When one considers the heterogeneous character of the throng who joined the ranks of the United Irishmen, it is only surprising that their secrets were so well kept. The late Frank Thorpe Porter, a well-known police magistrate, gave me a personal reminiscence not devoid of interest. His father had been one of the brotherhood; but one dark night in March 1798, a beggarman having given him 'the secret sign' in the street, he musingly said, 'By Jove! if our Society includes such fellows as this, the sooner I get out of it the better.' He had been a sergeant of grenadiers in the Irish Volunteers of 1782, and his tall figure may be recognised in Wheatley's celebrated picture of the review in College Green under the Duke of Leinster and Lord Charlemont. Many United Irishmen, whose names do not appear in history, had escapes as narrow, but on a more modest scale, as those which favoured Hamilton Rowan. Mr. Porter added a reminiscence worth preserving. The house of his father, an eminent Protestant printer, was 69 Grafton Street. The maidservant had a sweetheart in an opposite house, and one Sunday evening, while Mrs. Porter was entertaining Dignan, a proscribed rebel, the domestic left her master's door ajar, and tripped across the street for a chat. Meanwhile, who should walk up to Porter's but the city sheriff, holding in his hand the manuscript of a Proclamation which he required him to print. Finding that the hall-door gave no resistance, he proceeded upstairs. Mrs. Porter, thunderstruck, but with presence of mind, hailed him from the lobby above, exclaiming, 'Oh! _Mr. Sheriff_, I am very glad to see you.' Dignan took the alarm that she intended and, seizing a dark table-cover with which he concealed his person, flung himself under a pianoforte that stood in a corner. This had hardly been accomplished when the sheriff entered. 'Sheriff,' said Mrs. Porter, 'you probably met your friend the Town Major, who has just gone after having a glass of punch--take his seat and make yourself comfortable.' The sheriff, nothing loth, accepted the proffered hospitality. Mrs. Porter's feelings may be imagined during the _mauvais quart d'heure_ of his stay, when a single sigh from the outlaw would have sealed not only his doom, but probably her husband's as well.[684]