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stupid with opiates, frantic with remorse for the past, and terror of the future — to take that soul into the presence of its God to confess and crave pardon for its sins. It is the second death-agony. How remember all those nameless sins? How make good in one all the fruitless confessions of the past? How raise his mind and heart in a few moments up from earth, aye from hell itself, up to the throne of God? " Father," he cries, " I cannot do it; I cannot go on; God help me, I am lost." But the priest encourages him by words of hope and consolation — hope, where he sees but little hope, and consolation which he himself does not feel. But at last the confession is made, such as it is. " Are you sorry for your sins? " " Father, I am sorry," he cries, but at the same time the priest feels sure that were this man restored to health, he would sin the same sins again, and the dying man himself seems to hear the demons around him chant: "When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be; when the devil was well, no more a monk was he." Nay, God Himself seems to laugh at this mockery, for from the Blessed Sacrament in his breast the dying man seems to hear: " You come to Me, not for love of Me, but through fear of hell. You abandoned sin only when sin abandoned you. Almost all your life have you deserted Me, and therefore will I desert you now in the hour of your need." Deserted by God, the devil seems to retake possession of him and urges him to despair. Ah ! there was a time long ago, when, to induce him to sin, the devil preached him long sermons on the ease of repentance