always just what they expected, or liked at the moment. To Camus himself, who complained bitterly of a wrong which some one had done him, Francis said, “Cannot you see God's will in that-how he permits the trial and makes use of man's wickedness to correct your faults and confirm your strength? You delight in wearing a gold cross upon your breast, while you cannot bear the tiniest inward cross without striving to cast it out by murmuring! And you would fain have me to believe you patient; just as if the real result of patience would be freedom from resentment and complaint." (Part ii, Ch. v. 5.)

Francis thought it was well never to talk about oneself, either in praise or blame, save when really necessary, and even then with great reserve. Selfblame and self-praise spring from vanity, he used to say. "As to boasting, that," he said, "is so purely ridiculous as to be condemned by all men, and words of self-depreciation, unless they are intensely sincere, and spring from a strong conviction of worthlessness, are a very refined form of vanity. He who utters them rarely believes them himself, or really wishes others to believe them; he only intends to be thought very humble; and therein he is like an oarsman who turns his back to the point towards which he rows." (Part ii, Ch. vi. 3.)

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He often, says Camus, took people at their word when they made humble speeches in his presence, sometimes indeed giving greater emphasis to such expressions, so as to bring those who uttered them to confusion. 'For instance," says his biographer, "when I first became a bishop, he required of me, as I thought, too high a standard of perfection. 'My dear father,' I said, 'you forget that I have but just left the world, and am

given the office of a teacher almost before becoming a disciple! You treat me as if I were far advanced in holiness, and able to teach others, whereas I have hardly yet entered within the gate thereof.' 'Quite true,' he answered, I probably realise all that even more than you do yourself. I look upon you as a brand snatched from the burning, and still smelling of smoke; but after all, you are now a bishop, and you must arouse your paternal feelings, and fix your eyes upon perfection. It will not do for you to be content to drink from your own cistern; you must impart its waters to others. God, reason, and your office alike demand it of you; you must not look behind unless you would become a statue. If you trust in yourself, you will never do anything, but if you trust in God, there is nothing you may not do. He delights in showing forth his strength in our weakness, his power in our helplessness, in confounding that which is by the things that are not. Mistrust of self is a very blessed thing, provided it is accompanied by trust in God, and the further you advance in the one, the more earnest the other will be. But all distrustful humility

is a false humility.'

On another occasion a lady who had been elected Superior of a convent declined the appointment with great professions of unworthiness. Francis reiterated all her assertions even more strongly than she herself, saying that" doubtless she was but a poor creature, and all the sisters knew her incapacity, the narrowness of her mind, the weakness of her judgment, her want of manner, her numberless failings, and her lack of power to set a good example; but that God perhaps allowed her election in order to correct these faults, now that she

was to be placed in a responsible position before him as well as in the sight of men and angels. He reminded her that the community was not entrusted to her but to God, who often chooses the weak to confound the wise of this world, through the foolishness of the Cross. . . . It was thus our dear father taught his children to avoid all such vain words as borrow the mask of humility and showed pride beneath a false lowliness.” (Part ii, Ch. vi. 10.)

Francis, we are told, was most gentle and compassionate, but there was a great deal of strength and vigour in his character too; like steel, which is stronger in proportion to the delicacy with which it is tempered. He could not bear people to be soft and indulgent to themselves, and always, says Camus, made war upon such tenderness when he came across it; distinguishing however between weakness or infirmity and this tenderness of self. No one could be more compassionate to sinners, especially to such as fall through infirmity and without premeditation; but he was always severe towards those who were indulgent to themselves, saying that such indulgence, whether bodily or mental, was as opposed to all true devotion as over-anxiety or hurry, both being evidences of self-love.

Francis had the love that desires to think no evil. To some one who asked him if it is wrong to entertain well-founded suspicions, he answered, "No; because to suspect is not to judge, only a step towards it. But we should be very careful not to be misled by false indications, and so to form hasty judgments; this is the rock upon which many a rash judgment splits.' To avoid this error, he had an excellent rule, namely, that if any action could be seen under a hundred different aspects,

we ought always to choose that one which is most favourable. If we cannot find any excuse for the act itself, we may lessen its evil character by imputing some good intention; and if there is nothing to be said on that score, we should take into consideration the violence of temptation, or attribute it to ignorance, sudden assault, or human frailty, so as to take away from the inevitable blame involved. He used to say that people who keep a strict watch over their consciences seldom fall into the snare of rashly judging others; it is a habit which rather belongs to idle people, who take little heed of their own actions, while they are very much addicted to picking to pieces those of their neighbours." (Part ii, Ch. x. 20.)

He thought that a man should be satisfied with his own calling and make the best of himself. "Do not trifle over other things," he would say, I do not sow a crop of good intentions in another man's garden, but cultivate your own diligently. Do not wish to be anything save what you are, but strive to be that perfectly. Fix all your thoughts on that, and on bearing every cross, great and small, which it involves. What is the good of building castles in Spain, when you must live in France?" He believed that if people would act on this principle, they would find great peace. "Be at peace," he said to one who was yielding to depression, "and let your soul feed upon the sweetness of heavenly love, without which our hearts were lifeless, our life joyless. Give no place to sadness, the great enemy of devotion. What should sadden one who serves the Everlasting Joy? Nothing save sin ought to vex or grieve us; and even when sorry for sin, holy joy and hope should come to the rescue." (Part ii, Ch. xii. 19.)

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And while thus seeking to be himself, and to fill his own position perfectly, he was ever most respectful towards others. He has been called "the gentlemanly saint." He showed a fine and unfailing courtesy and was a truly humble as well as holy man of heart. “I have often," says his biographer, observed how he treated every one, even the most insignificant persons who approached him, as though he were himself the inferior, never repulsing anyone, never refusing to enter into conversation, to speak or listen; never betraying the slightest sign of weariness, impatience or annoyance, however importunate or ill-timed the interruption. His constant thought was: It is God's will; it is what he requires of me; what more need I ask? While I am doing this I am not required to do anything else. God's will is the centre whence all we do must radiate; all else is mere weariness and excitement.' (Part iii, Ch. i. 7)

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Francis would have us pay little heed to the world's opinion. He would have us do God's will and not be men-pleasers; and he illustrated his advice by a story. The principal of a college committed the charge of the college clock to an old man, who wanted something to occupy him, but who ere long complained that he had never been given a more troublesome or vexatious task. "What, winding up the weights twice a day?" exclaimed the principal in amazement. "Oh, no, it is not that; it is that I am so worried on all sides. If the clock is a few moments slow, the students from within are down upon me, and then if, to please them, I put it on a few minutes, the students outside grumble, and say our time is fast. Perhaps I put it back to silence their complaints, and the others begin again, till my poor