Johnson growled angrily, and said he was a fool to provoke such an answer. Not a fool, however, but a solemn bear, whose very grimness, contrasted with the absurdity of the solution, was Goldsmith’s irresistible temptation. We must, in fact, justify Oliver’s fun—though we did not see Johnson’s face. The thing was laughter-compelling. Goldsmith had no undue feeling of deference in his nature at all, though he used certainly to go on all-fours to amuse the children. His irrespective and somewhat careless humor often irritated Johnson, who generally supped full of flattery. “Doctor,” said Johnson one day, “I have not been quite idle; I lately made a line of poetry.” Instead of holding up his hands reverently, Goldsmith cried out with his customary levity—“Come, sir, let us hear it; we will try and put a bad one to it.” “No, sir,” replied the petted monster, drawing in; “I have forgotten it.” Boswell’s attempts to depreciate Goldsmith are blunderingly made. He always admits enough to betray his own unfair spirit. Johnson having had in 1767, an interview with the king in the library of St. James’s Palace, the thing was greatly talked of. Boswell says, that once at the house of Sir Joshua Reynolds, the doctor was, by request (the henchman’s of course), induced to repeat the circumstances of the meeting, and that during the recital, Goldsmith was observed to be silent and _inattentive_. He says, the latter was envious of Johnson’s luck, but he goes on to state that at last the frankness and simplicity of his nature prevailed, he advanced to Johnson and told him, he acquitted himself admirably—that he (Goldsmith), “should have bowed and stammered through the whole of it.” No sign of any very deadly envy in all this, surely. Johnson himself, though he mostly made a point of defending Goldsmith against attacks, could not help feeling a little pique and jealousy toward the wit, who never refrained from arguing the matter with him, comically or keenly as he saw fit. Johnson was truculent at times, and would speak rudely to Goldsmith in company. One of the surly moralist’s formulas, whenever Goldsmith would say, “I don’t see that,” was—“Nay, my dear sir, why can you not see what everybody else sees?” On such occasions, Goldsmith’s independence, or want of tact was against him. Johnson at times, used to put him down in this way. During an argument, Goldsmith having been several times contradicted, “sat in restless agitation,” says the veracious Boswell, “from a wish to get in and shine.” No easy matter when Johnson was cloudy. “Finding himself excluded,” he goes on—“he had taken his hat to go away, but remained for some time with it in his hand. Once, when beginning again to speak, he was overpowered by the loud voice of Johnson, who was at the opposite end of the table, and did not notice the attempt. Thus disappointed, Goldsmith threw down his hat in a passion, and said—‘take it’—looking angrily at Johnson.