The usual relay of fresh horses were in waiting at Cranburn Bridge, and the reeking bloods were instantly changed for others, not a whit less spirited than their released compeers. Away went Moody, and away went Moody's fiery steeds. In a very short time we passed, at a few miles on the hither side of Slough, the "ivy-mantled tower" of Upton Church, which, but for one or two small, square openings in it, may be mistaken for a gigantic bush, or unshapely tree of evergreen ivy. Arriving at Slough, I bade adieu to Master Moody; the forty feet telescope of Herschel, with its complicated frame-work and machinery, attracting only a few minutes attention. The road leading up to Stoke Green is one of those beautiful lanes so exquisitely described by Gilbert White, in his History of Selborne, or still more graphically portrayed by Miss Mitford, in her Tales of our Village. Stoke Green lies to the right of this lane, and at the distance of one or two fields further on, there is a stile in the corner of one of them, on the left, where a foot-path crosses diagonally. In going through a gap in the hedge, you catch the first peep of the spire of Stoke Church. After passing the field, you come to a narrow lane, overhung with hawthorns; it leads from Salt-Hill to the village of West-End Stoke. Keeping along the lane a short way, and passing through a small gate on the top of the bank, you at once enter the domain of Stoke Park, and are admitted to a full view of the church, which stands at a short distance, but almost immediately within the gate, are particularly struck by the appearance of a grand sarcophagus, erected by Mr. Penn to the memory of Gray, in the year 1779. It is a lofty structure, in the purest style of architecture; and a tolerable idea of it, and the surrounding scenery, may be obtained from the cut at the head of this article, which has been executed from a drawing made on the spot. The inscription and quotations following are on the several sides of the pedestal. It is needless to say they are from the Elegy, and Ode to Eton College--the latter poem being unquestionably written from this very spot; and Mr. Penn has exhibited the finest taste in their selection. On the end facing Mr. Penn's house-- THIS MONUMENT, IN HONOR OF THOMAS GRAY, WAS ERECTED, A. D. MDCCXCIX., AMONG THE SCENES CELEBRATED BY THAT GREAT LYRIC AND ELEGIAC POET. HE DIED XXX JULY, MDCCLXXI, AND LIES UNNOTICED IN THE CHURCH-YARD ADJOINING, UNDER THE TOMB-STONE ON WHICH HE PIOUSLY AND PATHETICALLY RECORDED THE INTERMENT OF HIS AUNT AND LAMENTED MOTHER. On the side looking toward Windsor-- Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.