"'They call me Mishap.'
"'Well, friend Mishap, I am going to give the lie to your name, for I am going to take you to the best man in the world.'
"I rose and followed him. Later I learned that he was Levet, the French surgeon of the poor, so poor himself that Dr. Johnson had given him an abiding-place in his house. Thither he led me. The doctor, too, in his time had suffered from poverty and hunger. In his old age he returned good for the evil which he had suffered in his youth. His home was, and still is, a sort of asylum and hospital. With Levet lived Mrs. Williams, the blind poetess, and the negro Frank, whom the author of 'Rasselas' treated more as a friend than a servant. These good people gave me a cordial greeting. They gave me breakfast and made me tell them my story. For the first time in my life I ate of white bread and listened to decent language. Then my heart, which lay like a stone in my breast, melted, and I wept hot tears. They baptized me next day, the good negro being my humble godfather. To the Christian name of Francis they added, for want of a family name, the name of the day on which I had been discovered shivering in my sleep. Some days later, well washed and newly clothed, with shoes and stockings on my feet, all of which seemed strange to me and not a little awkward, I accompanied Dr. Johnson to this house, and in this very room made my first bow to Sir Joshua, who at the time was painting the portrait of Kate Fisher. I can still see the pretty creature, who had brought her friend, Mary Summers, with her. One was all beauty; the other, all wit—component parts of Aspasia.
"'My dear sir,' said the doctor in his grand, solemn way, 'I have brought with me a child for Ugolino to eat.'
"The speech made me shudder, while every one present laughed. Later it was explained to me that during the intervals between his engagements Sir Joshua caused an aged street-paver, who had fallen into necessitous circumstances, but who possessed an expressive head, to sit for him. His name was White, but one day Mr. Burke, seeing him in the lower hall, said to Sir Joshua, 'That man would make an admirable Ugolino.' And from that time he was never called by any other name. It suggested to my master the idea of making him the centre of a great composition representing Dante's terrible scene; but it was necessary to find some children with whom to surround Ugolino. Now you understand the doctor's joke. 'Here is something for you to do,' remarked Sir Joshua to me, 'which will be easier than working for the mud-larks.'
"'What must I do?' I inquired.
"'Remain perfectly quiet, which you may find rather difficult at your age.'
"'It could never be difficult for me to obey and please you,' said I.
"I was given a sort of chamber in the garret, which I still occupy; and from that day I led the life of those by whom I was surrounded. Living from morning till evening amidst painting and designing, the desire to try my hand came to me. I armed myself with a bit of chalk and a slate. Sir Joshua surprised me in the midst of my occupation, and when I made an attempt to conceal my sketch, he remarked: 'Do you know upon what and with what I made my first picture? Upon a scrap of sail-cloth and with a pot of paint which had been left upon the strand at Plympton by the boat-painter.' He looked at my sketch, and the result of his examination was that he sent me to the Royal Academy, which had recently been opened. There I sketched the faces of all the young women who represented Dido or Ariadne. My companions blew peas at them until they made them cry. Then they would clap their hands and pretend that they had given the models the desired expression. I did not know what they meant, but when I had filled my sketch-book to the very last page with Didos and Ariadnes, I respectfully confessed to Sir Joshua that I had much rather paint trees, flowers, grass, and, more than all, water. My dear, great river, where I had lived so long, the ever-changeful home of my infancy!—I am never weary of depicting it, by turns dull as a leaden disk, brilliant as a mirror of burnished steel, now ruffled and agitated, now radiant and peaceful, little rural stream that it is at Hampton Court, arm of the sea at Gravesend, with its perspectives, its shore life, the ships which fleck its surface, and the seafarers it bears upon its bosom."
