inds, no doubt, but serving to distinguish this
figure from the vast mass of creation. If, among my readers, some may
say "pass on," others will enjoy these trifles, and will thank me for
writing them.

Thus, Delsarte was always pleased to think he bore the name of Francois
in memory of Francis of Assisi--not the Spaniard whom we know, but the
great saint of the twelfth century; he who "appeased quarrels, settled
differences, taught slaves and common men,--the poor man who was good to
the poor."

"The fish, the rabbits and the hares," the legend says, "placed
themselves in this fortunate man's hands." * * * * The birds were silent
or sang at his command. "Be silent," said the saint to the swallows,
"'tis my turn to talk now." And again: "My brothers, the birds, you have
great cause to praise your Creator, who covered you with such fine
feathers and gave you wings to fly through the clear, broad fields of
air."

One need not be very devout to be attracted by such graceful simplicity.

Delsarte went farther. Whether he accepted this magnetic attraction as
true or whether he regarded it as purely symbolic--for this kind of
miracle is not dependent on faith,--he considered the monk of Assisi as
a lover of nature, whose heart was big enough to love everything that
lives, to suffer with all that suffers. He strove to comprehend him by
placing him upon a pinnacle, well aware that the sublime often lurks
between the trifling.

It was on such occasions that the man of intellect revived to ennoble
and illumine everything. If, despite his magnificent rendering of them,
Delsarte never called legendary fictions in question, let us not refuse
him that privilege. In such cases the poetry became his accomplice,
and--"Every poet is the toy of the gods," as Beranger says, a simple
song-writer, as Delsarte was a simple singer.

There was in him whom Kreutzer called "the apostle of the grand dramatic
style," a desire, I will not say for realism, but for _realization_, for
action. Thus he once had a fancy to join the semi-clerical society of
the third order; it was a way of keeping himself in practice, since
there were various prescriptions, observances and interdictions attached
to the office. One must repeat certain prayers every day, and submit to
a certain severity of costume. No precious metal, not even a thread of
gold or silver must be seen about one. In the first moments of fervor, a
beautiful green velvet cap, beautifully em