminiscent of his native land—ever since.”
Goldsmith laughed, and told Baretti how he had occasion to get rid of Boswell, and had done so by pretending that he meant to write a life of Johnson. Baretti laughed and went on to describe how, on the previous evening, Garrick had drawn on Boswell until the latter had imitated all the animals in the farmyard, while narrating, for the thousandth time, his first appearance in the pit of Drury Lane. Boswell had felt quite flattered, Baretti said, when Garrick, making a judicial speech, which every one present except Boswell perceived to be a fine piece of comedy, said he felt constrained to reverse the judgment of the man in the pit who had shouted: “Stick to the coo, mon!” On the whole, Garrick said, he thought that, while Boswell's imitation of the cow was most admirable in many respects, yet for naturalness it was his opinion—whatever it might be worth—that the voice of the ass was that which Boswell was most successful in attempting.
Goldsmith knew that even Garrick's broadest buffoonery was on occasions accepted by Boswell with all seriousness, and he had no hesitation in believing Baretti's account of the party on the previous evening.
He went to Mrs. Abington's room at the theatre early in the night to inquire if she had made any change in her plans respecting the supper, and he found that the lady had come to think as poorly of the scheme which she had invented as he did. She had even abandoned her idea of inducing the man to confess, when in a state of intoxication, where he was in the habit of keeping the letters.
“These fellows are sometimes desperately suspicious when in their cups,” said she; “and I fear that at the first hint of our purpose he may become dumb, no matter how boldly he may have been talking previously. If he suspects that you have a desire to obtain the letters, you may say farewell to the chance of worming anything out of him regarding them.”
“What then is to be gained by our supping with him?” said Goldsmith.
“Why, you are brought into contact with him,” she replied. “You will then be in a position, if you cultivate a friendship with him, to take him unawares upon some occasion, and so effect your purpose. Great? heavens, sir! one cannot expect to take a man by storm, so to speak—one cannot hope to meet a clever scoundrel for half an hour-in the evening, and then walk away with all his secrets. You may have to be with this fellow every day for a month or two before you get a chance of putting the letters into your pocket.”