It must be acknowledged, that there was an occasional waywardness about Porson, which defied the utmost sagacity of his friends to explain. No example of this can perhaps be more striking, than his behaviour with respect to Sir G⸺ B⸺. Sir G⸺ was among his earliest as well as warmest friends. He was trustee for the money raised for his education at Eton and the University; his house was always open to him, and being an excellent scholar himself, he naturally watched, incited, and encouraged the progress of him whom he protected. Nay, Porson himself would always and willingly render his patron ample justice in all these particulars; yet all at once he ceased to go to his house. From what motive, Sir G⸺ always avowed himself entirely ignorant, nor in all probability was it ever known. The writer of this Memoir had once a conversation with Sir G⸺ on the subject; he spoke of Porson without the smallest asperity or reproach, but declared that his behaviour in this respect was perfectly unaccountable. De ingenio ejus qui satis nostis, de interitu paucis cognoscite. Ad etiam de ingenio pauca vultis? CHAPTER XXXVIII. Our tale is now drawing to its close. The subject clings to the heart, and is parted with reluctantly. The circumstances attending the close of his life have been so minutely, and, to all appearance, faithfully narrated, as to call for no animadversion. His peculiarities and failings have been by some too harshly pointed out and commented upon, without due consideration of how exceedingly they were counterbalanced, by the most extraordinary and most valuable endowments. Of what importance is it, that when he shaved himself he would walk up and down his room, conversing with whomsoever might happen to be present; that he knew the precise number of steps from his apartments to the houses of those of his friends, with whom he was most intimate, which, by the way, in the metropolis, must have been strongly indicative of a mind not easily made to swerve from its purpose; that at one period he was remarkably fond of the theatre, and all at once, as it were, ceased to frequent it? The circumstance most remarkable concerning his habits and propensities is, that he latterly became a hoarder of money, and, when he died, had not less than two thousand pounds in the funds. All these, however, are minor subjects of reflection. In him, criticism lost the most able, most expert, most accomplished support of her sceptre;—learning, one of its greatest ornaments. His knowledge was far more extensive than was generally understood, or imagined, or believed.—There are very few languages with which he had not some acquaintance. His discernment and acuteness in correcting what was corrupt, and explaining what was difficult and perplexed, were almost intuitive; and, in addition to all this, his taste was elegant and correct. His recitations and repetitions were, it must be confessed, sometimes tedious and irksome, which would