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Page 84
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.
There was a clock in the gray tower of the ancient church; and the hands
on the dial-plate had now almost reached the hour of noon. At this
busiest hour of the market, a strange old gentleman was seen making his
way among the crowd. He was very tall and bulky, and wore a brown coat
and small clothes, with black worsted stockings and buckled shoes. On
his head was a three-cornered hat, beneath which a bushy gray wig thrust
itself out, all in disorder. The old gentleman elbowed the people aside,
and forced his way through the midst of them with a singular kind of
gait, rolling his body hither and thither, so that he needed twice as
much room as any other person there.
"Make way, sir!" he would cry out, in a loud, harsh voice, when somebody
happened to interrupt his progress.--"Sir, you intrude your person into
the public thoroughfare!"
"What a queer old fellow this is!" muttered the people among themselves,
hardly knowing whether to laugh or to be angry.
But, when they looked into the venerable stranger's face, not the most
thoughtless among them dared to offer him the least impertinence. Though
his features were scarred and distorted with the scrofula, and though
his eyes were dim and bleared, yet there was something of authority and
wisdom in his look, which impressed them all with awe. So they stood
aside to let him pass; and the old gentleman made his way across the
market-place, and paused near the corner of the ivy-mantled church. Just
as he reached it, the clock struck twelve.
On the very spot of ground, where the stranger now stood, some aged
people remembered that old Michael Johnson had formerly kept his
bookstall. The little children, who had once bought picture-books of
him, were grandfathers now.
"Yes; here is the very spot!" muttered the old gentleman to himself.
There this unknown personage took his stand, and removed the
three-cornered hat from his head. It was the busiest hour of the day.
What with the hum of human voices, the lowing of cattle, the squeaking
of pigs, and the laughter caused by the Merry-Andrew, the market-place
was in very great confusion. But the stranger seemed not to notice it,
any more than if the silence of a desert were around him. He was wrapt
in his own thoughts. Sometimes he raised his furrowed brow to heaven, as
if in prayer; sometimes he bent his head, as if an insupportable weight
of sorrow were upon him. It increased the awfulness of his aspect that
there was a motion of his head, and an almost continual tremor
throughout his frame, with singular twitchings and contortions of his
features.
The hot sun blazed upon his unprotected head; but he seemed not to feel
its fervor. 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 bare-headed 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.
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:
"I say, neighbor Hutchins, would ye like to know who this old gentleman
is?"
"Ay, that I would," replied neighbor Hutchins; "for a queerer chap I
never saw in my life! Somehow, it makes me feel small to look at him.
He's more than a common man."
"You may well say so," answered the cattle-drover. "Why, that'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."
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.
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