be finally decided all claim to poetical honours.

The Church-yard abounds with images which find a mirror in every mind, and with senti- ments to which every bosom returns an echo. The four stanzas, beginning " Yet even these bones," are to me original : I have never seen the notions in any other place; yet he that reads them here persuades himself that he has always felt them. Had Gray written often thus, it had been vain to blame, and useless to praise him.

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