As no one was near him, the flames had surrounded him, when the officer
on guard, hearing his cries, ran to his assistance, and extinguished the
fire. He might have survived, but a singular circumstance accompanied
the accident. He had been devout during the last years of his life, and,
as a penance for his sins, had worn a girdle with points on the inside;
these became heated, and being pressed into his body while the flames
were extinguishing, caused a number of wounds, the discharge from which,
at his period of life, proved too much for his debilitated constitution.

* * * * *

Professor Porson was often in pecuniary difficulties. On one occasion he
came with a dejected air to a friend, and said he had been walking
through the streets of London all the morning, thinking how strange it
was that not one of all the crowds he met should know as much about
Greek tragic verse as himself, and yet that he could not turn his
knowledge into a hundred pounds. In these moments he often talked of
retiring forever to the wilds of America, where he formed a plan of
living in solitary happiness, without a book or a friend.

* * * * *

One evening, at the Literary Fund Club, Mr. Incledon having sung with
great effect Mr. T. Dibdin's ballad of "May we ne'er want a friend, or a
bottle to give him," an elderly gentleman whispered in Mr. T. Dibdin's
ear, "Ah! my dear sir, these are the true things of the old school; what
a pity it is no one living is found to write such ditties now!"

* * * * *