D'Israeli tells us of a man of letters, of England, who had passed his
life in constant study; and it was observed that he had written
several folio volumes, which his modest fears would not permit him to
expose to the eye even of his critical friends. He promised to leave
his labours to posterity; and he seemed sometimes, with a glow on his
countenance, to exult that they would not be unworthy of their
acceptance. At his death, his sensibility took the alarm; he had the
folios brought to his bed; no one could open them, for they were
closely locked. At the sight of his favourite and mysterious labours,
he paused; he seemed disturbed in his mind, while he felt at every
moment his strength decaying. Suddenly he raised his feeble hands by
an effort of firm resolve, burnt his papers, and smiled as the greedy
Vulcan licked up every page. The task exhausted his remaining
strength, and he soon afterwards expired.