As it proved, however, whether by good luck or by the forethought of the ingenious Mr. Cochran, Dr. Johnson could not have found himself in better company than that gathered round him in Block H at the Stadium. There were many members of the Literary Club, among them Mr. Beauclerk, Mr. Burke, Mr. Garrick, Mr. Gibbon, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and Mr. R. B. Sheridan. A gentleman present, who had been dining at the Duke of Montrose’s, where the bottle had been circulated pretty freely, was rash enough to rally Dr. Johnson about his Uncle Andrew, suggesting that his uncle’s nephew might now take the opportunity of exhibiting his prowess in the ring. JOHNSON.—“Sir, to be facetious, it is not necessary to be indecent. I am not for tapping any man’s claret, but we see that _thou_ hast already tapped his Grace’s.” BURKE.—“It is remarkable how little gore is ever shed in these contests. Here have we been for half an hour watching—let me see, what are their names?—Eddie Feathers and Gus Platts—and not even a bleeding nose between them.” REYNOLDS.—“In a previous contest one boxer knocked the other’s teeth out.” SHERIDAN.—“Yes, but they were false teeth.” At this moment the talk was interrupted by the arrival of the Prince. As His Highness passed Dr. Johnson, my revered friend made an obeisance which was an even more studied act of homage than his famous bow to the Archbishop of York; and he subsequently joined in singing “For he’s a jolly good fellow” with the most loyal enthusiasm, repeating the word “fe-ellow” over and over again, doubtless because it was the only one he knew. (“Like a word in a catch,” Beauclerk whispered.) I am sorry that I did not take note of an eloquent argument in which he proceeded to maintain that the situation of Prince of Wales was the happiest of any person’s in the kingdom, even beyond that of the Sovereign. But there was still no sign of Beckett and Carpentier, the heroes of the evening, and the company became a little weary of the preliminary contests. A hush fell upon the assembly, and many glanced furtively towards the alley down which the champions were to approach. GIBBON.—“We are unhappy because we are kept waiting. ‘Man never is, but always to be, blest.’” JOHNSON.—“And we are awaiting we know not what. To the impatience of expectation is added the disquiet of the unknown.” GARRICK (_playing round his old friend with a fond vivacity_).—“My dear sir, men are naturally a little restless, when they have backed Beckett at 70 to 40.” REYNOLDS.—“But, see, the lights of the kinematographers” (we were all abashed by the word in the presence of the Great Lexicographer) “are brighter than ever. I observe all the contestants take care to smile under them.” SHERIDAN.—“When they _do_ agree, their unanimity is wonderful.” JOHNSON.—“Among the anfractuosities of the human mind, I know not if it may not be one, that there is a morbid longing to attitudinize in the ‘moving pictures.’”