When at Eton, as he was going to his tutor's, to construe an Horace lesson preparatory to the business of school, one of the senior boys took Porson's Horace from him, and thrust into his hands some English book. The tutor called upon Porson to construe, and the other boys were much amused in considering the figure he would make in this emergency. Porson, however, who had Horace by heart before he went to Eton, knowing where the lesson was to begin, began without hesitation,

Mercuri facunde, nepos Atlantis:

and went on regularly, first reciting the Latin and then giving the Latin and English, as if he had really had the author before him. The tutor, perceiving some symptoms of astonishment as well as mirth amongst the other boys, suspected that there was something unusual in the affair, and inquired what edition of Horace Porson had in his hand. "I learned the lesson from the Delphin," replied his pupil, avoiding a direct answer. "That is very odd," replied the other, "for you seem to be reading in a different side of the page from myself. Let me see your book." The truth was of course then discovered; but the master, instead of shewing any displeasure, wisely and kindly observed to the others, that he should be most happy to find any of them acquitting themselves as well in a similar predicament.

The sensible and well written Memoir, above quoted, accounts in some degree for the extent to which this invaluable faculty of his mind was at length carried; but it certainly must be allowed that very strong original powers, and intense application in after life must have been required in order to secure the attainment of such a blessing. It should be remembered to the honour of the Professor, that he never appeared in any degree vain of this astonishing talent; and he once observed to the writer of this paper, "I never remembered any thing but what I transcribed three times, or read over six times at the least; and, if you will do the same, you will have as good a memory." Indeed he was at all times the warm advocate of a doctrine, which is as true as it is important in the conduct of education. He maintained that superiority of intellect and of attainments was not so much owing to a difference in the formation of the organs, as in the mode by which education was conducted. And although such a man as Porson could not have failed to have been distinguished for the strength and acuteness of his understanding, under any circumstances, yet it cannot be doubted that the habits of his earlier years contributed much to that force and precision in his memory, for which he was so eminently distinguished.

There were other qualities in this great man's mind, although not so obvious to a common observer, nor so dazzling, yet even more rare and more useful. These were his extraordinary acuteness of discernment, and solidity of judgment; and these, added to his intense application and stupendous memory, made him, what the world perhaps never saw before, and, alas! can not soon see again, A COMPLETE CRITICK, in the most honourable and extended sense of that appellation. His reading was of course immense; he was an excellent French scholar; but, in his native language, in the

Latin, and in the Greek, he was most familiarly and profoundly versed. He had indeed applied the knowledge he had gained of the origin and structure of language in general, to all these dialects, if we may so express ourselves, of the universal language; and, had not his eminence in classical literature, by its uncommon lustre, obscured other attainments, he would doubtless have been considered as one of the first English scholars. In Greek, however, we have no hesitation in pronouncing him the very first, not merely of his own age, but of every other. He is surely entitled to this honourable distinction, when we consider that he possessed at once, each in its highest degree of excellence, all the qualities for which any single scholar has hitherto been eminent. In him were conspicuous, boundless extent of reading; a most exact and well ordered memory; unwearied patience in unravelling the sense of an author, and exploring the perplexities of a manuscript; perspicacity in discovering the corruptions of a text; and acuteness, almost intuitive, in restoring the true reading. All this, be it observed, was tempered with a judgment, which preserved him invariably from the rocks against which even the greatest of his critical predecessors have at some time or other split; we mean precipitation in determining that to be unsound, which after all had no defect; and rashness in applying remedies, which only served to increase the disease.

