re
in Scotland, which was repeated up and down at one time by everybody--"How
knowledge was divided among the Scots, like bread in a besieged town, to
every man a mouthful, to no man a bellyful." This story he likewise
acknowledged, and said, besides, "that some officious friend had carried
it to Lord Bute, who only answered, 'Well, well! never mind what he says,
he will have the pension all one.'"

Another famous reply to a Scotsman who commended the beauty and dignity
of Glasgow, till Mr. Johnson stopped him by observing, "that he probably
had never yet seen Brentford," was one of the jokes he owned; and said
himself "that when a gentleman of that country once mentioned the lovely
prospects common in his nation, he could not help telling him that the
view of the London road was the prospect in which every Scotsman most
naturally and most rationally delighted."

Mrs. Brooke received an answer not unlike this, when expatiating on the
accumulation of sublime and beautiful objects, which form the fine
prospect _up_ the River St. Lawrence, in North America. "Come, madam,"
says Dr. Johnson, "confess that nothing ever equalled your pleasure in
seeing that sight reversed; and finding yourself looking at the happy
prospect _down_ the River St. Lawrence." The truth is, he hated to hear
about prospects and views, and laying out ground and taste in gardening.
"That was the best garden," he said, "which produced most roots and
fruits; and that water was most to be prized which contained most fish."
He used to laugh at Shenstone most unmercifully for not caring whether
there was anything good to _eat_ in the streams he was so fond of, "as
if," says Johnson, "one could fill one's belly with hearing soft murmurs,
or looking at rough cascades!"

He loved the sight of fine forest trees, however, and detested
Brighthelmstone Downs, "because it was a country so truly desolate," he
said, "that if one had a mind to hang one's self for desperation at being
obliged to live there, it would be difficult to find a tree on which to
fasten the rope." Walking in a wood when it rained was, I think, the
only rural image he pleased his fancy with; "for," says he, "after one
has gathered the apples in an orchard, one wishes them well baked, and
removed to a London eating-house for enjoyment."

With such notions, who can wonder he passed his time uncomfortably enough
with us, who he often complained of for living so much in the country,
"feedin