yet he was so thoroughly right, so elevated and ennobled by genius, that while you doubt the possibility of his reviving or exciting enthusiasm or affection, you venerate and admire him as a true poet and an admirable man.

His friend Mason, at the commencement of the collected edition of his poems and letters, makes the trite observation-that the lives of men of letters seldom abound with incidents; and perhaps no life ever afforded fewer than that of the poet to whose grave our pilgrimage is madethat is to say, of what people of the world consider "incidents," but to the poetic temperamant, things having neither name nor habitation, yet existing-shadows of thoughts and feelings, revivals of past times, or the creations of the imagination, supply not only "incidents," but become events; so that often a life has been full to overflowing of such as cannot be recorded; or if it were possible to record them, they could not be understood. Mason may most justly describe Gray as a "virtuous, a friendly, and an amiable man; indeed, his truth, uprightness, and sincerity, rendered him peculiarly adapted for the highest friendship: it was the atmosphere in which he lived

"Neither too hot nor too cold"

STOKE POGIS CHURCH.

for his moral constitution. There is in the volume we have read one letter to his friend West, who was evidently an erratic genius, fond of change of scene, and the luxury of no employment, or who perhaps called his day-dreams occupation: the letter is to be found on the one hundred and eighty-seventh page of Rivington's little edition, with a frontispiece and vignette

by Mr. Uwins, designed before the accomplished painter went to Italy and returned to delight all who look upon his pictures the letter, as we have said, on the one hundred and eighty-seventh page, is a model of refined feeling, practical sense, and earnest, hardy, disinterested friendship, evincing the extent of his discretion and the soundness of his judgment at the age of four-and-twenty. It is much more philosophic than poetic, and proves that the excitement of foreign travel (he dates from Florence) did not in the least throw his mind off its well-poised balance. Indeed, nothing can be more matter-of-fact than Mr. Gray's account of his lengthened stay abroad: "We went there, and saw that, and then visited the other." There is little more in his descriptions; and yet he is so clear, that you see all he wishes you to see. He is rarely, if ever, roused into | enthusiasm; his warmth is that of a Greek statue; his eye is of stone rather than of fire. At Rome he met "The Pretender" and his two sons; the peculiar character of Gray prevented his giving any sympathy to this crushed branch of the house of Stuart; and his account of Charles Edward in age singularly contrasts with that of the Charles Edward either of history or imagination, when, in his young days, he held court at Holyrood, and enlisted the warm sympathies of many a high-hearted man and pure-souled woman. The fallen fortunes of the prince might have excited the enthusiasm of the poet; but Gray was a remarkable example of poetry without enthusiasm.

The letters and journals are, however, full of interest, and models of a close and yet graceful style; of rare value now-adays, when writers elaborate words rather than thoughts. His morale also was of the highest. He was, certainly, of a musing, melancholy turn, not likely to move the affections of any except those who knew him in his earlier years, when the yielding heart readily receives strong impress from light matters; for in one of his letters he complains bitterly of living for a month in the house with three women, who did little but laugh from morning to night, and would concede nothing to the sullenness of his disposition. Again, and in another, he says seriously, "Cambridge is a delight of a place, now there is nobody in it. I do believe you would like it if you knew what it was without inhabitants."

As we drove along we talked over what we had read, until we remembered that the calm dignified classic poet, who loved Cambridge only when it was without inhabitants, was born amid the bustle of Cornhill, on the 26th of December, 1716, and was educated at Eton under the care of his mother's brother, Mr. Antrobus, who was at that time one of the assistant-masters, and also a Fellow of St. Peter's College, Cambridge, to which Mr. Gray removed, and was admitted as a pensioner in the year 1734. His friendship with Horace Walpole commenced at Eton and was continued at college; Walpole was fond of asserting, in his keen epigrammatic way, what seems to be very true, that "Gray never was a boy." Gray's correspondence with this trifler in great things is very interesting. He accompanied Mr. Walpole abroad, and though their acquaintance was dissevered, Mr. Mason says Mr. Walpole laid the blame on himself. The poet had all the sensitiveness and mistrust of self which accompanies true genius; and there is something to excite a smile in his nervous anxiety touching his "misfortune," as he expresses it, “of receiving a communication from the Magazine of Magazines,'* for the time beingsaying that an ingenious poem, called 'Reflections in a Country Churchyard,' has been communicated to the editor, which the editor is printing; and begging, not only the writer's confidence, but the honor of his correspondence." Like all persons of narrow views, the proprietors of the "Magazine of Magazines" thought they conferred an honor on the author of the Elegy by bringing him into notice! Gray so instinctively shrunk from this, that he wrote a most simple and earnest letter to Walpole, entreating him to get Dodsley to print the "Elegy" forthwith anonymously, and to print it without any interval between the stanzas, giving as a reason, that the sense is in some places

