the heroine off
the stage as well as on. She lived at Heywoodhill, near Hendon, and
used to wend her way homeward every night, at the conclusion of the
play, in a one-horse chaise. The roads were dangerous, and highwaymen
lurked in the neighbourhood, but the actress put her faith in
Providence--and a brace of pistols which she always carried. The
pistols came very nicely to her rescue one evening when a robber
waylaid the chaise and put to the traveller the conventional question
as to whether she most valued her money or her life. Nothing daunted
by the impertinence of this ethical query, Mrs. Porter pointed one of
the weapons at the intruder, and he, so goes the story, gracefully
surrendered, for the reason that he was himself without firearms. The
man made the best of the situation, however, by assuring the occupant
of the vehicle that he was "no common thief," and had been driven to
his present course by the wants of a starving family. He told her,
at the same time, where he lived, and urged his distresses with such
earnestness, that she spared him all the money in her purse, which was
about ten guineas.[A]

[Footnote A: Bellchambers' "Memoirs." This episode happened in the
summer of 1731.]

Thereupon the highwayman departed, and Mrs. Porter whipped up her
horse. In her excitement she must have used the lash too freely, for
the animal started to run, the chaise was overturned, and the actress
dislocated her thigh bone. When she had in part recovered from the
accident, the victim made up a purse of sixty pounds, subscribed
among her friends, and sent it to the poverty-stricken family of the
desperado. How Nance would have laughed at the story had she been at
the theatre to hear it told. But there was no more merriment for
this daughter of smiles; she was lying cold and still amid the stony
grandeur of Westminster Abbey.

Poor Porter outlived Oldfield for more than thirty years and, having
also outlived an annuity settled upon herself, spent her declining
days in what polite writers call straightened circumstances. One of
the closing scenes of her career shows us a meeting between this
veteran of the stage and Dr. Johnson, who could allow his kindness
of heart and sense of generosity to overcome his hatred of things
theatrical. It is easy to imagine the whole interview: the shrunken
face of the Porter beaming all over with an appreciation of the honour
paid her, and the Doctor full of benevolence and patronising c