the Atlantic Ocean. Spanish and Portuguese discoveries, like beacon fires, one kindled from the next, lit up the great darkness that had hung over the globe, and revealed unknown islands and continents to an astonished Europe. Columbus and his followers brought back marvellous tales of mysterious shores, and cosmographers began to set down. on their charts fanciful outlines of a western world. Ponce de León landed in Florida; Balboa "stared at the Pacific"; one ship followed in another's wake and nosed its way, past strange beach and headland, into new creeks and rivers. A third brother of Ignatius perished on one of these expeditions. And while Spaniards were sailing westward, the Portuguese sailed to the east, each nation inciting the other to fresh rivalry. Vasco da Gama doubled the Cape of Good Hope; other mariners and buccaneers, emulating his example, cruised along the east coast of Africa, past the shores of Arabia, across to India, and on to Ceylon, Sumatra and Java. Never had there been such a time in Europe; high romance on canvas wings skimmed the oceans, as swallows skim a pond. And human pulses beat strongest in Spain. Even in remote Navarre, these tidings must have passed from mouth to mouth, exciting young men with thoughts of adventure and conquest. Every soldier's mess in Pamplona discussed adventure in some form. It could not have been otherwise; the famous pass of Roncevalles, where Charlemagne's retreating rearguard had been routed, and, according to Spanish tradition, Roland himself had been slain by Bernardo del Carpio, lay not a day's ride distant. His horn, the trophy of victory, still hung in the chapel there.

The romance of discovery and adventure was, as I say, in the air, but the austere Spanish character, which love of romance heated to action, had been forged and tempered by seven centuries of warfare with misbelievers. While the Cross was struggling with the Crescent, the Roman Catholic creed was being bred in Spanish bones, as integral a part of each man's personality as his dark eyes and swarthy skin., Religion was one with patriotism, one with self-preservation, one with the lust of battle and the joy of triumph. So

strong was their devotion to their faith that all pure-blooded Spaniards welcomed the Inquisition (1478) with joy, and felt a sense of personal purification at the expulsion of the unbelieving Jews (1492). Spaniards looked upon themselves not only as the chief men of Europe, "of earth's first blood," but as special champions of the Cross. To be a Christian was to be a soldier, and to be a soldier was to dedicate oneself to the service of the God of Battles. Such thoughts, like chemical fluids, lay in solution in Loyola's mind, awaiting the sudden troubling of the soul that should crystallize them into a definite form of devotion, self-consecration and service; and underneath, in those deep regions of self where the issues of character are decided, lay a sense of repentance and regret for fruitless years and trivial acts, and deeper still the consciousness of power that goes with genius and the desire to put it to use. Be that as it may, on a sudden Loyola's soul came to birth.

To return to the year 1521, when Ignatius was a young officer in the garrison of Pamplona. In the month of May, a French army marched up against the city. The invasion came about in this way. For a generation and more there had been disputes over dynastic rights to the kingdom of Navarre; France supported one claim and Spain another, but the real issue was whether France should control the passes of the Pyrenees and have a foothold south of the mountains, or Spain establish her northern boundary along the mountain tops. Previous campaigns do not concern us; but I may recall the fact that Cæsar Borgia, after strutting in his brilliant braggadocio rôle upon the center of the world's stage, perished in this out of the way corner, unnoticed, in some chance raid, a luckless soldier of fortune. Ferdinand played the game better than the French and, as I have said, annexed that portion of the little kingdom that lay south of the Pyrenees to the crown of Castile. The French bided their time. In 1521 a revolt of various Spanish cities, las comunidades, seemed to offer them their opportunity, for Navarre was stripped of troops. The French army crossed the mountains, meeting virtually no resistance, and advanced on Pamplona.

A letter by some partisan of the older régime, dated May 17, 1521, says:

The French are coming down the Roncal Valley in such numbers that they can't be counted. The towns roundabout rose yesterday for King Don Enrique [the claimant supported by France]; Pedro of Navarre, with the Marshal's son, is at their head. The duke of Najera has hurried from Pamplona. The city is left to itself. The French army will be there tomorrow, and it is said that they need not unbuckle their spurs before taking the citadel; it's a sure thing. The whole kingdom is up for King Don Enrique, and the duke of Najera may thank God if he gets safe into Castile.

