A Literary Half-Hour. 281 



our sorrow when we are too sad to be moved by aught 

 else than a sympathy for others. 



There is a passage from the Prologue to Chaucer's 

 * Legende of Goode Women' that is as cooling as a 

 draught of iced water, and which seems to carry with it 

 the sweet caressing breath of a spring day at home when 

 winter has been finally routed and the rich smell of the 

 new-born verdure is in the air : — 



On bokes for to rede I me delyte, 



♦ ♦ * * ♦ 



* 



So hertely, that ther is game noon 

 That from my bokes maketh me to goon, 

 But yt be seldome on the holy day, 

 Save, ceteynly, whan that the monethe of May 

 Is comen, and that I here the foules synge, 

 And that the floures gynnen for to sprynge, 

 Farwel my boke and my devocion ! 

 What we want here in the tropics is to read something, 

 on very hot days, that will make us feel cool. There is 

 a charming sketch in James Russell Lowell's ' My 

 Study Windows' called ' A good Word for Winter' which 

 calls to the mind the rich, luxurious silence of falling 

 snow, the brisk sharp ring of skates on the ice, and all 

 the pleasant comforts of Christmas. 



Who has not felt the sensation described by WORDS- 

 WORTH ?— 



How touching, when at midnight, sweep 

 Snow mufHed winds, and all is dark, 

 To hear, — and sink again to sleep ! 

 I sometimes feel inclined to endorse the sentiment 

 expressed in the well-known lines of Chaucer : — 

 For out of old fieldes as men saithe, 

 Cometh al this newcornefroyeretoyere 

 And out of old bookes, in good faithe, 

 Cometh al this new science that men lere. 

 NN2 



