Part 26 (1/2)

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 Ra.s.selas.

n.o.ble 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 ill.u.s.trious 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 G.o.d.

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 series of Biographical Stories for several evenings. In the interval, Edward practised various methods of employing and amusing his mind.

Sometimes he meditated upon beautiful objects which he had formerly seen, until the intensity of his recollection seemed to restore him the gift of sight, and place every thing anew before his eyes. Sometimes he repeated verses of poetry, which he did not know to be in his memory, until he found them there, just at the time of need. Sometimes he attempted to solve arithmetical questions, which had perplexed him while at school.

Then, with his mother's a.s.sistance, he learned the letters of the string-alphabet, which is used in some of the Inst.i.tutions for the Blind, in Europe. When one of his friends gave him a leaf of Saint Mark's Gospel, printed in embossed characters, he endeavored to read it by pa.s.sing his fingers over the letters, as blind children do.

His brother George was now very kind, and spent so much time in the darkened chamber, that Edward often insisted upon his going out to play.

George told him all about the affairs at school, and related many amusing incidents that happened among his comrades, and informed him what sports were now in fas.h.i.+on, and whose kite soared the highest, and whose little s.h.i.+p sailed fleetest on the Frog Pond. As for Emily, she repeated stories which she had learned from a new book, called THE FLOWER PEOPLE, in which the snow-drops, the violets, the columbines, the roses, and all that lovely tribe, are represented as telling their secrets to a little girl.

The flowers talked sweetly, as flowers should; and Edward almost fancied that he could behold their bloom and smell their fragrant breath.

Thus, in one way or another, the dark days of Edward's confinement pa.s.sed not unhappily. In due time, his father returned; and the next evening, when the family were a.s.sembled, he began a story.

”I must first observe, children,” said he, ”that some writers deny the truth of the incident which I am about to relate to you. There certainly is but little evidence in favor of it. Other respectable writers, however, tell it for a fact; and, at all events, it is an interesting story, and has an excellent moral.”

So Mr. Temple proceeded to talk about the early days of

OLIVER CROMWELL

BORN 1599. DIED 1658.

Not long after King James the First took the place of Queen Elizabeth on the throne of England, there lived an English knight at a place called Hinchinbrooke. His name was Sir Oliver Cromwell. He spent his life, I suppose, pretty much like other English knights and squires in those days, hunting hares and foxes, and drinking large quant.i.ties of ale and wine.

The old house in which he dwelt, had been occupied by his ancestors before him, for a good many years. In it there was a great hall, hung round with coats of arms, and helmets, cuira.s.ses and swords which his forefathers had used in battle, and with horns of deer and tails of foxes, which they or Sir Oliver himself had killed in the chase.

This Sir Oliver Cromwell had a nephew, who had been called Oliver, after himself, but who was generally known in the family by the name of little Noll. His father was a younger brother of Sir Oliver. The child was often sent to visit his uncle, who probably found him a troublesome little fellow to take care of. He was forever in mischief, and always running into some danger or other from which he seemed to escape only by miracle.

Even while he was an infant in the cradle a strange accident had befallen him. A huge ape which was kept in the family, s.n.a.t.c.hed up little Noll in his forepaws and clambered with him to the roof of the house. There this ugly beast sat grinning at the affrighted spectators, as if he had done the most praiseworthy thing imaginable. Fortunately, however, he brought the child safe down again; and the event was afterwards considered an omen that Noll would reach a very elevated station in the world.

One morning, when Noll was five or six years old, a royal messenger arrived at Hinchinbrooke, with tidings that King James was coming to dine with Sir Oliver Cromwell. This was a high honor to be sure, but a very great trouble; for all the lords and ladies, knights, squires, guards, and yeomen, who waited on the king, were to be feasted as well as himself; and more provisions would be eaten, and more wine drunk, in that one day, than generally in a month. However, Sir Oliver expressed much thankfulness for the king's intended visit, and ordered his butler and cook to make the best preparations in their power. So a great fire was kindled in the kitchen; and the neighbors knew by the smoke which poured out of the chimney, that boiling, baking, stewing, roasting, and frying, were going on merrily.