Another proof that he was not insensible of kindness, deserves also to be recorded. He had borrowed, on some occasion or other, of our Sexagenarian a sum of money. Of course, he was never asked for it, nor in the remotest degree reminded of it. After an interval of more than four years, he came one day, in the familiar manner to which he was accustomed, and said, “I am come to dine, and have brought you the money I owe you—I suppose you thought I had forgotten it.” On his first arrival at college, he of course did not possess a very extensive library, and he used to go to the present Provost of Eton’s rooms, to read Suidas and Plutarch’s Morals; and even at that early period proposed some very curious critical emendations. A very singular circumstance occurred about this period, which there may be some who are able to explain—it is not attempted here. Some person or other had taken a copy of Eustathius from Eton college library, and had conveyed it to Cambridge. It was here lent to Porson, who made excellent use of it. The following paragraph is verbatim from our manuscript. “The book was afterwards returned to Eton college, where it now remains, it is to be hoped, as Bonaparte said of the Belvidere Apollo, “_pour jamais_.” The expression of “it is to be hoped,” is made use of, because the very extraordinary fact not long since occurred of some most rare, curious, and valuable books finding their way from the venerable precincts of a Cathedral library, to the shelves of a private collection.—May the fate of this Eustathius be different! At present, at least, whoever pleases may see it in Eton college library, enriched by a number of notes by Porson in the margin.” Porson had a very lofty mind, and was tenacious of his proper dignity. Where he was familiar and intimate, he was exceedingly condescending and good-natured. He was kind to children, and would often play with them, but he was at no pains to conceal his partiality, where there were several in one family. In one which he often visited, there was a little girl of whom he was exceedingly fond; he often brought her trifling presents, wrote in her books, and distinguished her on every occasion, but she had a brother to whom, for no assignable reason, he never spoke, nor would in any respect, notice. He was also fond of female society, and though too frequently negligent of his person, was of the most obliging manners and behaviour, and would read a play, or recite, or do any thing that was required. He was very fond of crab fish, and on one occasion, where he was very intimate, asked to have one for supper; his friend jocularly said, that he should have the finest in St. James’s Market, if he would go thither, buy, and bring it home himself. He disappeared in an instant, and marched unconcerned through some of the most gay streets of London with the crab triumphantly in his hand.