storeyed farmhouse, of which the stone fireplace with "1.6.4.8" engraved on it, Gray's bed-room, and the window at which he sat, alone remain in their original condition.

On a slope some little distance from the house there still exists the arbour in which Gray "used to sit and dream," and the scene around is still as calm and remote from all the busy stir of life as when Gray described himself as "still at Stoke, hearing, seeing, doing absolutely nothing." It was in this year, however, that he laid the foundations of his fame. Exegi monumentum ære perennius might have been said by Gray if he could have looked into the secrets of the future, for it was in November, 1742, that he began the " Elegy." In August he had written his "Ode to Spring"-famous for "a solitary fly"-an ode that sounded the note of revolt against the dominion of the couplet, a sonnet to the memory of West, his "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College," and the "Ode on Adversity."

In October or November, brooding perhaps over the late death of his friend West, and inspired by the quiet rusticity of his surroundings, he began the poem which more than all others has made his name famous. His uncle, Jonathan Rogers, died at Stoke Poges on October 31st, 1742, and was buried in the neighbouring parish of Burnham. There seems to be little doubt that it was very soon after that date that Gray began the composition of the "Elegy," though it was not actually finished till the year 1750. Some jealous souls would try to prove that "the country church

It is enough to "Elegy" when

yard" is not that of Stoke Poges. remember that Gray began the residing at Stoke Poges, that for many years he spent his vacations at Stoke Poges, that his aunt and his mother were both buried at Stoke Poges,

and that if he knew any country churchyard well that was the one.

It was in 1750, some few months after his aunt's burial at Stoke, that he wrote to Walpole: "I have been here at Stoke a few days, and having put an

end to a thing whose beginning you have seen long ago, I immediately send it to you." Its beginning was at Stoke, at Stoke were added the final touches, the "Weary Ploughman's" descendants still plough the Stoke furrows, and in the Tower the "Moping Owl" still rears its brood. There may be some doubt as to the real birthplace of Homer, but none as to the country churchyard in which the "Elegy" was "wrote." From this year (the year 1742) begins the second period of Gray's life. Forced by circumstances and the want of money to give up his original idea of reading for the Bar, he decided to live at Cambridge, spending all his spare time with his mother and aunt at Stoke. He returned to Peterhouse, and devoted all his hours to study; he deserted his "Muse," and for five years read Greek and little else. In 1747, at Walpole's persuasion, he published his "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College," but it met with scant appreciation. In 1747 also he immortalised Walpole's cat in a poem that was "rather too long for an epitaph," but not too long to delight the lovers of "happy trifles." In 1749 his aunt died, and was buried at Stoke, and shortly afterwards he finished the "Elegy." Walpole received a copy, and showed it to his friends, and among others to Lady Cobham (then living at the manor house), who had little idea, till she was told by the Rev. Robert Purt, that "a wicked imp they call a poet" had been for some years living in her parish. Feminine curiosity was aroused, and two messengers of Fate, in the shape of Lady Schaub and Miss Speed

(Lady Cobham's niece), invaded the shy poet's retreat, only to find him out. A note was left, the fish rose to the fly, and thus began Gray's intimacy with Lady Cobham, and literature was enriched by a story not too long. The "Long Story," redolent of quiet humour, was written in August, 1750, but not published (except privately) during Gray's lifetime. The Elegy" was published by Dodsley in 1751, and rapidly went through fifteen editions, meeting with ready appreciation everywhere. Criticism of such a poem would here be out of place, but what was written of it by Dr. Johnson, who had a very poor opinion of Gray's merits as a poet, is interesting: "It abounds with images which find a mirror in every mind, and with sentiments to which every bosom returns an echo. The four stanzas beginning 'Yet ev'n these bones' are to me original: I have never seen the notions in any other place; yet he that reads them here persuades himself that he has always felt them. Had Gray written often thus, it had been vain to blame and useless to praise him."

The year 1753 saw the first appearance of a collection of Gray's poems in the shape of "The Six Poems, by T. Gray," published by R. Bentley, and containing a portrait of the poet. The same year Mrs. Gray died, and was buried at Stoke, her son composing the epitaph, which may still be read: "In the same pious confidence, beside her friend and sister, here sleep the remains of Dorothy Gray, widow, the careful mother of many children, one of whom alone had the misfortune to survive her." His mother's

death left Gray with a sufficient competence to enable him to live on at Cambridge in the simple fashion he loved best; and, except for occasional visits to friends and tours to Scotland and the Lakes, and a three years' stay in London, the rest of his life was spent in that town.

In 1754 he wrote the "Progress of Poesy," which quickly brought him to the front as a master of English lyrics, and the following year he began "The Bard." A silly freak of some undergraduates at Peterhouse, who knew of Gray's constitutional terror of fire, led him to leave his rooms at that college and accept the welcome willingly offered him at Pembroke, where, for the last fifteen years of his life, he spent his time quietly and happily among his books and his flowers. Some concerts given at Cambridge by John Parry, the famous blind harper, set "all his learned body a dancing," and spurred him on to the completion of "The Bard." There was now no living poet who approached him either in the estimation of the public or of the literary world; and on Colley Cibber's death, in 1757, he was offered the post of Poet Laureate. Partly from a disinclination to be "at war with the little fry of his own profession," he thought fit to decline. In 1758 his aunt (Mrs. Rogers) died at Stoke, and Gray then shut up West End Farm, only visiting the village rarely during the rest of his life.

The three next years he spent in London, living in Southampton-row, close to the British Museum, then in its infancy, but even in its earliest days a real