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ousness too would sometimes betray itself in the visible expression of contempt; and he was satirical; but we do not learn that either his contempt or his sarcasm was ever bestowed inappropriately, or without just provocation. His general conduct was marked by urbanity and cheerfulness; his mind never contracted “ the rust of pedantry.Dr. Beattie says,

“ he had none of the airs of either a scholar or a poet.” He was capable too of warm friendship, and such a man could not be an unamiable man.

On the contrary, he is spoken of as an ornament to society.

It is charged upon his character as a weakness, that, like Congreve, while he bimself owed all his distinction to his mental endowments and literary attainments, he “could not bear to be considered only as a man of letters; and though without birth, or fortune, or station, his desire was to be looked upon as a private independent gentleman who read for his amusement.” There is a passage in one of his letters which partly confirms, and at the same time throws some light on this representation. “To find one's self business," he writes, “I am persuaded is the great art of life. I am never so angry as when I hear my acquaintance wishing they had been bred to some poking profession, or employed in some office of drudgery; as if it were pleasanter to be at the command of other people, than at one's own;

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and as if they could not go, unless they were wound up: yet I know and feel what they mean by this complaint; it proves that some spirit, something of genius (more than common) is required to teach a man how to employ himself.” Is it more than candid to conclude that his unwillingness to be regarded as a man of letters, arose from that dislike of ostentatious pretension which distinguishes the man of thorough learning from the pedant, while what he saw in the University of professional vulgarity, made him set the more value on the character of the gentleman ? And in this who will say that Gray was not right?



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The delightful scenery of the Churchyard, and of Stoke old mansion, seen among the trees, are admirably described in the “ Elegy” and “ Long Story," but that once magnificent “ Ancient Pile” is now a ruin. The “ Ode on a Prospect of Eton College,” distant about four miles, was written on · this spot. Sir Edward Coke's Column in the distance, is another of those chaste ornaments with which this classic scene is adorned. The inscription and quotations following, are on the several sides of the pedestal of the Sarcophagus.

This Monument

in honor of Thomas Gray,
was erected A. D. MDCCXCIX, among

the celebrated by that

Great Lyric and Elegiac Poet.
He died XXX July MDCCLXXI, and

lies unnoticed in the Church Yard
adjoining, under the Tombstone on
which he piously and pathetically

recorded the interment of his
Aunt, and lamented Mother.

"Beneath these ragged elms, that yew-tree's shade, “ Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,

One morn, I miss'd him on the 'custom'd hill, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree ; Await alike th' inevitable hour:

Another came, nor yet beside the rill, The paths of glory lead but to the grave."

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was be." “ Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,

That crown the wat'ry glade,
Ah ! happy hills! ah pleasing shade!

Ah ! fields beloy'd in vain !
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A stranger yet to pain !
I feel the gales that from ye blow,

A momentary bliss bestow.

+ Represented in the view under the church window to the left. The legend is as follows. In the vault beneath, are deposited in hope of a joyful resurrection, the remains of MARY ANTROBUS. She died unmarried November 5th, 1749, aged 66. In the same pions confidence, beside her friend and sister, here sleep the remains of Dorothy Gray, widow, the careful tender Mother of many Children, one of whom alone had the misfortune to survive her. She died March 11th, 1753, aged 67.

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with dirges due in sad array
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne
Approach and read, (for thou can'st read ) the lay,
Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

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