A dark cloud swept across the sky and rain-drops pattered into the market-place; but the stranger heeded not the shower. The people began to gaze at the mysterious old gentleman with superstitious fear and wonder. Who could he be? Whence did he come? Wherefore was he standing bareheaded in the market-place? Even the school-boys left the merry-andrew and came to gaze, with wide-open eyes, at this tall, strange-looking old man. </p> <p> There was a cattle-drover in the village who had recently made a journey to the Smithfield market, in London. No sooner had this man thrust his way through the throng and taken a look at the unknown personage, than he whispered to one of his acquaintances,&mdash; </p> <p> &ldquo;I say, Neighbor Hutchins, would ye like to know who this old gentleman is?&rdquo; </p> <p> &ldquo;Ay, that I would,&rdquo; replied Neighbor Hutchins, &ldquo;for a queerer chap I never saw in my life. Somehow it makes me feel small to look at him. He&rsquo;s more than a common man.&rdquo; </p> <p> &ldquo;You may well say so,&rdquo; answered the cattle-drover. &ldquo;Why, that&rsquo;s the famous Doctor Samuel Johnson, who they say is the greatest and learnedest man in England. I saw him in London streets, walking with one Mr. Boswell.&rdquo; </p> <p> Yes; the poor boy, the friendless Sam, with whom we began our story, had become the famous Doctor Samuel Johnson. He was universally acknowledged as the wisest man and greatest writer in all England. He had given shape and permanence to his native language by his Dictionary. Thousands upon thousands of people had read his Idler, his Rambler, and his Rasselas. Noble and wealthy men and beautiful ladies deemed it their highest privilege to be his companions. Even the King of Great Britain had sought his acquaintance, and told him what an honor he considered it that such a man had been born in his dominions. He was now at the summit of literary renown. </p> <p> But all his fame could not extinguish the bitter remembrance which had tormented him through life. Never never had he forgotten his father&rsquo;s sorrowful and upbraiding look. Never, though the old man&rsquo;s troubles had been over so many years, had he forgiven himself for inflicting such a pang upon his heart. And now, in his old age, he had come hither to do penance, by standing at noonday, in the market-place of Uttoxeter, on the very spot where Michael Johnson had once kept his book-stall. The aged and illustrious man had done what the poor boy refused to do. By thus expressing his deep repentance and humiliation of heart, he hoped to gain peace of conscience and the forgiveness of God. </p> <p>