pensions, and was reduced to poverty. The cause of this reverse is not ascertained: but it was probably owing to his adherence to John of Gaunt. When the Duke's son assumed the throne, as Henry IV. in 1399, he reinstated the poet in his offices, and doubled his pension. The date of Chaucer's death, given on his tomb, is October 25, 1400; and this may well be correct, as the last entry of the payment of his pension occurs in that year. He VERY OR, was buried in that part of Westminster Abbey called Poets' Corner, being the first of those illustrious Sons of Song whose ashes rest there. An imperfect copy of his Canterbury Tales was one of the works issued from the press of our first English printer, William Caxton. Of this work, and of Chaucer himself, as a poet, I shall have something to say in another paper. WINIFRID JONES; THE TRIUMPH BY MRS. THOMAS WINDLEY. ERY weary and worn, and sad with long-continued suffering, was little Winifrid's mother, but saddest of all because she had to leave her little helpless darling. Yet Mrs. Bryant had comforted her many times. Early the next morning after the storm, “Oh yes, indeed," said Miss Somers; "but do you not fear to get lost in this deep snow? And could not some of the people lend you a trap? The wind is in the east, and I fear for your delicate chest." "I am well protected, and the beautiful snow always exhilarates me. Good-bye." "Oh, good-bye, mother," came from within the schoolroom, and a clatter of little feet, a pushing open of the door, four little mouths held up to kiss, and eight loving arms outstretched to encircle their mother's neck, compelled her to stay just one minute, and then the little creatures contentedly trotted back to their tasks. (To be continued.) OF GENEROSITY. Mrs. Brown a comfortable looking, motherly, working woman, in a linsey-wolsey dress and grey shawl, and a pair of thick knitted gloves, looked the embodiment of comfort, tidiness, and thrift, while her portly form and good-natured face spoke of strength to succour weakness, and kindly sympathy to bear upon its bosom the ailments and needs of the weary and suffering. She was waiting in the breakfast-room, and when Mrs. Bryant came to the door, she respectfully arose, and taking up her carpetbag, stood ready to venture abreast with her into the snow. "Dearie, dearie me, what a day, sewer-ly !" said the Nurse. "Do thee bide at home, dear lady; I'll find the place somehow." "Oh no, thank you," replied Mrs. Bryant. "Remember, it will be such joy to see that poor thing's face light up with gratitude when she knows you have come to 'see to' her." Here they came upon a hill, and both of them had hard work to climb its ascent, for what with the deep drifting snow, and the still boisterous wind, the work was not an WINIFRID JONES easy one. However, in time they got to the top, and by degrees they reached and surmounted each successive one in their way, till they safely arrived at the cottage. Only waiting to shake off the snow from their boots, and to throw off their cloaks and shawls, they ascended the stairs, finding a neighbour fanning the poor woman, standing by her side. Little Winifrid still lay in her tiny bed, overcome with the oppression at her chest. "Eh! my little one!" said Mrs. Bryant, as she stooped at her side a moment. The little eyes opened, oh! so heavily, and the faintest flicker of a smile played round her mouth. "Missis Byan" murmured she. "Look, Winnie! I've brought you an orange. Let me prop you up and see you peel it." The little creature tried to raise herself, but the effort was too much, so Mrs. Bryant lifted her up, and putting a thick woollen shawl round her and some pillows at her back, gave her the orange. The tiny fingers, shaking with fevered tremulousness, began the operation of peeling it with eagerness, and she looked up and said, "Thank you, Missis Byan." "And how has Mrs. Jones been since yesterday?" asked Mrs. Bryant of the neighbour. "Very ill, ma'am. There's a change come over her. She's not long for this world, ma'am, I think." Awakened by the sound of voices, the invalid looked round in a scared delirious way, and then settling her gaze on her friend, a sweet smile overspread her countenance. "O, it's you, ma'am," she faintly whispered, and a look of gratitude lighted up her face as she turned her eyes first to Mrs. Bryant, and then to the precious words on the wall that she had left with her "Rock of ages, cleft for me," and she said softly, "Isn't it beautiful ?" 71 "And here's a friend, my dear, whom I have brought to nurse you." "Yes, honey," said Mrs. Brown, grasping gently the emaciated hand, and bending over her, "I've come to do what I can for you." "Thank you," gasped the dying woman, and then, exhausted, sank into a dose. "The doctor called at this juncture, shook his head, and said she could not last long, and after staying a few minutes insisted upon driving Mrs. Bryant home. "You ought not to be out on a day like this," was all he said. Imprinting a kiss on the dying brow, and another on the cheek of the little one, Mrs. Bryant left the room. Before the shadows of evening had drawn a veil over the snow-buried landscape, the Reaper had gathered this ear of corn into his daily reckoning, the weary spirit was gone home to God. Little Winifrid had been taken downstairs into the "house," her tiny bed was