at a roomful of Socialists literally laughed when I told them
that there were no two nobler words in all poetry than Public House.
They thought it was a joke. Why they should think it a joke, since they
want to make all houses public houses, I cannot imagine. But if anyone
wishes to see the real rowdy egalitarianism which is necessary (to
males, at least) he can find it as well as anywhere in the great
old tavern disputes which come down to us in such books as Boswell's
Johnson. It is worth while to mention that one name especially because
the modern world in its morbidity has done it a strange injustice.
The demeanor of Johnson, it is said, was "harsh and despotic." It was
occasionally harsh, but it was never despotic. Johnson was not in the
least a despot; Johnson was a demagogue, he shouted against a shouting
crowd. The very fact that he wrangled with other people is proof that
other people were allowed to wrangle with him. His very brutality was
based on the idea of an equal scrimmage, like that of football. It
is strictly true that he bawled and banged the table because he was
a modest man. He was honestly afraid of being overwhelmed or even
overlooked. Addison had exquisite manners and was the king of his
company; he was polite to everybody; but superior to everybody;
therefore he has been handed down forever in the immortal insult of
Pope--

"Like Cato, give his little Senate laws And sit attentive to his own
applause."

Johnson, so far from being king of his company, was a sort of Irish
Member in his own Parliament. Addison was a courteous superior and was
hated. Johnson was an insolent equal and therefore was loved by all who
knew him, and handed down in a marvellous book, which is one of the mere
miracles of love.

This doctrine of equality is essential to conversation; so much may be
admitted by anyone who knows what conversation is. Once arguing at a
table in a tavern the most famous man on earth would wish to be
obscure, so that his brilliant remarks might blaze like the stars on the
background of his obscurity. To anything worth calling a man nothing can
be conceived more cold or cheerless than to be king of your company. But
it may be said that in masculine sports and games, other than the great
game of debate, there is definite emulation and eclipse. There is
indeed emulation, but this is only an ardent sort of equality. Games are
competitive, because that is the only way of making them exciting. But