CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Our tale is now drawing to its close. The subject clings to the heart, and is parted with reluctantly. The circumstances attending the close of his life have been so minutely, and, to all appearance, faithfully narrated, as to call for no animadversion. His peculiarities and failings have been by some too harshly pointed out and commented upon, without due consideration of how exceedingly they were counterbalanced, by the most extraordinary and most valuable endowments. Of what importance is it, that when he shaved himself he would walk up and down his room, conversing with whomsoever might happen to be present; that he knew the precise number of steps from his apartments to the houses of those of his friends, with whom he was most intimate, which, by the way, in the metropolis, must have been strongly indicative of a mind not easily made to swerve from its purpose; that at one period he was remarkably fond of the theatre, and all at once, as it were, ceased to frequent it? The circumstance most remarkable concerning his habits and propensities is, that he latterly became a hoarder of money, and, when he died, had not less than two thousand pounds in the funds. All these, however, are minor subjects of reflection. In him, criticism lost the most able, most expert, most accomplished support of her sceptre;—learning, one of its greatest ornaments. His knowledge was far more extensive than was generally understood, or imagined, or believed.—There are very few languages with which he had not some acquaintance. His discernment and acuteness in correcting what was corrupt, and explaining what was difficult and perplexed, were almost intuitive; and, in addition to all this, his taste was elegant and correct. His recitations and repetitions were, it must be confessed, sometimes tedious and irksome, which would not, however, have been the case, unless they had been too often heard before; for he never repeated any thing that was not characterized by excellence, of some kind or other. One talent and quality he had, for which they who have hitherto exhibited biographical sketches of him, have not given him sufficient credit:—This was humour.
To prove that he possessed this in no ordinary degree of perfection, appeal need only be made to the three witty and facetious letters which he inserted in the Gentleman’s Magazine, with the signature of “Sundry Whereof.” The occasion was, The Life of Johnson, by Sir John Hawkins—Let the reader judge from one or two specimens.
Addressing the Editor he says: “Have you read that divine book, ‘The Life of Samuel Johnson, L.L.D. by Sir John Hawkins, Knt.?’ Have you done any thing but read it, since it was first published? For my own part, I scruple not to declare, that I could not rest till I had read it quite through, notes, digressions, index, and all. Then I could not rest till I had gone over it a second time. I begin to think that increase of appetite grows by what it feeds on, for I have been reading it ever since. I am now in the midst of the sixteenth perusal, and still I discover more beauties. I can think of nothing else—I can talk of nothing else, &c. &c. &c.
“Read Hawkins once, and you can read no more,
For all books hence appear so mean, so poor,
Johnson’s a dunce; but still persist to read,
And Hawkins will be all the books you need.”
Who would have expected this sally of facetiousness from the grave and didactic Porson?
After proposing to offer, in a future letter, a few corrections and amendments, the first epistle thus concludes:
“In a statue from the hand of Phidias, I would not, if I could help it, have a single toe-nail amiss. And since the smallest speck is seen on snow, I am persuaded that the Knight himself will not be displeased with a freedom which proceeds solely from esteem.”
The second letter is still more pregnant with the truest humour. It is to be remembered that Porson was himself an Etonian; Sir John’s book had been attacked in the Microcosm, a periodical work, by the upper boys at Eton, which fact is thus mentioned by Porson:
“Soon after the publication of Sir John’s book, a parcel of Eton boys, not having the fear of God before their eyes, &c. instead of playing truant, robbing orchards, annoying poultry, or performing any other part of their school exercises, fell foul, in print, upon his Worship’s censure of Addison’s middling style; and even sneered at the story of the Quaker, which I hold to be as good a thing as any in the volume. But what can you expect, as Lord Kaimes justly observes, from a school, where boys are taught to rob on the highway?”
