in the pillow, and his hands clutch convulsively, making those that hold them feel what a fearful thing it is to hold the hand of a dying man and feel the soul within him struggling for liberty. But the struggle is nearly ended— one last great effort; a stretching to the utmost of every muscle of the body; a momentary startled expression of countenance, a ghastly upheaval of the eyes, and then the mouth gapes slowly open and with one long, weary moan of despair, he breathes out his soul. " Vengeance is Mine," saith the Lord, " and I have repaid, for he sought Me and he found Me not, but he died in his sins." Oh do not leave that chamber of death without fully realizing what a fearful thing it is to fall into the hands of the living God. Of what good now to him are all that man's honors, riches, pleasures? They are all here behind him, while he has gone forth into eternity poor and naked and miserable. His life was a failure, for he left undone the one work he should have done; he lost the one treasure he should have gained. Not only was his life a failure, it was a lie. He belied the God of all truth by turning away from the one end for which he was intended and created. He lied to the world by clothing his interior corruption in a cloak of outward respectability. He lied to the Church when he dared to gain admission to her sacraments by false promises of amendment. He lied to his little children by imposing burdens on them he could never bear, by asking them to practice virtues he himself never possessed. And as a man lives, so shall he die. His life was a lie; a lie also was his
