'Nowhere between here and there?' I asked. 'No friend's house, for instance, where he often spent the night? Where did that lady live who used to give him nineteen cups of tea at a sitting? Couldn't we pause and refresh ourselves by looking at her portals on the way?' 'Transatlantic impertinence,' cried Miss Corke, leading the way out, 'is more than I can bear!' 'But,' I said, still hanging back, 'about how far------?' When my dear friend gave vent to the little squeal with which she received this, I knew that her feelings were worked up to a point where it was dangerous to tamper with them, so I submitted to Bolt Court, walking with humility all the way. When we finally arrived I could see no intrinsic difference between this court and the others, except that rather more--recently--current literature had blown up from an adjacent news-stall. For a person who changed his residence so often, Dr. Johnson's domestic tastes must have undergone singularly little alteration. 'He went from here to Westminster Abbey, I think you said,' I remarked, respectfully, to Peter. 'In 1784,' said Peter, who is a stickler for dates. 'And has not moved since!' I added, with some anxiety, just to aggravate Peter, who was duly aggravated. 'Well,' I responded, 'we saw Westminster Abbey, you remember. And I took particular notice of the monument to Dr. Johnson. We needn't go there.' 'It's in St. Paul's!' said Peter, in a manner which wounded me, for if there is an unpleasant thing it is to be disbelieved. 'And which house did Dr. Johnson live in here?' I inquired. 'Come,' said Peter, solemnly, 'and I'll show you.' 'It has been lost to posterity,' she continued, with depression--'burnt in 1819. But we have the site--there!' 'Oh!' I replied. 'We have the site. That is--that is something, I suppose. But I don't find it very stimulating to the imagination.' 'You haven't any!' remarked Miss Corke, with vehemence; and I have no doubt she had reason to think so. As a matter of fact, however, the name of Samuel Johnson is not a household word in Chicago. We don't govern our letter-writing by his Dictionary, and as to the 'Tatler' and the 'Rambler,' it is impossible for people living in the United States to read up the back numbers of even their own magazines. It is true that we have no excuse for not knowing 'Rasselas,' but I've noticed that at home hardly any of the English classics have much chance against Rider Haggard, and now that Rudyard Kipling has arisen it will be worse still for elderly respectable authors like Dr. Johnson. So that while I was deeply interested to know that the great lexicographer had hallowed such a considerable part of London with his residence, I must confess, to be candid, that I would have been satisfied with fewer of his architectural remains. I could have done, for instance, without the site, though I dare say, as Peter says, they were all good for me.