It is with genuine humour that Mister Sundry Whereof affects to doubt the genuineness of some pages in Sir John’s book. “The Knight’s style,” he observes, “is clear and elegant, whilst that in which the circumstance is narrated of Dr. Johnson’s parchment-covered book, is cloudy, inconsistent, and embarrassed. He therefore begs to propose a few queries, of which the first is,
“Would a writer confessedly so exact in his choice of words, as the Knight, talk in this manner: ‘While he was preparing;’ ‘An accident happened?’ As if one should say of that unfortunate divine Dr. Dodd, an accident proved fatal to him; he happened to write another man’s name, &c.”—The whole of this epistle is full of the happiest irony.
The point and humour of the third and concluding epistle is of a similar character. After premising certain canons of criticism, in which it is assumed, that “Whenever Sir John Hawkins, in quoting any part of Johnson’s works, adopts a reading different from the editions, it is to be replaced in the text, and the other discarded. Thus, in the vulgar edition of London, vol. xi. of Johnson’s Works, p. 319, we read,
‘And fixed on Cambria’s solitary shore,’
How much better is Sir John’s reading,
‘And fixed in Cambria’s solitary shore!’
“I would not believe that Johnson wrote otherwise, though Johnson himself should affirm it.
“Again, in the last number of the Rambler, Johnson says, or is made to say, ‘I have endeavoured to refine our language to grammatical purity.’ How tame, dull, flat, lifeless, insipid, prosaic, &c. is this, compared to what the Knight has substituted—‘grammar and purity!’ A fine instance of the figure, Hen dia duoin, like Virgil’s pateris et auro, or like—; but I will not overpower you with my learning,” &c.
The whole of this is admirable, and expressed in a style of the purest humour.
Much of this same quality is also conspicuous in Porson’s character of Gibbon, as it is given in his Preface to the Letters to Travis; which character, notwithstanding its great severity, induced Gibbon to solicit an interview with Porson. This accordingly took place, by the intervention of honest Peter Elmsley, and was once repeated, but no acquaintance or further communication ensued. Porson was not of a disposition to pay court even to the most eminent characters; and Gibbon then stood on the highest pinnacle of literary fame, and probably did not take the necessary steps to secure Porson’s further correspondence.
With respect to the other branches of Porson’s family, some errors have found their way into the public prints. His younger brother’s name was Thomas. He is mentioned first, because he received the same benefit, with respect to education, under Mr. Hewitt and Mr. Summers, as his elder brother, the Professor. His talents were thought by no means to be inferior; he was certainly an excellent scholar, or possessed the faculty of becoming such. No efforts were, however, made in his favour to obtain for him similar advantages. He became assistant to the Rev. Mr. Hepworth, a very respectable clergyman, and amiable man, who kept a school first at Wymondham, in Norfolk, and afterwards was master of the free grammar school at Northwalsham. Thomas Porson, on leaving Mr. Hepworth, opened a school at Fakenham, which is likewise in Norfolk. Here he married, and died young. The second brother, Henry Porson, was not a scholar, but an admirable accountant. Mrs. Hawes has already been mentioned.—She has five children. The eldest son was for a time a member of Benet College, Cambridge; but he also had his scruples on the subject of subscription to the articles of the Church of England, and declined entering into orders. Though not disinclined to literary pursuits, he thought, and thought justly, that literature as a profession, was but an indifferent speculation; he resolved, therefore, to enter into more active life.—He is now at Buenos Ayres.
Now, then, alas! the moment is come, when we are to take a final leave of our illustrious friend.—Whatever were his errors, his failings, and his infirmities, he was, as far as talent, learning, and intellectual distinction is concerned, a great man. His loss will ever be deplored by those who intimately knew him; and the tenderest regret will, as long as life shall endure, be everlastingly excited, when memory brings to the view of him who writes this narrative, the instructive, interesting, and pleasing hours spent in his society.
Hunc unum Plurimi consentiunt
Doctorum doctissimum fuisse
Ricardum Porsonum.
ΕΑΝ ΔΕ ΤΙ ΦΑΙΝΗΤΑΙ ΥΜΕΝ
ΠΡΟΣΘΕΙΝΑΙ Η ΑΦΕΛΑΙ
ΕΥΧΑΡΙΣΤΩΜΕΣ
ΕΡΡΩΣΤΕ.
Non hic Centauros, non Gorgonas, Harpyiasque
Invenies: hominem pagina nostra sapit.