ted that George, instead of going out to play
at foot-ball, should join with himself and Emily in a game of questions
and answers.

George resolutely refused, and ran out of the house. He did not revisit
Edward's chamber till the evening, when he stole in, looking confused, yet
somewhat sullen, and sat down beside his father's chair. It was evident,
by a motion of Edward's head and a slight trembling of his lips, that he
was aware of George's entrance, though his footsteps had been almost
inaudible. Emily, with her serious and earnest little face, looked from
one to the other, as if she longed to be a messenger of peace between
them.

Mr. Temple, without seeming to notice any of these circumstances, began a
story.

SAMUEL JOHNSON

BORN 1709. DIED 1784.

"Sam," said Mr. Michael Johnson of Lichfield, one morning, "I am very
feeble and ailing to-day. You must go to Uttoxeter in my stead, and tend
the bookstall in the market-place there."

This was spoken, above a hundred years ago, by an elderly man, who had
once been a thriving bookseller at Lichfield, in England. Being now in
reduced circumstances, he was forced to go, every market-day, and sell
books at a stall, in the neighboring village of Uttoxeter.

His son, to whom Mr. Johnson spoke, was a great boy of very singular
aspect. He had an intelligent face; but it was seamed and distorted by a
scrofulous humor, which affected his eyes so badly, that sometimes he was
almost blind. Owing to the same cause, his head would often shake with a
tremulous motion, as if he were afflicted with the palsy. When Sam was an
infant, the famous Queen Anne had tried to cure him of this disease, by
laying her royal hands upon his head. But though the touch of a king or
Queen was supposed to be a certain remedy for scrofula, it produced no
good effect upon Sam Johnson.

At the time which we speak of, the poor lad was not very well dressed, and
wore shoes from which his toes peeped out; for his old father had barely
the means of supporting his wife and children. But, poor as the family
were, young Sam Johnson had as much pride as any nobleman's son in
England. The fact was, he felt conscious of uncommon sense and ability,
which, in his own opinion, entitled him to great respect from the world.
Perhaps he would have been glad, if grown people had treated him as
reverentially as his school-fellows did. Three of them were accustomed to
come for him, every morning; and while he