The legends of St Martin tell us how, on coming one day to Lutetia, followed by a great crowd of people, he caught sight of a leper at the gate of the city, who was so terrible an object to look at that everybody turned away from him with loathing. To give those who followed him a lesson in Christian charity, he went up to the poor sick man, kissed and blessed him, and on the following morning the latter was cured as by a miracle. It is just through overcoming oneself in respect to that which is intrinsically foul and repugnant that this kiss gets its high significance and dignity. St Francis of Assisi had bidden farewell to an existence of luxury, bestowed his wealth on the necessitous, and lived the life of a beggar, but his conversion was still incomplete; he did not become ripe for his great work of charity until he had overcome his repugnance to the leprous. One day, when out riding, he met one of these wretched sufferers, whose whole body was like a great open wound, and he reined his horse aside in disgust; but shame overtook him at once, he leapt off his horse, spoke kindly to the sick man, gave him what money he had, and kissed both his hands. Such is the account given by the historical chronicles, but the legend goes on to say that the leper immediately afterwards vanished: it was Christ Himself who wished, in this wise, to bestow His benediction on the noble and beautiful life’s work of the saint. The kiss of affection also plays an important part in folk-poetry; that alone has power to cast off spells, that alone breaks all the bonds of witchcraft and sorcery, and is able to restore man to his original shape. In the Scotch ballad of Kempion we are told how the Earl of Estmereland’s daughter is persecuted by her wicked stepmother, who at last by magic arts changes her into a snake: Cum heir, cum heir, ye freely feed And lay your head low on my knee; The heaviest weird I will you read, That ever was read to gay ladye. O meikle dolour sall ye dree, And aye the salt seas o’er ye’se swim; And far mair dolour sall ye dree, On Estmere crags, when ye them climb. “I weired ye to a fiery beast, And relieved sall ye never be, Till Kempion, the king’s son, Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss thee.” O meikle dolour did she dree, And aye the salt seas o’er she swam; And far mair dolour did she dree On Estmere crags, when she them clamb. And aye she cried for Kempion, Gin he would but come to her hand. At last Kempion hears her voice, and straightway rows towards the foot of the mountain: Out of my stythe I winna rise, * * * * * Till Kempion, the king’s son, Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me; implores the snake; but Kempion dares not. The snake coils in and out, and the mountain is aflame; at last Kempion summons all his courage: