ong-suffering, merciful, patient--Christ the Son of God made Man
for us. A wave of great joy swept over Francis, and he wept for very
gladness of heart. Here was his Master, his Lord. He had found Him, and
henceforth following was easy.

[Sidenote: _The Lepers._]

Not one of the many translations of the life of Francis, omits to
mention his self-imposed mission to the lepers. Assisi, like most
foreign towns of the age, was infested with lepers. They were not
allowed to live in the towns, but had houses (lazaretti) built for
them quite outside. Francis had a deep-rooted repugnance to a leper,
and, in passing a lazaretto, always carefully covered up his nose lest
any bad odour might reach him, and he always rode far away in the
opposite direction, if he chanced to see one in the plains. Nothing
shows the change in Francis more than his alteration towards the
lepers. One day, when out riding, he saw a leper approaching. His
first instinct was his natural one to get away at once. His second,
that God required something more of him. Who was he, to loathe and
avoid a fellow-creature. Riding up to the leper, he dismounted, gave
him some money, and then without a shudder, kissed the dreadful hand
held out to him. He had done the impossible, and from this time he
constantly visited the lazaretti, putting himself in personal contact
with the lepers, giving them money, and doing all he could to lessen
their sufferings.

Of this period of his experience he writes long years after:--

"When I was in sin it was very bitter to me to behold lepers, but the
Lord Himself having led me amongst them, I exercised mercy towards
them, and when I left them I felt that what had seemed so bitter to me
was changed into sweetness for my soul and body."

CHAPTER III.

A LONELY STRUGGLE.

"Thou must walk on, however man upbraid thee,
With Him who trod the winepress all alone:
Thou may'st not find one human hand to aid thee,
One human soul to comprehend thy own."

A rough, stony uphill path, or rather track, under grey-green olive
trees, leading to a perfect tangle of cypresses and pines. Somewhere
in the tangle of cypresses almost hidden from sight, lay a dilapidated
ancient church, which, long ago had been dedicated to the martyr
Damian. Up this stony track one day, stumbled Francis.

His was now a solitary life. He was a complete puzzle to parents and
friends, and, indeed to a great extent he was a puzzle to