"

'My dear boy, your father is very angry; I wish you would give up these wild ideas, Francis! This cellar is very damp and you will catch your death of cold. There! finish what I have brought you, it is nice and warm and nourishing, and let me tell your father that you will be reasonable." And Francis, with all his native buoyancy and brightness, would have tried to show his mother that he must do what is right; cheering her up at the same time with assurance that the cellar is not so very bad, and that everything will come right in time. However, the father is immovable, and so is the son; and seeing this, and realizing (as all parents must) that young people have the right to lead their lives as they judge best, Madonna Pica opens the door and sets the beloved prisoner free.

Later on comes the terrible renunciation scene, after which the young soldier of the Cross goes on his way alone. One may not follow him as he scales these mystic heights of sanctity; but one may and will follow with some sympathy the sorely disappointed old father as he goes home alone. Probably Peter Bernardone did not see before him very clearly as he took his way back to Assisi; his eyes were very likely dim enough upon that solitary journey.

"All I did for him!" he must have thought bitterly, "and all I was ready to do !-no king's son was ever better treated. If he was inclined to religion, why did he not study for the Church like a gentleman? I should have sent him to the best college in Italy, and he might have ended his days with a mitre on his head." So the old father's castle in the air falls to pieces, and Madonna Pica's gentle ministrations are all needed in these days of sorrow.

It is usual to condemn in unmeasured terms old Bernardone for his severity to his son: a good deal, however, may be found to say in his defence if one tries to look upon the matter with the merchant's eyes. The centuries of veneration that have grown around the memory of St. Francis veil from our sight the view of his deeds that must have been present to his father. "A man proud to excess upon the point of honour," says the chronicler," how could he endure to see his son (by his own choice) pelted with mud in the streets, an object of public ridicule?" That Bernardone was exceedingly angry there is no doubt, but neither is there any wonder at it: the proud

old man has very considerable provocation.

History seems to have forgotten him after his son's departure, but we may believe that St. Francis remembered, and that Peter Bernardone came to think differently of the world before he left it.

Some whispers of the wonders that marked the life of the saint must have made their way unto the "old folks at home." The sermon to the birds, the repentant "brother wolf," the stirring story of the stigmas: one can see his mother as she bows her head and listens, and there is no doubt, that like another mother before her, Madonna Pica "treasured all these things in her heart."

Along with the dazzling signals of his holiness, there come to us many simple stories of St. Francis, loving and lovable, which give to his sanctity the "touch of nature that makes the whole world kin." One day, we are told, as he left his cell, he stopped to speak to the friar who attended to the land, begging him not to cultivate only vegetables, but to leave a little portion of those plants which in due time would bring forth brother flowers, for the love of Him who was called the flower of the field and the lily of the valley. Accordingly a "a fair little garden" was made, and there St. Francis was often wont to go. It is pleasant to picture the great saint among his brother flowers," and one is glad to know that he enjoyed their company.

It may be that long before, in his early days, there had been awakened in his heart a love for the beautiful things of nature. One cannot help thinking of the lovely Provence roses that must have grown about the old castle of Madonna Pica's youth, and one wonders if she carried some of them with her to Assisi, and passed them on to little Master Francis to take care of.

Indeed it is interesting to note the influence of these "first ten years upon the life and character of the saint. Up to the end of his days he was a troubadour ; devoted to his liege lady, full of her praises, and singing melodiously through all the troubles of his earthly pilgrimage. When it was coming to an end, and his brothers carried him home to die, St. Francis sang along the road as cheerily as ever.

That powerful trio, £. s. d., hadnever been introduced to the nursery at Assisi (it does not appear that Madonna Pica was

intimate with them at any time), and the little child taught there "made strange" with them all his life. Other saints have "made to themselves friends of the mammon of iniquity," and have used it well and wisely for God's glory, but the Seraph of Assisi would have none of it; his mother had turned his thoughts to other things in the beginning.

