the fleet employed in the North Seas. In the following year he was selected to bring back the Queen-Mother to England, and during his absence had the misfortune to lose his wife, who died at Fredville, the seat of John Boys, Esq. and was buried in the parish church of Nonington, where a monument was erected to her memory. This lady's name was Jane Liddell, of the family of Ravensworth Castle in the county of Durham. Sir John Mennes himself survived until 1670, when he died February the 18th, leaving behind him the character of an honest, stout, generous, and religious man, whose company had always been delightful to the ingenious and witty. He was buried in the Church of St. Olave, Hart Street, London; where a monument exists to his memory. Sir John Mennes is reported to have been the author of a Poem called "Epsom Wells," and several other fugitive pieces. In one instance only he published a collection of his poems, in conjunction with his friend Dr. James Smith, and their compositions are blended without any marked distinction. The volume containing the joint productions of these friends is exceedingly scarce, and not within our reach. It is a small Duodecimo of 101 pages, with the following title: "Musarum Delicia: or the Muses Recreation. Containing several pieces of poetic wit. The second edition. By Sir I. M. and Ia. S. London. Printed by I. G for Henry Herringman, and are to be sold at his shop, at the sign of the Anchor in the New Exchange. 1656." We regret that it is not in our power to lay before the reader more than one specimen of the wit and talent *Wood's Athen. Oxon. 11. 482. of this honest seaman. The following, which is generally assigned to him, is of its kind unrivalled for excellence. Upon Sir John Suckling's most warlike preparations for the Scottish War. Sir John got him an ambling nag, To Scotland for to ride a, With a hundred horse more, all his own he swore, To guard him on every side a. No errant knight went ever to fight With half so gay a bravado; Had you seen his look, you'd have sworn on a book, The ladies ran all to the windows to see But he, like a cruel knight spurred on, For, till he came there he shewed no fear; The king God bless him, had singular hope Of him and all his troop a ; The borderers they, as they met him on the way, None liked him so well as his own colonel, But when there were shows of gunning and blows, For when the Scots army came within sight, He ran to his tent, they ask'd what he meant, The colonel sent for him back again, To quarter him in the van a ; a. But Sir John did swear, he came not there To cure his fear, he was sent to the rear, But now there is peace, he's return'd to increase But his lost honour must, still lie in the dust, At Barwick away it went a. Sir John Suckling's troop certainly behaved badly, but the cutting remarks upon his own want of spirit in this lampoon, are probably more severe than just.The following account of Sir John Suckling's death, is given by Spence, upon the authority of Pope, and is sufficient to warrant an opinion that regard to personal safety was not a main ingredient in his character. "Sir John was a man of great vivacity and spirit. He died about the beginning of the civil war, and his death was occasioned by a very uncommon accident. He entered warmly into the king's interest, and was sent over by him into France, with some letters of great consequence to the Queen. He arrived late at Calais, and in the night his servant ran away with his portmanteau, in which were his money and papers. When he was told of this in the morning, he immediately enquired which way his servant had taken; and in pulling on his boots, found one of them extremely uneasy to him, but as his horses were at the door, he leaped into his saddle, and forgot his pain. He pursued his servant so eagerly, that he overtook him two or three posts off,-recovered his portmanteau, and soon after complained of a vast pain in one of his feet, and fainted away with t. When they came to pull off his boots, to fling him into bed, they found one of them full of blood. It seems, his servant, who knew his master's temper well, and was sure he would pursue him as soon as his villainy should be discovered, had driven a nail up into one of his boots in hopes of disabling him from pursuing him. Sir John's impetuosity made him regard the pain only just at first, and his pursuit hurried him from the thoughts of it for some time after: however, the wound was so bad, and so much inflamed, that it flung him into a violent fever, which ended his life in a few days. This incident, strange as it may seem, might be proved from some original letters in Lord Oxford's collection. JOHN BOYS. LIVING IN 1612 AND IN 1672. Virgil's divine.—let him alone for me ! He's hard to imitate in any sort, He shoots well that comes nigh.—though always short. Virgil is to be known, I know not when. But all that's nothing; thine, and every book, Is now, or good or bad, as it hath luck; None can confront the world. (CHARLES FOTHERBY.) Such were the sensible hints given to this Kentish Worthy by his cousin, in a long copy of verses, which notwithstanding he chose to prefix to a translation of the sixth Æneid of Virgil. The family of Boys is one of the most ancient, respectable, and widely extended in the county of Kent. John Boys, of whose works we have to speak, was the son of Thomas Boys, of Hode Court, in the parish of Blean, near Canterbury, and great nephew to Sir John Boys, of the same place, who was Member of Parliament for Sandwich, Recorder of Canterbury, and founder of Jesus's, or Boy's Hospital, in that city, and died in 1612. Sir John Boys bequeathed his mansion house of Hode Court, to his nephew above named, from whom it passed to |