modesty; since Chaucer uses the same epithet for a similar story of his own telling. But the Good Parson also treats poetry and fiction with contempt. His understanding is narrower than his motives. The only character in Chaucer which seems faultless, is that of the Knight; and he is a man who has been all over the world, and bought experience with hard blows. The poet does not spare his own person. He describes himself as a fat, heavy man, with an "elvish” (wildish?) countenance, shy, and always staring on the ground." Perhaps he paid for his genius and his knowledge with the consequences of habits too sedentary, and a vein, in his otherwise cheerful wisdom, of hypochondriacal wonder. He also puts in his own mouth a fairy-tale of chivalry, which the Host interrupts with contempt, as a tiresome commonplace. I take it to have been a production of the modest poet's when he was young; for in the midst of what looks like intentional burlesque, are expressions of considerable force and beauty.

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This self-knowledge is a part of Chaucer's greatness; and these modest proofs of it distinguish him from every other poet in the language. Shakspeare may have had as much, or more. It is difficult to suppose otherwise. And yet there is no knowing what qualities, less desirable, might have hindered even his mighty insight into his fellow-creatures from choosing to look so closely into himself. His sonnets are not without intimations of personal and other defects; but they contain no such candid talking as Chaucer.

The father of English poetry was essentially a modest man. He sits quietly in a corner, looking down for the most part, and meditating; at other times eyeing everything that passes, and sympathizing with everything;-chuckling heartily at a jest, feeling his eyes fill with tears at sorrow, reverencing virtue, and not out of charity with vice. When he ventures to tell a story himself, it is as much under correction of the Host as the humblest man in the company; and it is no sooner objected to, than he drops it for one of a different description.

I have retained the grave character of the Knight in the selec tion, because he is leader of the cavalcade.

The syllables that are to be retained in reading the verses are marked with the brief accent. The terminating vowels thus

distinguished were certainly pronounced during one period of our language, otherwise they would not have been written; though, by degrees, the comparative faintness of their utterance, and disuse of them in some instances, enabled writers to use them as they pleased; just as poets in our own day retain or not, as it suits them, the e's in the final syllable of participles and past tenses ;-such as belov'd, belovèd; swerv'd, swervèd, &c. The French in their verses use their terminating vowels at this moment precisely as Chaucer did; though they drop them in conversation. I have no living Frenchman at hand to quote, but he writes in this respect as Boileau did :—

Elle dit; et du vent de sa bouchě profaně

Lui souffle avec ces mots l'ardeur de la chicaně;

Le Prélat se reveille; et, plein d'émotion,

Lui donne toutefois la benediction.

(Discord waking the Dean in the Lutrin.)

CHARACTERS OF PILGRIMS.

Whanně that April with his shourĕs sote
The droughte of Marche hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veine in swiche licòur,
Of whiche vertùe engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus ekě with his sotě brethe
Enspired hath in every holt and hethe
The tendre croppĕs, and the yongě sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne,
And smalě foules maken melodie,
That slepen allě night with open eye,
So priketh hem natùre in her coràges,
Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken strange strondes

To servě halwes couthe in sundry londes;

When April with his sweet showers has pierced the drought of March to the root, and bathed every vein in the balm that produces flowers; when Zephyr too, with his sweet breath, has animated the tender green buds in the woods and on the heaths; and the young sun has run half his course in the Ram; and the little winged creatures, that sleep all night with their eyes open, begin their music (so irresistible in their hearts is Nature), then do people long to go on pilgrimages, and palmers to seek foreign shores in

And specially from every shire's ende
Of Englelond to Canterbury they wende,
The holy blissful martyr for to seke.

That hem hath holpen whan that they were seke.
Befelle that in that seson on a day,
In Southwerk at the Tabard' as I lay,
Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage
To Canterbury with devoute courage,
At night was come into that hostelrie
Wel nine-and-twenty in a compagnie
Of sondry folk, by àventure yfalle

In felawship, and pilgrimes were they alle
That toward Canterbury wolden ride.
The chambres and the stables weren wide,
And wel we weren esěd attě beste.

And shortly, when the sonne was gon to reste,
So hadde I spoken with hem everich on,
That I was of hir felawship anon,

And made forword erly for to rise,

To take oure way ther, as I you devise.

But nathěles while I have time and space,
Or that I förtner in this tale pace,
Me thinketh it accordant to resòn
To tellen you alle the condition
Of eche of hem, so as it semed me,

And whiche they weren, and of what degre;
And eke in what araie that they were inne;
And at a knight than wol I firste beginne.

order to worship at famous shrines; and, above all, people crowd from every shire's end in England to that of the holy martyr at Canterbury, who has helped them when they were sick.