6

This journal was originated by a speculative bookseller, and it was intended to combine in its pages the pith of its various monthly cotem

poraries, in the same way that the "Gentleman's Magazine" had first done by the newspapers. The success of the last-named miscellany, which was begun by Cave in 1731, soon led to the establishment of the "London Magazine;" and their number led to the establishment of this the success of both to a host of imitators: and "Magazine of Magazines," which was to condense the best articles from all.

continued beyond them.* Being thus relieved from his nervousness, he continued tolerably tranquil until-at an after time-informed that it was in contemplation to publish his portrait with his poems. This threw him into a fresh agony. He again wrote another letter to Mr. Walpole, in which he said :

"Sure you are not out of your wits; this I know, if you suffer my head to be printed, you will infallibly put me out of mine. I conjure you immediately to put a stop to any such design. Who is at the expense of engraving it I know not; but if it be Dodsley, I will make up the loss to him. The thing as it was I know will make me ridiculous enough; but to appear in proper person, at the head of my works, consisting of half-a-dozen ballads in thirty pages, would be worse than the pillory. I do assure you, if I had received such a book, with such a frontispiece, without any warning, I believe it would have given me a palsy!"

We had thought of visiting Burnham, where the poet's uncle resided, if it were only in memory of the description, half serious, half absurd, which he gives of a spot famous for its beauty and its beeches; but the summer had passed without our putting our design into action. Much as Gray loved and venerated his mother, and respected the aunt (Miss Antrobus) who, to remedy his father's extravagance, joined with her in the establishment of a warehouse for the sale of "Indian goods" in Cornhill, there is a tone of well-bred mannerism and respect in his letters to his mother, rather than the outpouring of warm affection. In all his memoirs there is no

trace of his having formed an attachment, or, as it is called, "fallen in love" with anything more mortal than a classic Muse; and while we loitered through the beautiful drive which, as we approached Stoke Green, became perfectly umbrageous, we

Gray's "Elegy," like all his other poems, appears to have been much elaborated in thought, and subject to great supervision. At the sale of some of his books and papers, at the end of the year 1845, the original manuscript was sold for $500. There was a curious instance of this supervision of the lines which now stand

"Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood." They had originally been

"Some mute inglorious Tully here may rest, Some Casar guiltless of his country's blood."

The alteration is curious, as it shows Gray's love of classicality; ultimately overruled by the dictates of a sound criticism, which would make such allusions out of place in a poem so eminently full of pure English simplicity.

could not recall a single line of Gray's that bore evidence of inspiration by the "tender passion."

The repose of a Sabbath morning was over the country; we passed, and met groups of persons, and hordes of little children "dressed for Church;" the bells had not yet commenced sending forth their summons; and the elders of the people were standing beneath the shadows of their homesteads, or looking after the young men and maidens," the heritors of their toil and their dwellings, with as much pride as pleasure. There had been a long continuance of rain previous to our excursion; so that the sunshine made this Sabbath one of more than ordinary beauty and happiness: the leaves clung to their parent trees, and the verdure was more bright and fresh than usual for the season; the swallows "hawked" rapidly through the air; the cattle stood sleepily in the ponds fringed by graceful willows; many hard-worked horses felt that this, even to them, was a day of rest, and looked, we fancied, with pitying eyes on those who experienced no freedom from labor; the dogs winked in the sunbeams, and the dignified hen stalked triumphantly at the head of her full-grown brood. Few spots in England can boast of anything more lovely than the park and lane scenery immediately in the neighborhood of Stoke Pogis; the church, in its intense retirement, forming a portion, and a most beautiful and hallowed portion, of the domain, does not stand, like ordinary churches, by the way-side or in a village, but, like the church at Great Hampden, amid time-honored trees, shedding a halo on the residence which has lately found a new proprietor-one who is entitled to all respect, and who is worthy to be its occupant..

