“Your way of receiving a rebuke which your conscience—if you have one—tells you that you have earned, supplements in no small measure the knowledge of your character which I have obtained since entering this room, sir. You may be a man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you have acknowledged yourself to be as intolerant in matters of religion as you have proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, offered to you in a friendly spirit. It seems to me that your habit is to browbeat your friends into acquiescence with every dictum that comes from your lips, though they are workers—not without honour—at that profession of letters which you despise—nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you did not despise letters, you would not have allowed eighteen years of your life to pass without printing at least as many books. Think you, sir, that a pension was granted to you by the state to enable you to eat the bread of idleness while your betters are starving in their garrets? Dr. Johnson, if your name should go down to posterity, how do you think you will be regarded by all discriminating men? Do you think that those tavern dinners at which you sit at the head of the table and shout down all who differ from you, will be placed to your credit to balance your love of idleness and your intolerance? That is the question which I leave with you; I pray you to consider it well; and so, sir, I take my leave of you. Gentlemen, Cousin Oliver, farewell, sirs. I trust I have not spoken in vain.”
He made a general bow—an awkward bow—and walked with some dignity to the door. Then he turned and bowed again before leaving the room.
CHAPTER III.
When he had disappeared, the room was very silent.
Suddenly Goldsmith, who had remained sitting at the table with his face buried in his hands, started up, crying out, “'Rasse-las, Prince of Abyssinia'! How could I be so great a fool as to forget that he published 'Rasselas' since the Dictionary?” He ran to the door and opened it, calling downstairs: “'Rasselas, Prince of Abysinia'!” “Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia'!”
“Sir!” came the roar of Dr. Johnson. “Close that door and return to your chair, if you desire to retain even the smallest amount of the respect which your friends once had for you. Cease your bawling, sir, and behave decently.”
Goldsmith shut the door.
“I did you a gross injustice, sir,” said he, returning slowly to the table. “I allowed that man to assume that you had published no book since your Dictionary. The fact is, that I was so disturbed at the moment I forgot your 'Rasselas.'”