INTRODUCTION.

I. LIFE.

THOMAS GRAY was born in Cornhill, London, 26 December 1716. His father was Philip Gray, and his mother Dorothy Antrobus Gray. They had twelve children, of whom Thomas was the fifth; all the others died in infancy. Mrs. Gray was compelled to support her son through school and college by her own exertions, as Philip Gray who was not only brutal but probably crazy refused to do anything for him. About 1727

Gray went to Eton, and there made the "quadruple alliance" friendship with Horace Walpole, Richard West, and Thomas Ashton. In 1734 he entered Peterhouse, Cambridge, and like so many other eminent men, found the curriculum routine unpalatable. He especially hated mathematics. He made few acquaintances, indulged in no sports, and was probably looked at askance by his fellow-students. He left Cambridge without a degree in 1738. In 1739 he was invited by Horace Walpole to accompany him on a trip over the continent; they went through France and across the Alps to Italy. Here they quarreled and separated in April, 1741, and Gray returned home alone. His father died, 6 November 1741, and Gray lived at Stoke Poges with his mother and her two sisters. The death of his brilliant friend, Richard West, I June 1742, profoundly affected Gray; although he seldom spoke of it, he never could allude to it calmly to

the day of his death. It was probably the greatest sorrow of his life, though he was most tenderly attached to his mother. In 1742 Gray settled down at Peterhouse, Cambridge, and nibbled at the law. He took his LL.B. in 1743. Greek seems to have been his favorite study, and for six years he gave it intense application. From this time until his death, Cambridge was Gray's home, although he changed from Peterhouse to Pembroke in 1756, and when the British Museum was opened in 1759, he lived at London for two years, in order to enjoy the advantages of the library and manuscripts. Gray had no college standing at Cambridge; he was not a Fellow, nor had he any official connection with the place until 1768, when he was made Professor of Modern History and Languages. In accordance with the prevailing custom, he delivered no lectures and made no attempt to teach. Gray lived at Cambridge because it was quiet and fairly cheap; because the libraries were there, and the atmosphere was intellectual; and because he had a few college friends, though college society in general he despised.

His mother died 11 March 1753, and was buried in the church-yard at Stoke Poges. We cannot quote too often the beautiful inscription Gray placed on her tombthe "mother of many children, one of whom alone had the misfortune to survive her." Gray's life was lonely. He was never married, and apparently never thought of marrying, unless we magnify his slight and very tame flirtation with Harriet Speed, the heroine of the Long Story.

Gray's intimate friends were Horace Walpole (they patched up the Italian quarrel), the Rev. William Mason the poet, the Rev. Norton Nicholls, James Brown the master of Pembroke, Thomas Wharton, and Charles Victor de Bonstetten-a young Swiss gentleman, whom Gray

met in 1769, and for whom he had a strange, almost passionate attachment. Bonstetten sat at his feet, and eagerly drank in Gray's words of wisdom and instruction.

Gray never was in good health, and in the spring of 1771 had a dangerous attack of gout in the stomach. He died in his rooms at Pembroke, 30 July 1771, at the age of fifty-four. He was buried at Stoke Poges by his mother's side. In strange accordance with his dislike of publicity, there is no name or inscription on his grave, although a hideous mausoleum, erected in 1799, stands in Stoke Park, close by the church-yard.

With the possible exception of Milton, Gray was the greatest scholar among the English poets. Perhaps it would be better to say that Milton's scholarship was the greatest; and Gray's the best. His knowledge was not of the general information kind; it was indeed remarkably broad, but at the same time extremely accurate. He was an accomplished linguist, a good zoologist and botanist, thoroughly acquainted with the history of literature, and a careful and enthusiastic student of architecture. He studied nearly everything except mathematics. When Greek was, comparatively speaking, neglected, he worked at it with eagerness, even to the most minute details; the large body of Greek notes he left behind him (Works, IV) attests the range and accuracy of his knowledge. He was such a recluse, that it was difficult for even Cambridge students to catch a glimpse of him; he did not dine in the hall, and seldom appeared anywhere except to make a trip to the circulating library. After he became famous, and was acknowledged to be the greatest living poet, people used to watch patiently for his awkward figure to appear. But he gave them no more chances than he could help, as he shrank nervously from popularity. In 1757 he

refused the offer of the Laureateship, being too familiar with the history of that office.1

In religion Gray was apparently an orthodox Christian, but entirely without missionary zeal. He disliked emotional demonstration, perhaps because his own religious sense was so deep and true. Atheism he hated and despised.

Gray's character had its faults, most of them trivial. He was proud, haughty in a feminine, I had almost said a feline way, and perhaps too contemptuous toward superficiality. He was not agreeable to chance acquaintances, and in differences of opinion was not at all conciliatory; but he had a keen sense of humor, and although never jovial, was often sprightly and playful. His intimate friends loved him, and friends and enemies all respected him. Although he lacked energy, his intellectual and moral purposes were lofty; he looked on life with serious earnestness, and he was pure in heart. It may be truly said that he was a good man.

The portrait facing the title-page of this volume is taken from the large print in Mason's Memoirs of Gray (1775). Of this picture Horace Walpole, writing to Cole, 25 April 1775 (Letters, VI, 206), said: "The print, I agree with you, though like, is a very disagreeable likeness, and the worst likeness of him. It gives the primness he had when under constraint; and there is a blackness in the countenance which was like him only the last time I ever saw him, when I was much struck with it; and, though I did not apprehend him in danger, it left an impression on me that was uneasy, and almost prophetic of what I heard but too soon after leaving him. Wilson drew the picture under much such impression, and I could not bear it in my room; Mr. Mason altered it a

1 See p. 64.