But one thing I must not neglect to say. From his boyhood upward until the latest day of his life he never forgot the story of Uttoxeter market. Often when he was a scholar of the University of Oxford, or master of an academy at Edial, or a writer for the London booksellers,&mdash;in all his poverty and toil and in all his success,&mdash;while he was walking the streets without a shilling to buy food, or when the greatest men of England were proud to feast him at their table,&mdash;still that heavy and remorseful thought came back to him, &ldquo;I was cruel to my poor father in his illness!&rdquo; Many and many a time, awake or in his dreams, he seemed to see old Michael Johnson standing in the dust and confusion of the market-place and pressing his withered hand to his forehead as if it ached. </p> <p> Alas! my dear children, it is a sad thing to have such a thought as this to bear us company through life. </p> <p> Though the story was but half finished, yet, as it was longer than usual, Mr. Temple here made a short pause. He perceived that Emily was in tears, and Edward turned his half-veiled face towards the speaker with an air of great earnestness and interest. As for George, he had withdrawn into the dusky shadow behind his father&rsquo;s chair. </p> <p> <br /><br /><br /> <a name="chap05"></a> </p> <h3> CHAPTER V. </h3> <p> In a few moments Mr. Temple resumed the story, as follows:&mdash; </p> <p> <br /><br /> </p> <h3> SAMUEL JOHNSON. </h3> <h4> [CONTINUED] </h4> <p> Well, my children, fifty years had passed away since young Sam Johnson had shown himself so hard-hearted towards his father. It was now market-day in the village of Uttoxeter. </p> <p> In the street of the village you might see cattle-dealers with cows and oxen for sale, and pig-drovers with herds of squeaking swine, and farmers with cartloads of cabbages, turnips, onions, and all other produce of the soil. Now and then a farmer&rsquo;s red-faced wife trotted along on horseback, with butter and cheese in two large panniers. The people of the village, with country squires, and other visitors from the neighborhood, walked hither and thither, trading, jesting, quarrelling, and making just such a bustle as their fathers and grandfathers had made half a century before. </p> <p> In one part of the street there was a puppet-show with a ridiculous merry-andrew, who kept both grown people and children in a roar of laughter. On the opposite side was the old stone church of Uttoxeter, with ivy climbing up its walls and partly obscuring its Gothic windows. </p> <p> There was a clock in the gray tower of the ancient church, and the hands