All matters at Stoke Pogis are better cared for than at Great Hampden: you drive through a pretty gate-way guarded on the left by a lodge covered with climbers; on the right an embowered path leads to the monument, and the parterre which surrounds this memento of respect and admiration is kept in as perfect order as any flower-garden can be; it is separated from the meadow, through which the carriage-road continues after passing the lodge, by a sunk fence, and you see, to great advantage, the church, with

"Those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,"

backed by ancient plantations.* We have never visited a scene more suggestive of calm and serious thought; its effect was increased by the winning voice of the church-bell, fraught with its divine message, swelling above the landscape; the mingled congregation moving on noiselessly, the rich and poor, the old and young, might have been imagined an array of pilgrims, bound for the sacred temple. Imagined!" Were they not so? Are we not all pilgrims, toiling onward; working our way through anxieties and tribulations, now led forward by hope, now lured aside by temptations, now driven

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The reasons which induced our English ancestors so constantly to plant yew-trees in churchyards have been variously stated. Some affirm that it was to insure a supply of yewbows that the young men of the parish might practice archery, when enjoined by law. But Brady, in his Clavis Calendaria, says: "Among our superstitious forefathers, the palm-tree, or its substitute box and yew, were solemnly blessed on Palm-Sunday, and some of their branches burnt to ashes and used on Ash-Wednesday in the following year; while other boughs were gathered and distributed among the pious who bore them about in their numerous processions, a practice which was continued in this country until the second year of Edward VI." Caxton, in his Directory for keeping the festivals, also shows that the yew was substituted for the palm in England :-" But for that we have non olyve that beareth grained leaf, therefore we take yew instead of palm olyve." The melancholy shade and evergreen tint of the yew afford a good type of immortality, which may have also been another reason for their constant appearance in our churchyards, many of which contain yews of many centuries growth.

back by disappointment- all pilgrimsall troubled-all unsafe-all uncertain of success; whose ears hear the church-bells, though their promise may not strike upon the heart? Pilgrims, and weary and profitless pilgrims are we all, to ourselves and others, until we find the right path; and keeping our eyes fixed upon the bright star of salvation, hold out both hands to help onward our fellow-men; knowing and believing that, despite the hardest the world can do unto us, there is a living and eternal hope which never fails!

O what glad tidings of great joy are brought to every faithful heart by these musical church-bells! In groups, or one by one, the congregation entered the porch. And yet the scene had so inspired us with meditation, that we still lingered within

the inclosure.*

The bell ceased-the only living creature lingering on the path was a pretty,

In the olden time the church porch was the gathering-place for the villagers; and here The reader of marriages were solemnized. Chaucer will remember the Wife of Bath's declaration:

"Husbands at chirche door have I had five."

At that time stone porches were usual, which, with the room over them, termed the Purvis, became a sort of little chapel, having a piscina. Fire-places are frequently found in them. In these rooms it was not uncommon to keep the church chests, within which the various writings and other valuable properties of the church were kept. Some few of these still remain; as at Newport Church, Essex, where a very remarkable one exists.

gentle-looking girl of ten or eleven years old, using every possible art to tranquillize a child whose wailing voice seemed strangely at variance with the quiet beauty of the scene.

Before we entered the church (whither the little girl, having won the child to tranquillity by her caresses, had gone before us, and as if fearing the renewal of a disturbance, to which she was most likely accustomed, had crouched down just inside the door) we turned for a moment to look at the tomb, consecrated by the poet

to the memory of his mother and also marking his own resting-place

"Upon the lap of earth."

We could hear the tone of the minister's voice, and almost fancy we could distinguish the words; but there was no mistaking the "Amen" of the congregation, so earnest, so solemn, rolling round the building the fervent "So be it" of a

Christian Church, a deep-hearted solemn aspiration that thrilled the very heart, inspiring resignation and hope, and all the meek yet mighty virtues of our exalted faith. Those country churches are wonderful landmarks of history and religion; the aged and low-bending trees that have stood the storms of centuries, the massive ivy, the gray, stern, steady walls, tell a state's history, as well as one of a higher