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Updated: July 28, 2025
The traveler almost expects to see the grateful peasantry of an opera, cheerfully habited, make their appearance, dancing on the greensward." Gray and his mother, the father having died in 1741, went to Stoke Pogis in 1742. At West End House, a simple farmhouse of two stories, Gray lived for many years. In the autumn of 1742 was begun the Elegy in a Country Church-yard.
I know Miss Rasmith's no relation, if that's what you're going to say!" "Oh, I say!" Mr. Pogis chuckled. "You are so personal." "Well, rather!" said Lottie, punishing his presumption. "But I don't think it's nice for a kid, even if she isn't." "Kid!" Boyne ground, through his clenched teeth. By this time Lottie was up out of her chair and beyond repartee in her flight down the gangway stairs.
Pogis was trying to choose between "Oh, I say!" and something specific, like, "I should like to ask you every night," she added, "And what would happen if you sent a girl a spray for the theatre and chocolates for a dance? Wouldn't it jar her?" Now, indeed, there was nothing for him but to answer, "Oh, I say!" "Well, say, then! Here comes Boyne, and I must go.
The poet's mother maintained the family, after her unworthy husband had deserted her; and, at her death, Gray placed on her grave, in Stoke Pogis, an epitaph describing her as "the careful tender mother of many children, one of whom alone had the misfortune to survive her." The poet himself was, at his own desire, interred beside her worshipped grave.
Before Milton had served his seven years' apprenticeship at Cambridge, his parents moved to the village of Horton twenty miles out of London, Windsor way. The village of Horton has not changed much with the years, and a tramp across the fields from Eton by way of Burnham Beeches and Stoke Pogis, where Gray wrote "The Elegy," is quite worth while.
Pogis went off to practise duets together, terrible, four-handed torments under which the piano presently clamored; and Ellen stood for a moment talked to by Mr. Breckon, who challenged her then for a walk on deck, and with whom she went away smiling. Mrs. Kenton appealed with the reflection of the girl's happiness in her face to the frowning censure in her husband's; but Kenton spoke first.
She left the two youngsters confronted. "What do you say to a lemon-squash?" asked Mr. Pogis, respecting his friend's wounded dignity, and ignoring Lottie and her offence. "I don't care if I do," said Boyne in gloomy acquiescence. Few witnesses of the fact that Julia Rasmith and her mother had found themselves on the same steamer with the Rev.
The infamous editors of the Kelso Champion, the Bungay Beacon, the Tipperary Argus, and the Stoke Pogis Sentinel, and other dastardly organs of the provincial press, have, although differing in politics, agreed upon this one point, and with a scoundrelly unanimity, vented a flood of abuse upon the revelations made by me.
"I'm takin' it home," he explained, coldly. "And I want to take a rose back to New York. I want to give it to a friend of mine there." Mr. Pogis hesitated. Then he asked, "A man?" "Well, rather!" said Lottie. He answered nothing, but looked definitively down at the flowers in his hand. "Oh, I say!" Lottie exulted.
He would scarcely speak to the young man; Ellen did not come to the table; Lottie and Boyne and their friend Mr. Pogis were dining with the Rasmiths, and Mrs. Kenton had to be, as she felt, cringingly kind to Breckon in explaining just the sort of temporary headache that kept her eldest daughter away.
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