feel the insistent desire for repose which finds expression in a return for a moment to the happier Major key.

But hark! softly and weirdly rise out of the mist chords holding an alien sound; they seem to take shape before our eyes, and the treble perturbed utters a shriek, but the weird sounds continue their march. Now the feeling of horror passes, but eager single notes strike out more sharply and distinctly than before, and sweet and beautiful chords, softly breathed, attempt a comforting reply. Alas! again those weird shapes rise, and the whole scene is repeated. But this time the consolation is carried further, for presently we hear the first fine theme sounding distinctly in our ears, and some of the serious dignity disappears as it quaintly changes its even flow into an And the querulous part seems less so now with the quickly moving bass, and thus there is an attempt at brightness on to the end.

uneven one.

It seems as if Beethoven was anxious to lighten the pathos of this exquisitely moving Allegretto; but we are not deceived, we know that the mists are still there, and we know that the tragic questions are still unanswered, even when the final chords are struck.

NORA TWEMLOW.

FIRST COMMUNION

To thy heart, dear child, is coming
He who rules the heavens wide,
From His glorious throne descending,
That with thee He may abide.

Open wide thy richest treasures,
Give Him all thy heart holds dear;
Tell Him thou wilt love Him ever,
While He lets thee labour here.

Does He not deserve them truly,

All thy heart's best gifts and praise ? Did He not for thee once suffer,

All the hardships of life's ways ?

Round about His infant cradle
Howled the winter's icy blast,
And the years of boyhood's gladness
Were by Him in exile passed.

When He toiled by hill and lake-shore,
Fox had lair and bird had nest,

But the Lord who came to save thee
Had not where His head to rest.

Not even then His love was sated
When on Calvary's hill He died:
Wherefore in the altar-prison

Doth He now His greatness hide.

Long He waited for this moment,
Watching o'er thy daily way,
Now He comes thy life to gladden
On thy First Communion Day.

Love Him, then, with all thy fervour,
To His feet thy treasures bring;
Let Him be thy heart's one Master,
Make Him now thy Lord and King.

F. M. B.

A SAINT AND HIS MOTHER

T is not often in this world that glory shines upon a woman,

I

even the reflected glory that comes to her from those she loves. Our Lady had none at all; valiant St. Monica, after all her tears and prayers, only lived to see her son set out upon the upward path before she said her Nunc dimittis. Most mothers of great men are laid in their graves before their descendants have done more than gain a footing upon the ladder that leads to glory.

But, to one woman among the daughters of Eve, it was given to see with mortal eyes her son ascend to the very summit; to see all Christendom bow down before his greatness, rendering to him highest honour, reverence and benediction, even to placing him upon the Church's altars, there to be venerated for all time.

It is worth while to lift for a moment the "curtain of the centuries," and look back even dimly upon a life that culminated so gloriously. The far-away mystery of an age that has few records seems to overhang the early days of the mother of St. Francis. One hears of her first in a castle of fair Provence ; "Madonna Pica," the old writers call her, signifying that she was of noble birth; some chroniclers stating that she belonged to the family of the counts of Bourlemont. A certain young Italian merchant, Pietro Bernardone by name, was wont in these days to travel from castle to castle through the country parts of France, "tempting the fair chatelaines to purchase his silks and other merchandise while he told them tales of Italy." A story of older date, however, the young traveller must have told on one occasion (and told it well), for we find fair Lady Pica leaving castle and country in his company, and settling quietly as his wife in the little town of Assisi.

Bernardone's journeys to France continued after their marriage, and on his return from one of them, he found a little son awaiting him, to whom had been given the name of John. The merchant, however, had been very successful on this occasion, and in honour of the fair land which had favoured his fortunes he changed the baby's name to Francis.

History does not tell us much of the years that followed, but we know that Bernardone's affairs took him often away, and that the child was almost entirely under the influence of Madonna Pica. Her ladyship was a good mother to the little boy, and brought him up with gentleness and piety. Sometimes she whiled away the time with stories of the knights and troubadours that had been familiar to her own young ears in the old provençal chateau.

It is a pretty picture; the quiet home, the gentle mother, and her handsome boy listening with kindling eyes to brave stories of great deeds, while far away, the busy merchant father toils for both. As time goes on, however, inevitable changes supervene; these pleasant days come to an end, and his mother can no longer be all in all to Francis. It is written somewhere that "only the first ten years of a man's life are his mother's; but it may be added that no succeeding decade can quite obliterate them from his memory.

"

For the present, however, Madonna Pica stands aside, and Bernardone takes his son into partnership at fourteen years of age. The young gentleman was clever enough, but mercantile matters never appealed to him very strongly, and he gave away most of his gains without much thought of them. In his ears still echoed the songs and stories of the troubadours, and when the young nobles of Assisi sought his friendship, he became their leader; and often "with a kingly sceptre in his hand, walked at their head through the streets at night, rousing the sleepy burghers with wild bursts of singing."

Peter Bernardone, honest old snob that he was, was proud to see the youthful aristocracy make a friend of Francis; willing to spend his money on all things needful to set the boy going with the best of them. Stories come to us of young Bernardone and his companions; "of their gaieties, fine dress, singing and pleasure parties. He was the soul of all their reunions, the king of all their feasts, the leader of every adventurous exploit." One can imagine the old man looking out of his warehouse window as his son rides by, the centre of the gay cavalcade; and one can hear him proudly tell his wife that their boy was as good-looking and as well mounted as any noble of them all!

Afterwards, when war broke out with Perugia, "Francis VOL. XXXIV.-No. 397.

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on a magnificent charger rode out of the city gates abreast with the nobles of Assisi, filling the bourgeois heart of Bernardone with joy that his son should be thus honoured." The Assisians were conquered, the leaders lay in prison for a year, and when they were liberated and came home, a severe illness brought Francis nearly to death's door. Notwithstanding these mischances he still longs for military life, and is full of ambitious projects to become a "great captain," and distinguish himself in the world.

"

His long-suffering father provides him with a second brilliant equipage," and he sets off gaily to fight under the banner of the Count of Brienne. However, Francis was not destined to engage in the struggles of the Guelphs and Ghibellines.

It were too tedious here to tell the story of his change of front the fact remains that with all the gloss of glory fresh upon it, he turned his back upon the expedition, and enlisted forthwith (and this time for ever), under another leader.

When Peter Bernardone came to hear of his son's incomprehensible proceedings, he was utterly overwhelmed, and, says the chronicler, "bursting with indignation."

"What does he mean?" the old man must have thought (and very likely, said as much to his wife), "I gave the boy the best I had, and I was glad to see him enjoy it now, he throws it all away, and says that what he wants is poverty. Poverty! Any vagabond about Assisi can show him poverty. Here am I, all my days at work to keep the wolf from the door, and this graceless idler says that my honest labour and its fruits are dust and ashes! Throws them out of window, and makes a public show of himself in the streets. He is out of his mind, nothing short of it, and I shall lock him up and keep him fast, till his reason returns to him."

Which having done, the aggravated old gentleman would return to business, and very likely make himself extremely disagreeable to his assistants. One can imagine Madonna Pica listening in dismay, hastening afterwards to the storeroom, thence (not empty-handed), to the young delinquent in the cellar. It is dark and cold and comfortless, and she cannot bear to see him there, so she lays down her little tray and speaks to him.