to an abiding sense of duty. But as society became more settled, as material civilisation was again recovered, as men had more leisure, and life grew richer, the need was felt for fuller recognition of the primary and immediate objects of that life—of the thoughts and fancies and passions of which each man was directly conscious in his individual experience. There had been such an expression once; it must be recovered. Italy, as the most ancient nation, felt most keenly the need of regaining its forgotten treasures. The Renaissance was the movement for this purpose.
At first the movement was unconscious, and it is difficult to fix upon a time which made it definite. But it seems to me that the important crisis in the fortunes of any movement is that which impresses its aim upon the imagination of the multitude. Such an impression was made by one who is not much recognised in this connexion, by Francis of Assisi. The unconscious purpose of his life was to find peace for himself by freedom from all common ties and conventions, so that he might live unfettered and unhindered in joyous communion with God and man. All the world was his, because he called nothing his own: all men were his brothers; the delights of outward nature, the companionship of birds and beasts, were his to the full, for God bestowed them upon him. His life was a poem which told of the joys of liberty, of earth's loveliness, of the delight of human intercourse founded on pure love. Francis announced, in a way that could not be forgotten, that it was possible to have a clear outlook on the world, to see in things as they were a promise of what they should be and
