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es might not sufficiently atone for the sinful pleasures of his past life, of which he had a vivid and growing remembrance. The thought was ever present with him that he might not be predestined to die in the odour of sanctity. In this anguish of heart he went forth one day into the wood which lies on the top of the mountain of La Verna, beyond the Friary, and ran up and down, stumbling among the roots of the trees and calling aloud with sighs and tears, "Little wretch, thou art lost! Abominable sinner Angelo, how shalt thou find a holy death?" To him, in this distraction, comes the Warden with three of the elder friars and asks him what has befallen him. "The fear of dying in my sins," cries Angelo. "You have the comfort of the Gospel, my son," says the Warden. "It is not enough for me," sobs Angelo, beating his wounded breast. "You know not how great were my pleasures in the world!" With that he starts away again to wander through the wood, but the Warden restrains him, and soothes him, and speaks comfortably to him; and at last Angelo makes his request that he may have a certain cave in the woods for his dwelling and be enclosed there as a recluse to await the coming of a holy death. "But, my son," objects the Warden, "what will the Friary do without the example of your devotion and your service?" "I will pray for you all," says Angelo; "night and day I will give myself to intercession for the order of friars minor." So the Warden consents, and Angelo, for the time, is satisfied. Now, the top of the mountain of La Verna is full of rude clefts and caverns, with broken and jagged rocks. Truly, it were a frightful place to behold but for the tall trees that have grown up among the rocks, clasping them with their roots, and the trailing vines and gentle wild flowers and green ferns that spring abundantly around them as if in token of kindness and good-will and bounty. All these were much beloved of St. Francis, who heard every creature cry aloud, saying "God made me for thee, O man." So great was his affection for them that he would not have his little friars cut down a whole tree for firewood, but bade them only lop the branches and let the tree live in joy. And he taught them to make no garden of pot-herbs only, but to leave room always for the flowers, for love of One who was called "the rose of Sharon," and "the lily of the valley." But this was not the mind of Angelo, who stumbled to his rec
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