Now, at this season, it happened one day, while I was at the Tabard in Southwark, ready to set forth on my own devout journey to Canterbury, that there came into the inn a matter of nine-and-twenty people, who had joined company, and were all bound on the same visit. There was plenty of room in the place both for man and horse, and we were all very comfortable.

By sunset I had spoken with every one of these persons, and become one of the party so I agreed to be up early in the morning, in order to lose no time.

While thus waiting between sunset and sunrise, it is but reason, methinks, that the reader should be told what sort of people my fellow-travellers were; of what rank in life, what characters, and even how they were dressed And I will begin first with a knight,

A KNIGHT ther was, and that a worthy man,
That fro the time that he firste began
To riden out, he loved chivalrie,

Trouthe and honour, fredom and courtesie.
Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,
And thereto hadde he ridden, no man ferre,
As well in Cristendom as in Hethenesse,
And ever honored for his worthinesse.

At Alisandre he was whan it was wonne.
Ful often time he hadde the bord begonne
Aboven allě nations in Pruce:

In Lettowe hadde he reysed, and in Ruce,
No Cristen man so ofte of his degre:

In Gernade at the siege eke hadde he be
Of Algesir, and ridden in Belmarie:

At Leyes was he, and at Satalie,

Whan they were wonne; and in the Gretě See
At many a noble armee had he be.

At mortal batailles hadde he ben fiftene,
And foughten for our faith at Tramaissene

In listes thries, and ay slain his fo.

This ilke worthy Knight hadde ben also
Some timě with the Lord of Palatie

Agen another hethen in Turkie,

And evermore he hadde a sovereigne pris,
And though that he was worthy, he was wise,
And of his port as meke as is a mayde.

He never yet no vilanie ne sayde
In alle his lif unto no manere wight:

He was a veray parfit gentil knight !

The KNIGHT was a man of great worth, who from the first moment of his setting out on his adventures, loved his profession with all his heart, and was an honor to it. He was full of truth, liberality, and courtesy. He was at Alexandria when it was taken. He had many times been placed at the head of the table in Prussia; had commanded oftener in Russia and Lithuania than any other man of his standing; had been at the siege of Algeziras in Granada; had served in Bellemarin; had assisted at the taking of Layas and Satalie; and been with many a noble armament in the Greek Sea. He had fought in fifteen mortal battles, and slain his combatant thrice in the lists at Thrasimene for the Christian faith. He had also been against the heathens in Turkey, with the lord of Palathia. Wherever he went, his services were rated at the highest price; yet his discretion was equal to his worth, and he was as meek in his carriage as a maiden. He never spoke a discourteous word in his life to a human being. He was a very perfect gentle Knight

But for to tellen you of his araie ;

His hors was good, but he ne was not gaie.
Of fustian he wered a gipon

Alle besmotred with his habergeon.

For he was late y come fro his viàge,
And wente for to don his pilgrimage.

With him ther was his sone, a yonge SQUIER,
A lover and a lusty bacheler,

With lockes crull as they were laide in presse
Of twenty yere of age he was, I gesse.
Of his statùre he was of even lengthe,
And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe,
And he had be sometime in chevachie
In Flaunders, in Artois, and in Picardie,
And borne him wel, as of so litel space,
In hope to stonden in his ladies grace.

Embrouded was he, as it were a mede
All full of freshě floures white and rede:
Singing he was, or floyting all the day:
He was as freske as is the moneth of May:
Short was his goune, with slevěĕs long and wide;
Wel coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ride;

He coudě songěs make, and wel endite,

Juste and eke dance, and wel pourtraie and write:
So hote he loved, that by nightertale

He slept no more than doth the nightingale :
Curteis he was, lowly and servisable,

And carf before his fader at the table

As to his equipments, he had a good horse, but he made no show. His doublet was of fustian; and it was all smutted with his armor; for he was just come from abroad, and was bound on his pilgrimage.

With him there was his son, a young SQUIRE, who was a fine fellow, and in love. His locks were in as good curl as if they had been put in papers. I should take his age to have been twenty. He was well made, and of wonderful strength and activity. He had been out with the troopers in Flanders, Artois, and Picardy; and got up no little repute in a short space of time, in hope to cut a figure in the eyes of his mistress. He was like a meadow to look at, he was so embroidered with flowers. He used to be singing or playing the flute from morning to night. He was as fresh as the month of May. He had a short vest on, with big sleeves; and well could he sit his horse, and put it to its paces. He could compose a song too, and tell a good story, joust and dance, and take portraits, and write. He was such a serenader, that he slept no more than the nightingale. But he was courteous withal, deferential and attentive; and was the carver at his father', table.