Shown by an example. Bromiardus writes of a young man who was inflamed by an impure passion for a virtuous and chaste married lady. To his wicked solicitations the lady answered: "If you love me you must give me a proof of your love and do what I shall ask of you"
The young man promised to fulfil her behests no matter how difficult they might be. "Well, then," said she, "my wish is that you should find out as soon as possible where there is any one in the town in danger of death, and remain by his bedside until the last moment." The young man kept his word, and assisted at the death-beds of many people. When he again returned to the lady, he said to her: "Now you will surely do what I wish, for my sole desire now is that you should live pure and chaste, as I myself am firmly resolved to lead a pure and chaste life; for I have learned that lesson in the book of the dead to whom you sent me, and I have taken it deeply to heart."[1] Oh, if we all went to that school of the dying once in the day, there is not a doubt that we should soon be freed from impure passion!
An incentive to avoid all sin. Finally, if I often thought thus to myself: I must die. When? I know not. It may be to-day. I must die. Where? I know not. It may be in this very church; I may drop down dead in the pulpit, as happened already to a preacher of our Society in this cathedral. I must die. How? I know not; death may surprise me in the state of sin. And where shall my soul go then? Before the judgment-seat of God, to give an account of all my actions, and to be sent either to the eternal joys of heaven or to the eternal torments of hell. If I frequently renewed this thought, could I sleep quietly one night in the state of sin? Could I offend God grievously for the sake of any earthly good, or honor, or pleasure? No, that could never be! "In all thy works remember thy last end, and thou shalt never sin."[2] "Nothing," says St. Augustine with truth, "is so powerful to keep us from sin as the frequent consideration of death."[3]
Shown by an example. A certain princess, as Father Cataneus writes, had a page fifteen years old, for whom she conceived an extraordinary affection. This page was one morning found dead in his bed. Hear ing an unusual tumult in the house, the princess went to see what was the matter; but the sight of the page's dead body filled her with such sadness, pity, and apprehension, that she knew not what
