Porson, when in Norfolk with his sister, went regularly to church, nor was he ever prevented from so doing, except when under the influence of one of the violent paroxysms of asthma, to which he was subject.—These were occasionally so formidable, that apprehensions were often entertained, that he would expire in the presence of his friends. On his first visit to Norfolk, in 1804, he accompanied his brother-in-law to the adjoining village church of Horstead. Porson found that preparations were made to administer the sacrament.—When the usual service of prayers and sermon was ended, and they were about to leave the church, Porson stopped suddenly, and asked Mr. Hawes, if in his opinion there would be any impropriety in his receiving the sacrament. Mr. Hawes instantly replied, “certainly not.” Upon this, they both turned back, and received the communion together. This was an extraordinary fact; and on the part of Porson suggests a singular question. Perhaps he might feel some hesitation from the circumstance of his being a total stranger to the clergyman who officiated; or perhaps it might have reference to the consciousness of his avowed non-conformity to the articles. The matter must remain undecided. Singular as it may seem, it is nevertheless true, that Porson did not hold ⸺ in so high a degree of estimation as might have been expected from the exalted station, which this venerable personage has invariably enjoyed in the kingdom of letters. It would be invidious, as it is quite unnecessary, to be circumstantial; but the fact was so. On one occasion, when this personage was enjoying his afternoon’s pipe, he turned triumphantly to the Greek Professor, and remarked, “Porson, with all your learning, I do not think you well versed in metaphysics.” “I presume you mean your metaphysics,” was the reply. At another time, when something which this gentleman had written and published much interested the public attention, and occasioned many squibs, paragraphs, and controversial letters in the newspapers, Porson wrote the following epigram: “Perturbed spirits spare your ink, And beat your stupid brains no longer, Then to oblivion soon would sink, Your persecuted ⸺monger.” On the other hand, it is to be observed, that this eminent man, for so he was, invariably spoke of Porson in terms of the highest admiration and regard.