unbeliever attend but a few times by the bedside of a dying Catholic,
and observe the piety and faith of the priest and people around the bed
of the "soul departing;" and if he be not an atheist or a blasphemer of
God's providence, it is impossible for him not to perceive the
superiority of the Catholic religion to all other forms of worship that
ever existed. But to be present at the death hour of a Christian is a
privilege which Protestants and unbelievers seldom or never enjoy; their
levity and want of devotion, with their impiety and irreverence, being
sufficiently powerful obstacles to their admittance into such sacred
places as the chamber in which the sacred offices of religion are
administered to the "departing soul." It is only the true believers, and
not "those outside," who have the privilege of hearing the "prayer of
faith" that saves the sick man--it is only they who enjoy occasionally
the consolation from the inspiring words of the church to join their
tears, and unite their sighs, sobs, and sorrows with those of their
pastors and fellow-Christians, for the happy passage and merciful
judgment for their departing brother. Such were the tears and sadness
that Paul O'Clery and his little attendants shed around the bed of
their dying mother.

"Paul, my child, why do you act so?" said she, gently chiding him.

"O mother! mother! how can I help it? Stop ye your crying there," said
he, taking courage, and turning to his younger associates. "Silence
Bridget, Patrick, and Eugene. Answer me distinctly, and hold your grief.
It will vex mother." And he continued the prayer from where he left off
with as good grace as he could.

The venerable priest, though inside the door, was unperceived during
this affecting scene; and the heavy tears might be seen stealing down