made by the fireside, and her plaintive cries for "Mamma " rang dolefully into the ears of the listeners. When John Jones came home that evening he had no "Liz" on earth. Henceforth his house seemed "left unto him desolate," for its light and sunshine were gone. But he remembered in the midst of his woe, who "giveth," and who "taketh away," and though he seemed heartbroken, his faith "could lean upon his God." On gentle Nurse Brown's lap Winifrid sobbed herself to sleep; when she looked up again she cried still more, "Mamma! mamma!" and they couldn't comfort her. After a few days John Jones took his little treasure to his sister-in-law's house some thirty miles away, at a town called Handford, wrapped up in the warmest clothing that could be found, and Mrs. Bryant lent her own child's carriage for her to be wheeled to the station, three miles away. Thither we must follow her, and trace her life as it winds through the next strange passages. I.-Light in Europe. (For all ages.) 1. What is the earliest account given of the introduction of the Light into Europe? Who was the bearer of the Light? Relate the circumstances. What promise was then fulfilled? II.-Questions for Sunday School Teachers. 1. Which of the Old Testament Prophecies refer to the Universal Extension of Christ's Kingdom? Mention four passages. 2. Which of our Lord's Parables refer to the same subject? Give the occasion of those parables. 3. Relate three incidents in New Testament history which prove that such prophecies have been partially fulfilled. 4. Give examples in later history of the extension of the kingdom. 5. In what way may the Sunday School Teacher help towards this extension? I. February brings us frost and snow." 2. 3. "All is not gold that glitters." "A rolling stone gathers no moss. II. POETICAL PUZZLE. No. 3.-Letter "i" omitted. "If solid happiness we prize, within our hearts this jewel lies."-Colton. No. 4.-Letter "o" omitted. "The moon looks on many brooks, the brook can see no moon but this."-Moore. No 5.-Letter "u" omitted. PUZZLES FOR MARCH. You'll find me near a river's course, I with high honour may be crowned; Where great respect to me is shown. In civil war, I'm hot and round; Part of yourself, please do not make I form a tiny part of dress, And now my name you'll surely guess. II. When were there only three vowels? WARBERRY HALL ; WITH ANECDOTES ABOUT THE PAINTERS.-No IV. By GRACE STEBBING. "AUNT, Aunt Millicent, I've got a letter from Arthur," exclaimed Frank, bounding into the room where his sister and aunt were already gathered round the fire, prepared for their evening chat. They all looked towards him eagerly as he ran forward flourishing a great rustling sheet of foreign note paper above his head, as if it were a new kind of flag. "Here's a place for you, here's a place for you," cried Gerty and Milly, both anxious to have the fortunate possessor of that letter as near to them as possible. Frank accepted Milly's invitation because it was the nearer to his aunt, to whom he handed his temporary banner to be read aloud for the pleasure of the company. Arthur's letters were worth reading. His eyes saw so much, and he told of what he saw so well. In this present one Gerty was most interested in the account of his visit to the pantheon in Rome, once the famous heathen temple built by Agrippa, sonin-law of the Emperor Augustus, in the year 27 before Christ, and converted into a Christian Church A.D. 608. Why, it is more than nineteen hundred years old then," said Gerty, with a great sigh, as though she were quite oppressed with the thought of the dates her aunt had just told her. "Is it still anything at all like what it was when it was first built?" "As to size and form, and the materials of its massive, long-enduring walls, it is exactly the same. But those same sombre time-toned walls have a very different grandeur now to what they had in the far-off days when the front shone with a covering of brazen plates, and the Italian sun glittered and sparkled on a roof overlaid with silver. At the present time the chief glory of the giant circular building, to my thinking, is the simple tablet on the left wall to the poet-painter Raphael." "But is it not very dark inside, with no windows, nothing but the great round hole at the top of the roof?" "Well, it is certainly not as light as the houses in the little village of Ar, which look as if they are made of windows; but it is quite light enough in that bright Italian land to see everything in the interior perfectly well, even to the sunbeam motes that were one day dancing just above the water after a recent shower, when I paid one of several visits to its solemn quietude." "Why is Raphael's monument there, auntie? Did he have anything to do with building it?" asked Milly. "Oh, you little silly," exclaimed Frank, with the heartiest possible emphasis on the silly. "You hear that the Pantheon was built more than nineteen hundred years ago, and you ask if Raphael didn't help, when he never lived till——” 'Well, go on Frank, till when?" said Miss Merton, quietly, after kissing Milly's trembling red lips, "tell us when he lived." Frank blushed. "Oh, I don't know exactly when, but I know it was centuries after that." "No doubt you do; it would be a shame if you did not, and when Milly is seven years older than she is now she is tolerably certain |