“If you had mentioned that book, you would but have added to the force of your relation's contention, Dr. Goldsmith,” said Johnson. “If I am suspected of being an idle dog, the fact that I have printed a small volume of no particular merit will not convince my accuser of my industry.”
“Those who know you, sir,” cried Goldsmith, “do not need any evidence of your industry. As for that man——”
“Let the man alone, sir,” thundered Johnson.
“Pray, why should he let the man alone, sir?” said Boswell.
“Because, in the first place, sir, the man is a clergyman, in rank next to a Bishop; in the second place, he is a relative of Dr. Goldsmith's; and, in the third place, he was justified in his remarks.”
“Oh, no, sir,” said Boswell. “We deny your generous plea of justification. Idle! Think of the dedications which you have written even within the year.”
“Psha! Sir, the more I think of them the—well, the less I think of them, if you will allow me the paradox,” said Johnson. “Sir, the man is right, and there's an end on't. Dr. Goldsmith, you will convey my compliments to your cousin, and assure him of my good will. I can forgive him for everything, sir, except his ignorance respecting my Dictionary. Pray what is his name, sir?”
“His name, sir, his name?” faltered Goldsmith.
“Yes, sir, his name. Surely the man has a name,” said Johnson.
“His name, sir, is—is—God help me, sir, I know not what is his name.”