He had succeeded in driving one of his best friends out of the room, and in reducing the others of the party to silence--all except Boswell, who, as usual, tried to-start him upon a discussion of some subtle point of theology. Boswell seemed invariably to have adopted this course after he had been thoroughly insulted, and to have been, as a rule, very successful in its practice: it usually led to his attaining to the distinction of another rebuke for him to gloat over. He now thought that the exact moment had come for him to find out what Dr. Johnson thought on the subject of the immortality of the soul. “Pray, sir,” said he, shifting his chair so as to get between Reynolds' ear-trumpet and his oracle--his jealousy of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet was as great as his jealousy of Goldsmith. “Pray, sir, is there any evidence among the ancient Egyptians that they believed that the soul of man was imperishable?” “Sir,” said Johnson, after a huge roll or two, “there is evidence that the ancient Egyptians were in the habit of introducing a _memento mori_ at a feast, lest the partakers of the banquet should become too merry.” “Well, sir?” said Boswell eagerly, as Johnson made a pause. “Well, sir, we have no need to go to the trouble of introducing such an object, since Scotchmen are so plentiful in London, and so ready to accept the offer of a dinner,” said Johnson, quite in his pleasantest manner. Boswell was more elated than the others of the company at this sally. He felt that he, and he only, could succeed in drawing his best from Johnson. “Nay, Dr. Johnson, you are too hard on the Scotch,” he murmured, but in no deprecatory tone. He seemed to be under the impression that every one present was envying him, and he smiled as if he felt that it was necessary for him to accept with meekness the distinction of which he was the recipient. “Come, Goldy,” cried Johnson, turning his back upon Boswell, “you must not be silent, or I will think that you feel aggrieved because I got the better of you in the argument.” “Argument, sir?” said Goldsmith. “I protest that I was not aware that any argument was under consideration. You make short work of another's argument, Doctor.” “'T is due to the logical faculty which I have in common with Mr. Boswell, sir,” said Johnson, with a twinkle. “The logical faculty of the elephant when it lies down on its tormentor, the wolf,” muttered Goldsmith, who had just acquired some curious facts for his Animated Nature. At that moment one of the tavern waiters entered the room with a message to Goldsmith that his cousin, the Dean, had just arrived and was anxious to obtain permission to join the party. “My cousin, the Dean! What Dean'? What does the man mean?” said Goldsmith, who appeared to be both surprised and confused. “Why, sir,” said Boswell, “you have told us more than once that you had a cousin who was a dignitary of the church.”