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.