But Mason’s presumption and self-sufficiency were extreme, not only could he venture to put forth this mawkish elegy, written in a churchyard by _day_, as a companion-piece to the far-famed _twilight_ scene; but he also had the effrontery to tack a paltry tail-piece to Gray’s exquisite fragment on “Vicissitude,” and even believed himself capable of improving Gray’s epistolary compositions, although Gray was known to be one of the most fastidious, and most correct of writers. Mason’s tampering with Gray’s letters has been repeatedly exposed, and his imitations of Gray’s poetry now rest in merited oblivion. Another author, with almost equal temerity, ventured to publish a SUPPLEMENT to GRAY’S ELEGY IN A CHURCH YARD. “The celebrated elegy in a Church Yard, by Gray, is well known, and justly admired by every one who has the least pretensions to taste. But with all its polish, and deep poetic beauty and feeling, it always appeared to me, to be defective, and I have met with a remark in Cecil’s Remains, to the same effect. Amid a scene so well calculated to awaken in a pious mind reflection on the sublime truths and inspiring hopes of Christianity, Gray, with the exception of two or three somewhat equivocal expressions, says scarcely a word which might not have been said by one who believed that “death was an eternal sleep,” and who was disposed to regard the humble tenants of these tombs as indeed “Each in his narrow cell _for ever_ laid.” With these views I have regretted, that sentiments similar to the following had not sprung up in the heart, and received the exquisite touches of the classic pen of Gray. They might with great propriety have followed the stanza beginning, “Far from the madding crowds’ ignoble strife.” No airy dreams their simple fancies fired, No thirst for wealth, nor panting after fame; But truth divine, sublimer hopes inspired, And urged them onward to a nobler aim. From every cottage, with the day arose The hallowed voice of spirit-breathing prayer; And artless anthems, at its peaceful close, Like holy incense, charmed the evening air. Though they, each tome of human lore unknown, The brilliant path of science never trod, The sacred volume claimed their hearts alone, Which taught the way to glory and to God. Here they from truth’s eternal fountain drew The pure and gladdening waters day by day, Learnt, since our days are evil, fleet and few, To walk in wisdom’s bright and peaceful way; In yon lone pile, o’er which hath sternly passed The heavy hand of all-destroying Time, Through whose low mouldering isles now sighs the blast, And round whose altars grass and ivy climb: They gladly thronged, their grateful hymns to raise, Oft as the calm and holy Sabbath shone; The mingled tribute of their prayers and praise, In sweet communion rose before the throne.