BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 301 



Enderby Squire, written some years previous to his death, by 

 a Mr. Monro; with a rejoinder by another talented friend, 

 Mr. Heyrick. 



" Here lies the tall Squire of Enderby Hall, 

 With his bridles, boots, fiddle, brush, colours, and all. 

 Some liked his scraping, though none of the best ; 

 And all liked the welcome he gave to his guest. 

 His taste was, in horses and hounds, orthodox ; 

 And no man can say he e'er headed the fox. 

 In the dog days, or frost, when the kennel was mute, 

 Each turn with the turn of his humour to suit ; 

 As the weather stiU changed, still his plans he would change : 

 Now be-rhyming some Stella— now curing the mange — 

 Now the state he'd reform— now mend an old door — 

 Now scrawl a lampoon — now a caricature. 

 Ever last down at dinner, and first at a snore, 

 Sure enough he had faults, but his faults are now o'er. 

 Lackaday ! that our Enderby Squire should be lost ! 

 Can't you guess what he died of ] — a bitter hard frost." 



The Squire's Resurrection, by Heyrick, Esq. 



" Oh ! how could you bury our neighbour so soon ! 

 Why, his boots were just black'd, and his fiddle in tune. 

 As a staunch, steady sportsman, and quite orthodox. 

 He'd been taking a glass to the hounds and the fox ; 

 In his moments of mirth, he would sometimes drink deep ; 

 When you thought he was dead— he was only asleep !" 



The following account of the death of the companion and 

 friend of Mr. Meynell is extracted from the county paper. 



"A brief and hasty sketch of the life and death of Charles 

 LoRAiNE Smith, Esq. — The earthly career of this excellent 

 patriarch terminated on Sunday, 23rd inst. at six o'clock p.m., 

 in the 85th year of his age. 'He comes to his grave in a full 

 age, like a shock of corn cometh in his season.' (Job, ch. v.) 

 His death was as remarkable as his life. His favourite theme 

 was to bless God for having vouchsafed to him health and 

 competence, during a life protracted beyond the usual terra 

 allotted to man. ' The days of our age are threescore years and 

 ten.' (Ps. xc.) And his death was attended with little or no 

 apparent pain ; indeed, he died, like his prototype Cornaro, in 



