CHAPTER V.
In a few moments Mr.Temple resumed the story, as follows:-- SAMUEL JOHNSON.
[CONTINUED] 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.
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'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.
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.