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Frances Burney was at the height of fame and popularity before Cowper had published his first volume, before Porson had gone up to college, before Pitt had taken his seat in the House of Commons, before the voice of Erskine had been once heard in Westminster Hall.
Ned had already given his reason for keeping silence in the matter hitherto, and Ripon now explained that they had determined to wait till Saturday to see what came of it, but that after that new theft they deemed it their duty to speak at once. Mr. Porson sat with his face half shaded with his hand and without speaking a single word until the boys had concluded.
He seemed to have before him an utter blank as if the outer wall of creation had risen frowning in front, and he knew there was nothing behind it but chaos. "Where is your papa?" asked Mr. Porson. The boy looked round bewildered. "Gone," he answered; nor could they get anything more from him. "Was your papa with you here?" asked Mrs. Porson.
Porson was a gentlemanly young man even for an artist, and he did not know what being "put away" meant, but he thought it best to explain that he intended nothing of the sort. As the question of hanging seemed a sore point with Mr. Watkins, he tried to divert the conversation a little. "Did you do figure work at all?" "No, never had a head for figures," said Mr. Watkins. "My miss Mrs.
By the time the meal was finished there was probably not a boy but had taken an inward resolution that there was nothing he would not do for his master, and although such resolutions are generally but transient, Mr. Porson found that the good effect of his treatment of Mather was considerable and permanent.
"Winding up with the Moore and Burgess Minstrels in the evening," thought Porson. "Hardly the place for the young person," feared Jack Herring. "Some of the jokes " "Mr. Brandram gives a reading of Julius Caesar at St. George's Hall," the Wee Laddie informed them for their guidance. "Hallo!" said Alexander the Poet, entering at the moment. "What are you all talking about?"
The Protector thought for a moment, and as he did so, kept gazing, with a look of abstraction, in the face of his valet. At length "Admit her, Porson, admit her," he said. "The Lord sends his own messengers in his own way; and if we deny them, He will deny us."
True, the same picture is painted upon the retina of all classes of observers; and so Porson and a schoolboy and a peasant might receive the same physical impression from a set of black and white marks on the page of a Greek play; but to one they would be an incoherent conglomeration of unmeaning and capricious lines, to another they would represent certain sounds more or less corresponding to some English words; whilst to the scholar they would reveal some of the noblest poetry in the world, and all the associations of successful intellectual labour.
Porson made his way to Mill Street and easily found the house he was in search of. On being questioned the old woman at first showed some reluctance in answering his questions, but Mr. Porson said sharply: "Now, dame, I want no nonsense; I am acquainted with the whole affair, but wish to have it from your own lips. Unless you tell me the whole truth not a cake will you sell my boys in future."
She was bound from Flanders to Lisbon with a freight extraordinary rich as I know after a fashion by my own eyesight, as well as from the inventory drawn up by Master Francis Porson, an Englishman, travelling on board of her as the King of Portugal's factor. I have a copy of it by me as I write, and here are some of Master Porson's items:
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