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 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