As to his public life, it is familiar to us all; St. Francis is the central figure of the Middle Ages, round whose superb and singular sanctity are gathered all its poetry, chivalry and romance. Dante himself has set his muse to sing the glories of the saint, and there are no lovelier lines in the "Paradiso", than those dedicated to the memory of the "Poverello di Assisi." Speaking of him as of a spiritual sun, the poet says:

He was not yet far distant from his rising
Before he had begun to make the world
Some comfort from his mighty virtue feel.
For he in youth his father's wrath incurred
For certain Dame, to whom as unto Death
The gate of pleasure no one doth unlock;
And was before his spiritual court
Et coram patre unto her united:

Then day by day more fervently he loved her.
She, reft of her first Master; scorned, obscure,
A thousand and a hundred years and more

Waited without a suitor till he came.
(But that too darkly I may not proceed,
Francis and Poverty for these two lovers
Take thou henceforward in my speech diffuse)
Then goes his way that Father and that Master,
He and his Lady and that family

Which now was girding on the humble cord;

No cowardice of heart weighed down his brow,

At being son of Peter Bernardone,

Nor for appearing marvellously scorned.

But regally his hard determination

To Innocent he opened, and from him
Received the primal seal upon his order.
After, the people mendicant increased,

Behind this man whose admirable life
Better in glory of the Heavens were sung.
From Christ did he receive the final seal

Which during two whole years his members bore ;
When He who chose him unto so much good

Was pleased to draw him up to the reward

That he had merited by being lowly.

After his death the Church triumphant and militant united in showering glory unexampled upon his honoured head. The accumulated miracles that descended on his tomb were the testimony of heaven, and the wonderful ceremony of his canonization was the tribute of the Church on earth. Barely two years had elapsed since the saint's demise, when the Holy See, passing over all intermediate degrees of dignity, determined to confer upon him the highest title of sanctity, with every added meed of honour possible.

Other saints are canonized at Rome, but Rome comes to Assisi to do reverence to Francis. "On the eve of the solemnity the Holy Father, attended by his entire court, made his solemn entry into the saint's native place. Thomas of Celano records with what transports of joy the old town opened its gates to receive him in the midst of what enthusiasm it led him to the episcopal palace; and how it was obliged on that day to extend its area, too narrow to contain the crowds of noblemen, mitred abbots, prelates, and people whom the announcement of this fête had attracted from all parts of Italy.

"On the great day the Pope himself preached the panegyric of the saint, and at its conclusion the list of proven miracles was read, which gave rise to a scene perhaps unexampled in history. Many of those upon whom these miracles were wrought were present, and openly proclaimed their authenticity. Finally, the Holy Father arose, and in presence of an immense and enraptured multitude, pronounced the solemn decree of canonization, inscribing upon the calendar of the saints the Blessed Francis, whom God has glorified in Heaven, and we venerate on earth. Then, laying aside his tiara, His Holiness intoned the Te Deum, while the sons of St. Francis stood around, with lighted candles and olive branches in their hands; and pealing joy-bells rang out far and wide." Perhaps the most thrilling episode of the great ceremonial is the chanting of the Litany of the Saints, concluding with the name of the newly canonized.

One would like to have knelt behind Madonna Pica at that solemn moment, and to see her happy tears as she united her trembling old voice to the Church's joyous cry, Sancte Francisce, ora pro nobis. Her boy! her boy! it is her boy they are praying to! She had always had high hopes of him; she

had often dreamed bright dreams of him; but none like this. O gracious heaven! her fairest visions pale before this wonderful reality.

High, higher, highest among the great denizens of heaven, Francis sits enthroned, while clear above the homage of the universal Church, and sweetest of it all, sounds in his ear his mother's prayer, Sancte Francisce, ora pro nobis !

M. A. CURTIS.

NOTES ON NEW BOOKS

1. An Imperial Love Story. By Henry Curties. R. and T. Washbourne. (Price 3s. 6d.)

London :

This is a novel of some 350 pages of large type, of which the hero is the son of the Empress Eugénie. It is issued by Catholic publishers, and seems to be written in a fairly good spirit; but its literary merit is, we fear, very slight, and the taste of the whole conception is extremely questionable. Monsignor Goddard under a transparent disguise is introduced as one of the characters. Is his friend, Father Murphy, also drawn from life? The judicious reader may be tempted to lay to another's charge the ridiculous vulgarity of his manner of speaking. The author is so perfectly at home in things Irish that, when he has to invent an Irish priest in London, he calls him Father O'Stivvers; and "widdin" is, it seems, our way of pronouncing "wedding." The story of the Prince Imperial, may sometime be made the subject of a worthy romance. The beautiful prayer attributed to him is his best relic. May he rest in peace.

2. The Lover of Souls. Short Conferences on the Sacred Heart of Jesus. By the Rev. Henry Brinkmeyer. New York: Benziger. (Price 4s. net.)

The author disclaims any pretensions to originality, but perhaps his book will be all the more useful and agreeable for that. In a very simple but clear and earnest style he discusses