And, on the 21st:

You will have heard how the Spanish, shut up in the citadel at Pamplona, started to train their artillery on the city; the French set up their cannon against the barbican of the citadel, and, can you believe it—it seems incredible— after a siege of six hours by the clock, the Spanish surrendered, asking for quarter. The French wished to refuse; the Marshal's son was obliged to intercede in order to save them.

These letters appear somewhat biassed; at any rate, after the French had entered the city and opened fire on the citadel, it became plainly impossible for the garrison to maintain itself, and all the officers, except Ignatius, advised immediate surrender; but he persuaded the commandant to hold out as long as possible. After a cannonade lasting some six or eight hours at most, a breach was made in the wall, the French rushed in, and the garrison lowered its flag.

Just before the last assault, on May 20th, a cannon ball broke the bone of Loyola's right leg and inflicted a flesh wound on the left. The victors treated him with much consideration, tended his wounds, and at the end of a fortnight sent him home to the castle of Loyola on a stretcher,

For some reason, the bone of the right leg had to be broken again and reset. Ignatius was very ill, and the pain very severe, but he bore his suffering with extreme pluck. His condition grew steadily worse, until on June 28th, the vigil of the feast of St. Peter and St. Paul, the crisis came. Ignatius had always entertained a peculiar reverence for St. Peter, and he ascribed his recovery to the apostle's interposition. The bone, however, had been badly set, and an ugly protuberance showed itself near the knee, and as he had not yet resolved to abandon the world, and was still far from indifferent to his personal appearance, he insisted upon a further operation, although the surgeons warned him of the suffering. In addition to the surgical operation, the leg had to be stretched by means of a weight, as it was shorter than the other. The pain must have been torture, but the result was successful; Ignatius always limped a little, but so slightly, at least until the last years of his life, as to escape casual observation.

/ His convalescence was slow. To while away the time he asked for books of knight errantry, the only novels existing in those days. There happened to be none in the house, so they gave him a Spanish version of the Legenda Aurea, by Jacopo da Voragine, and a Life of Christ by Ludolf of Saxony, a pious and learned Carthusian monk, who had lived about two hundred years before; as it is evident that the latter book exercised a great influence upon Ignatius, during these critical weeks, it will be best to say something of it. Ignatius's copy was in Castilian, but the original work was in Latin. It is long, longer I think, for instance, than Guy Mannering or David Copperfield, and could well occupy a man during several hours a day for a month in the careful reading of it. It is a didactic treatise, written from a devout zeal to help other men to a knowledge and love of Christ. It treats of all the important episodes in Christ's life and interprets their significance, confirming the author's comments and exhortations with many passages from St. Augustine, St. Chrysostom, and other Fathers. It begins with a Prooemium that sets forth the basis of Christian belief.

Christ Is the Foundation of Salvation.

For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid (as the Apostle saith) which is Jesus Christ. St. Augustine says that God is wholly sufficient and man wholly deficient, and God is so supremely good that it cannot be well with any one who turns away from Him. Therefore whoso wishes to escape the damnation due his sins and to be amended in spirit, must not forsake that foundation, because there he shall find remedies for all his needs.

The Sinner is Invited to the Mercy and to the Imitation of Christ.

First, therefore, let the sinner who desires to lay aside the burthen of his sins and attain peace of mind, listen to God inviting sinners to His mercy, saying, "Come unto me all ye that labor (that is with frailties) and are heavy laden (that is with the burthen of sins), and I will give you rest (that is by healing and comforting you) and ye shall find rest unto your souls." Therefore let the sick listen to the tender and compassionate physician, and go to Him in deep contrition and with zealous purpose to turn from evil forever and be good.

Second: let the sinner, now that he is become a faithful disciple of Christ, being reconciled to Him through penitence, strive with all diligence to abide with his physician and become acquainted with Him, pondering with all possible devotion over His most holy life xx. Let him read the life of Christ in such manner that he shall strive with all his might to imitate Christ's behaviour. xx

Third: as to the third point in the imitation of Christ, you must know that to imitate Christ is to follow in His footsteps, and to conform to His ways. We must imitate Him in the threefold way He trod-the way of poverty, humility, and hardship.

The whole book, in short, is a summary of the beliefs and ideals of mediæval Christianity. It is not to be wondered