ith, 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.

But all his fame could not extinguish the bitter remembrance, which had
tormented him through life. Never, never, had he forgotten his father's
sorrowful and upbraiding look. Never--though the old man'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 noon-day in the market-place of Uttoxeter, on the very spot
where Michael Johnson had once kept his bookstall. 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.

My dear children, if you have grieved--I will not say, your parents--but, if
you have grieved the heart of any human being, who has a claim upon your
love, then think of Samuel Johnson's penance! Will it not be better to
redeem the error now, than to endure the agony of remorse for fifty years?
Would you not rather say to a brother--"I have erred! Forgive me!"--than
perhaps to go hereafter, and shed bitter tears upon his grave?

Hardly was the story concluded, when George hastily arose, and Edward
likewise, stretching forth his hands into the darkness that surrounded
him, to find his brother. Both accused themselves of unkindness; each
besought the other's forgiveness; and having, done so, the trouble of
their hearts vanished away like a dream.

"I am glad! I am so glad!" said Emily, in a low, earnest voice. "Now I
shall sleep quietly to-night."

"My sweet child," thought Mrs. Temple, as she kissed her, "mayest thou
never know how much strife there is on earth! It would cost thee many a
night's rest."

Chapter VI

About this period, Mr. Temple found it necessary to take a journey, which
interrupted the ser