He was as brave as brave could be,
Nobody was so brave as he;
He would have died in Honor's bed,
Only he died at home instead.
Well may the Royal Regiment swear,
They never had such a Volunteer.
But whatsoever they may say,
Death is a man that will have his way:
Tho' he was but an ensign in this world of pain;
In the next we hope he'll be a captain.
And without meaning to make any reflection on his mentals,
He begg'd to be buried in regimentals.

Sed hae sunt lamentabilis nugae--But 'tis as good as some epitaphs you and
I have read together in Christ-Church-yard.

Poor Sam. Le Grice! I am afraid the world, and the camp, and the
university, have spoilt him among them. 'Tis certain he had at one time
a strong capacity of turning out something better. I knew him, and that
not long since, when he had a most warm heart. I am ashamed of the
indifference I have sometimes felt towards him. I think the devil is in
one's heart. I am under obligations to that man for the warmest
friendship and heartiest sympathy, even for an agony of sympathy exprest
both by word and deed, and tears for me, when I was in my greatest
distress. But I have forgot that! as, I fear, he has nigh forgot the
awful scenes which were before his eyes when he served the office of a
comforter to me. No service was too mean or troublesome for him to
perform. I can't think what but the devil, "that old spider," could have
suck'd my heart so dry of its sense of all gratitude. If he does come in
your way, Southey, fail not to tell him that I retain a most