In thus pronouncing him superiour to Salmasius, Casaubon, Hemsterhusius, Toup, Dawes, and even to Bentley and Valckenaer, some of our readers may perhaps be of opinion, that he has published too little to justify this high encomium. To these we must reply in the words of the old proverb, ex pede Herculem; and we would boldly refer to the four plays of Euripides, with the Preface and Supplement, as the work of a critick, soaring in genius and in attainment above his predecessors. When, moreover, we appeal to those exquisite specimens of profound knowledge and critical acumen, which he so liberally communicated to his friends, we have no hesitation in giving it as our opinion, that what is yet unpublished, is equal, both in value and extent, to that which has already been submitted to the world. And we have only to express our most ardent and decided wish, that some steps may be immediately taken in order to collect all the remains of this admirable scholar, for the purpose of publication; whether they be recorded in the memories and books of his friends, or whether they be treasured among his own literary κειμηλια.

In the enumeration of those qualities, which contributed to raise this wonderful man to such a proud preeminence, it would be unpardonable to forget the point and brilliancy of his wit. It is difficult to define this faculty as it exists in any mind; but it is peculiarly so as it appeared in that of Porson, on account of the variety, as well as beauty, of the forms it assumed. At one time it was the happy talent of enlivening and illustrating a subject by a peculiarly apt and dexterous quotation ;* at another, it scattered at will the

He once said that he wished to be called upon for a second edition of his Letters to Travis, and in that case he meant to prefix this as a motto: Quo, moriture, ruis, majoraque viribus audes? Fallit te incautum pietas tua.

Attick salt, which gave so much vivacity to the controversies of Bentley, and which diffuses such peculiar splendour over the polemical gloom of the Letters to Archdeacon Travis; at other times this superiour genius wielded the more concealed, but caustick, weapon, which probed to the quick the follies and the vices of mankind in the Satires of Swift. Such, and so various, were the powers of Richard Porson, that by turns we are in doubt whether we have been more facinated by his wit, or astonished at his learning.

To these intellectual excellencies, faintly and imperfectly as they are pourtrayed, were added strong and admirable moral qualities; the most inflexible spirit of integrity; a most inviolable regard to truth; and their necessary concomitants, the most determined independence. By precept, as well as example, he discountenanced all violent emotions of the mind, and particularly that of anger. His sentiments upon the subject of Religion it was difficult, at least for such persons as did not enjoy opportunities of frequent and familiar intercourse with him, to collect with precision. We are, however, enabled to state, as the decided conviction of those, who were more particularly honoured with his confidence, that his faith was steady in the pure and consoling truths of Christianity. In his interpretation of some parts of the sacred volume, he certainly differed from the Church of England; but his dissent was unmixed with any tincture of undue or schismatical warmth in favour of a system, to which, after mature and painful deliberation, he felt himself bound to adhere. For the name of God he ever observed the most pious reverence; nor ever would he suffer it to be profaned in his presence. Obscene language was in an equal degree the object of his antipathy and disgust.

He undoubtedly had a warm sense of kindness to himself; and felt more than he expressed, of benevolence towards others! Of every thing mean, base, insolent, treacherous or selfish, whether practised towards others or towards himself, he had a quick discernment and a most rooted abhorrence; and the terms of bitter contempt, or of severe indignation, in which he expressed himself upon such occasions, may have given rise to opinions concerning the real bent of his feelings, which those, who had frequent opportunities of observing him, can safely pronounce to be unfounded.

From this attempt to shew the cast of his moral character, it appears, that as the features of his mind were robust, so were the virtues of his heart stern. Indeed, in many of their better points, he has frequently reminded us of the old Stoicks; but if he did take Cato for his model, it is seriously to be lamented that he imitated him in one of his defects.* We have no doubt that the tempestiva convivia, in which the Professor loved to indulge, owed their origin to a sleeplessness first brought on by habits of study, and subsequently increased by indisposition; but whatever was the cause, deeply do we deplore this additional instance of infirmity attached to the greatest and most shining excellencies. We must,

* Mart. Epig. Lib. ii. 89.

