Dr. Johnson made Signor Nicolo acquainted with a few important facts regarding the use of the sword and the limitations of that weapon, which the Italian accepted with wonderful gravity; and when Goldsmith, on the conversation drifting into the question of patriotism and its trials, declared that a successful patriot was susceptible of being defined as a man who loved his country for the benefit of himself, Dr. Johnson roared out-- “Sir, that is very good. If Mr. Boswell were here--and indeed, sir, I am glad that he is not--he would say that your definition was so good as to make him certain you had stolen it from me.” “Nay, sir, 'tis not so good as to have been stolen from you,” said Goldsmith. “Sir,” said Dr. Johnson, “I did not say that it was good enough to have been stolen from me. I only said that it was good enough to make a very foolish person suppose that it was stolen from me. No sensible person, Dr. Goldsmith, would believe, first, that you would steal; secondly, that you would steal from me; thirdly, that I would give you a chance of stealing from me; and fourthly, that I would compose an apophthegm which when it comes to be closely examined is not so good after all. Now, sir, are you satisfied with the extent of my agreement with you?” “Sir, I am more than satisfied,” said Goldsmith, while Nicolo, the cunning master of fence, sat by with a puzzled look on his saffron face. This was a kind of fencing of which he had had no previous experience. After dining Goldsmith made the excuse of being required at the theatre, to leave his friends. He was anxious to return thanks to Mrs. Abington for managing so adroitly to accomplish in a moment all that he had hoped to do. He found the lady not in the green room, but in her dressing room; her costume was not, however, the less fascinating, nor was her smile the less subtle as she gave him her hand to kiss. He knelt on one knee, holding her hand to his lips; he was too much overcome to be able to speak, and she knew it. She did not mind how long he held her hand; she was quite accustomed to such demonstrations, though few, she well knew, were of equal sincerity to those of Oliver Goldsmith's. “Well, my poet,” she said at last, “have you need of my services to banish any more demons from the neighbourhood of your friends?” “I was right,” he managed to say after another pause, “yes, I knew I was not mistaken in you, my dear lady.” “Yes; you knew that I was equal to combat the wiles of the craftiest demon that ever undertook the slandering of a fair damsel,” said she. “Well, sir, you paid me a doubtful compliment--a more doubtful compliment than the fair damsel paid to you in asking you to be her champion. But you have not told me of your adventurous journey with our friend in the hackney coach.”