a death like hers, but all joy and peace and consolation. Surely precious in the sight of God and man is the death of God's saints.
Brethren, let us turn now to another death-bed; let us accompany the priest on his next sick call. A hurried call at midnight, a man dying, for God's sake hurry. And hasten he does, and as he goes along he asks for further particulars. The patient is a man of some consequence — one the world would by no means call a bad man or a bad Catholic, but whom the Church would by no means call a good one. In fact he is a man of the world, subject to various bad habits — some said he drank, others questioned his business methods, and others hinted at a dark side to his private life — anyhow, he committed many mortal sins which he confessed occasionally, only to fall soon again. One night a week or ten days ago he caught cold returning from a social carouse. Next day he tried to be around as usual, but feeling deathly ill, he returned to bed and the doctor was called. " Fever, but nothing serious," was his verdict. But the day passed and the night came. O God, the weary night of torture I And another day passed and another night came and so on, and still "nothing serious " was what the doctor said. But the fever grew, so even the doctor began to doubt. A consultation was held, and the verdict was " serious." One more visit and the answer to the usual question was " hopeless." All now know what to expect, but no one dares tell the patient lest it worry him and make him worse. But when selfish interest is at stake they
