Than this world dreams of.

Wherefore, let thy voice

Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

*

But now farewell. I am going a long way
With these thou seëst—if indeed I go
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)

To the island-valley of Avilion;

Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard-lawns
And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea,
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.'

So said he, and the barge with oar and sail
Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan

That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,

Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood

With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere
Revolving many memories, till the hull

Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn,
And on the mere the wailing died away."

THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS.

THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS.

The picture I want next to show you is by that rare old artist, Dan Chaucer, who painted in such rich and glowing colors, that his creations are as fresh and attractive to-day as when they were first called forth by his magic pen.

It represents a merry company that set out on a journey, one bright morning in April, many years ago. They called the journey a pilgrimage, because they were on their way to worship at the shrine of Thomas à Becket1 in Canterbury.

You know what was meant by a pilgrimage; how the pilgrim, with staff and scrip, went many weary miles on foot, that he might atone for his sins by praying at the tomb of some well-known saint. The most sacred pilgrimages were made to the tomb of our Savior in the holy city of Jerusalem; but there

1Thomas à Becket was Archbishop of Canterbury in the reign of Henry II. After his murder by the servants of the king, he was regarded as a saint; and pilgrimages were constantly made to his tomb in Canterbury Cathedral.

were other shrines nearer home, and the tomb of à Becket had long been a favorite place of worship.

These, however, were not always solemn and fatiguing journeys. Oftentimes, people who were going to the same shrine would form a little company; and, thinking that the Evil One was thwarted by the object of their journey, they would give themselves up, on the way, to mirth and jollity.

Well, these Canterbury Pilgrims were just such a joyous company, when they set forth from the Tabard Inn, one sunny morning so long ago.

Can you see in the picture, the beautiful blue sky, the green hedge, and the white May blossoms? It is no wonder that, at this delightful season of the year, people did

you

Would like to know who some of these merry pilgrims are?

That big man with the jolly face, who seems to be the leader of the

of the Tabard Inn. all going in the same

party, is Harry Bailey, the host When he learned that they were direction, he offered to conduct