however, carefully guard our readers from supposing that this eminently learned man was habitually addicted to the use of strong and heating liquors. When alone, he was singularly abstemious. And again we must urge the observation that his late hours were not occasioned by the vice of intemperance, but by the misfortune of his inability to sleep. His usual and favourite beverage upon these occasions was table beer; and continually would he pass the night, charming and instructing those who sat around, without the slightest advance to inebriety. But sometimes the officious zeal of his less discreet companions would supply temptations, against which he was not sufficiently upon his guard; and towards the latter part of his life, his frame, undermined as it unhappily was by the corrosions of disease, could ill sustain, and consequently betrayed, the least indulgence. Yet be it observed that, in no moment of gaiety, carried even to a faulty excess, did he ever lose that reverence for the name of his Creator, and that loathing of obscenity, which we have already mentioned as honourable characteristicks of his moral tendencies; never did he swerve from his undeviating attachment to truth, nor ever was he known to betray a

secret.

In a subsequent number we propose to give an account of the Professor's publications, and to collect, as well as we may be enabled, some of those lighter productions which are dispersed in the fugitive publications of the day.

AMONG the miserable transmigrations, wanderings, and travesties, which persons and things have undergone in this world, none have been more remarkable, whether we consider the lustre of original rank, or the variety and depth of subsequent degradation, than the genius of the ancient academy. From the destruction of that grove in whose shade the sublime philosophy of Plato was taught to the illustrious men of Greece, he next revived in the scientifick academies of Italy, France, and England, where his rank was long respectable, though he was forced in the former country to shield some associations of dillettanti. But at length his humiliation became as excessive, as it was widely spread. Those who taught to skip in measure, or to box by rule, to play the fiddle, or to play the jockey, were all academicians. In our country too, this unfortunate genius has been obliged to lend his name to schools in every village, where plebeian urchins are to be instructed how to read, to

66

write, and "speak pieces!" Eheu! But though" he has still been falling," it seems there is yet a lower deep," which we now extract, as it is printed in a Philadelphia paper.

MRS. ANCORA, respectfully informs the publick, that, induced by respectable persons, and by the proffered assistance of eminent masters, she is enabled to form an establishment for the education of YOUNG LADIES; which, by the different branches therein to be taught, takes the title of " ACADEMY OF THE UNITED SCIENCES."

Impressed with the solemnity of the task, at the same time with an ardent desire of meriting the approbation of parents, she pledges herself that, whatever can conduce to the advancement of this moral institution, shall receive her most active attention.

Madam Ancora's Academy will differ in the following particu lars from other female institutions, viz. all her pupils will be day scholars. Terms per annum 40 dollars, and 2 and an half dollars

entrance.

Forty pupils only will be admitted.

Mr. Ancora will himself teach drawing and painting in all its varieties.

Teachers of the first respectability will assist Mrs. Ancora.

Mr. John Riley, late principal of Frankford academy, will teach grammar, history, geography, and the use of the globes. Mr. Carver, writing and arithmetick.

Madam Ancora, sewing, marking, embroidery, &c.

The academy will be opened at No. 53, South Fifth street, the first Monday in January next.

Have you remarked, reader, that Mr. Ancora will HIMSELF teach "drawing and painting in all their varieties," and Madam Ancora, ❝ sewing, marking, embroidery," the united sciences!!

"Blow winds, and crack your cheeks."

MANTO.

The following passage by Manto, has always struck me as extremely beautiful; the literal translation, that follows it, may give pleasure to some, who are unacquainted with the Italian language. Descrizione d'un Cristo, legato alla Colonna.

Di marmo è la colonna ;

Di marmo son gli empi ministri, e rei ;

E tu, pure signor, di marmo sei !

Marmo ella è per natura;

Marmo quei per durezza;

Tu marmo per costanza et per fortezza.
Ed io, che di pietade, et di cordoglio,

Spettator ne rimango,

Marmo son, se non piango.

"Of marble is the column, of marble the impious officers and malefactors, and thou too, Lord, art of marble. That is so by nature, those in cruelty, and thou art marble in constancy and fortitude and I, who from piety and compassion remain the spectator, must be marble, if I do not weep."

;