It was at this house, now destroyed, that the two ladies from the Park made their memorable visit, which gave occasion to the Long Story. The facts were these: Gray had finished his Elegy, and had sent it in manuscript to Horace Walpole, by whom it was shown about with great applause. Among the rest of the fashionable world to whom it was thus communicated, Lady Cobham, who now lived at the mansion-house at Stoke-Pogis, had read and admired it. Wishing to make the acquaintance of the author, and hearing that he was so near her, her relatives, Miss Speed and Lady Schaub, then at her house, undertook to bring this about by making him the first visit. He happened to be from home when the ladies arrived at his aunt's solitary mansion; and when he returned, was surprised to find, written on one of his papers in the parlor where he usually read, the following note: "Lady Schaub's compliments to Mr. Gray. She is sorry not to have found him at home, to tell him that Lady Brown is very well." This necessarily obliged him to return the visit, and soon after induced him to compose a ludicrous account of this little adventure for the amusement of the ladies in question. This was a mere _jeu d'esprit_, and, extravagant as some parts of it are, is certainly very clever; Gray regarded it but as a thing for the occasion, and never included it in his published poems. But Mallet tells us that when it appeared, though only in manuscript, it was handed about, and the most various opinions pronounced on it. By some it was thought a master-piece of original humor; by others, a wild and fantastic farrago. It, in truth, much more resembles his prose, and proves that, if he had not always had the fear of the critics before his eyes, he would have written with far more freedom and life than he often did. We may take a few stanzas, as connected with our further subject: "In Britain's isle, no matter where, An ancient pile of building stands: The Huntingdons and Hattons there Employed the power of fairy hands To raise the ceiling's fretted height, Each panel in achievements clothing, Rich windows that exclude the light, And passages that lead to nothing. Full oft within the spacious walls, When he had fifty winters o'er him, My grave lord-keeper led the brawls; The seal and maces danced before him. His bushy beard, and shoe-strings green, His high-crowned hat, and satin doublet, Moved the stout heart of England's queen, Though Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it. *...*...*...*