cles; the poorly furnished attic, the simple and often solitary meal, the "burden and heat of the day," the quiet of the evening, and even the repose of the night, not secured against the visit of the penitent, or the summons to the bed of deathsuch are the concomitants of the Catholic priesthood, to which the college life of our students is the road, and the sacrament of holy orders the gate. These associations it is which shed so awful a beauty around the path of the Catholic priest; and the preparation is in keeping with the end. While the future guide of souls in the communion which usurps our titles, has despoiled us of our rights, and still enjoys the largest share of popular consideration in this island, is spending the first precious years of his life at a public school, or at one of the universities, distinguished from the candidates for a secular profession by no peculiar strictness of habits, simplicity of living, severity of dress, sacredness of study, or religiousness of occupation; encompassed by snares at the most critical of ages, without certain shelter and ordained safeguard; the companion of the wealthy, at least in their sports, possibly even in their debaucheries, and this from first to last; at school, at "the private tutor's," as the under graduate, as the "resident bachelor," and so on almost up to the very eve of his initiation into responsibilities, the very thought of which makes serious men tremble: the Catholic priest, on the other hand, has his course chalked out in definite lines from the moment when aptness of disposition, or habits of devotion, or any other special token of "vocation" shall point him out to the eyes of his director as one whom his Saviour delights to honor. This crisis may be earlier or later in life; it is seldom so late as to leave fewer than four or five years for direct training, and for the most part it is so early as to allow even twice that number of years for the work of holy preparation. During this interval, how many and how powerful are the aids which this sworn liegeman of the cross enjoys towards the due cultivation of what divines call the "ecclesiastical spirit" a phrase which to the ears of a thoughtful Catholic imports whatever is high in name, reverent in temper, chaste in affection, or devoted in action! For instance, between one and two hours of every morning of his collegiate life are consecrated to religious acts in common: prayers, meditations, and the holy sacrifice, with the regular opportunity of communion, of which all those in training for the church are found to avail themselves, not only on Sundays and feasts of obligation, but on feasts of devotion, feasts of patron saints, all feasts of our Lord and his blessed Mother, all days and anniversaries of domestic interest, amounting, as a general rule, to more than one besides the Sunday in every week, (and in some of the colleges the average is still greater;) besides this, the frequent use of the holy communion implies, of course, a corresponding recourse to the sacrament of penance. Nor is it easy, again, to appreciate the effect arising from daily and constant access to the house of God at other times than those of stated prayer; more especially of visits to the adorable sacrament, a devotion which is found, along with that of which our blessed Lady is the object, to lay extraordinary hold of the pure and affectionate mind of youth. When to this sum of regular, and, as it may be called, ostensible religion, we add exercises of a more private kind; when we recollect, also, that acts of study are usually preceded by prayer, and again, that the most anxious pains are taken on the part of superiors to regulate the amusements, and fill up the vacant time, of the students, as well as to block up every avenue of sin, and forestall every dangerous occasion-shall we not be supposed to have been rather sketching all the while an ideal picture of a right godly education, than describing facts of which every Englishman may become cogaizant, who will be at the trouble of a visit to our chief collegiate institutions? Such, then, is the moral training of a Catholic priest; and, as he approaches the goal of his ecclesiastical course, he becomes more and more intimately involved in the direct ministrations of the choir and the sanctuary. His first introduction to the awful vicinity of the altar is in the capacity of a server of the mass, an office anciently and properly confined to clerics of the order of acolyte, but now by general custom extended also to towardly, well-conducted, and "handy boys. Our young ecclesiastic, again, will have been already initiated into his future ministrations by some experience in the duties of "ceroferarius" and "thurifer," offices which are sufficiently explained by their names. In colleges, too, where the bishop is a resident, or even, as must always be the case, a frequent visiter, one or more of the boys will be selected for immediate attendance upon his sacred person. Those of them, moreover, who have musical capacities and tastes (which are extraordinarily rife in the Catholic colleges), will be in request for the service of the choir. The older students will become eligible, in their turn, to the responsible posts of sacristan and master of ceremonies. The care of the sacristy is an especial object of youthful ambition. It involves the contiguity, though not always the contact, of those various treasures, often of most costly material and elaborate design, but deriving, of course, their principal value from their relation in various degrees to the altar on which our blessed Redeemer vouchsafes to repose in the august sacrament; the richly wrought vestments, the linen, of finest texture, and often curious work, and, more than all, the vessels, • differing in sacredness according to their proximity to the adorable. Those articles, whether of linen or plate, which come in contact with the blessed sacrament, can not be directly touched, except as matter of necessity, or through express permission, by any who are not in sacred orders. It is the privilege of the subdeacon to VOL. V.-No. 10. 49 brighten the chalice, and wash the linen which is used in the more solemn parts of the mass. The moral effect of such provisions upon the minds of those who are brought under their influence, can hardly be appreciated without experience. Those alone, whose high privilege it is to be conversant with the routine of a Catholic college, (for an occasional visit could convey no just impression of facts,) can attest how deep and instinctive a sense of reverence for holy things is cherished in the minds of our youth by their subjection (O yoke of sweetness! O bondage more blessed than empire!) to this gracious and subduing rule. Who that has witnessed it, can forget the gentle and loving care with which our students discharge these pious ministries? The light and noiseless step-so full of recollection, so significant of tenderness, cautious as in the chamber of the dead, yet cheerful as in the company of angels; the easy yet guarded gait, staid without stiffness, solemn without effort, free without negligence; the orderly movement, the delicate touch, the unstraying eye, the leisurely genuflection to suggest such images, is to give the opportunity of filling up a picture in the mind, to which every well-regulated place of Catholic education will furnish the original; and if natives perchance do not recognise its correctness so vividly as strangers, the reason is, we suspect, to be found in their greater interior devotion, which leaves them less opportunity, as well as less need, to look out in church for exterior incentives to edification. The glimpse we have thus given, transient and superficial as it is, into the interior of one of our colleges, is almost necessary to the understanding of the offices of which we are about to present a brief analysis, for the sake of those, whether members of the church, or others, who may never have enjoyed the opportunity of witnessing their celebration, and have regarded them as exclusively the property and concern of ecclesiastics. To be continued. DEATH-BED OF TOM PAINE, 1809. EXTRACT FROM A LETTER OF BISHOP FENWICK TO HIS BROTHER AT GEORGETOWN COLLEGE. (Communicated for the U. S. C. Magazine.) SHORT time before Paine died, I was sent for by him. He was prompted to this by a poor Catholic woman, who went to see him in his sickness; and who told him, among other things, that in his wretched condition, if any body could do him good, it would be a Roman Catholic priest. This woman was an American convert (formerly a Shaking Quakeress) whom I had received into the church but a few weeks before. She was the bearer of the message to me from Paine. I stated this circumstance to F. Kohlmann at breakfast, and requested him to accompany me. After some solicitation on my part, he agreed to do so at which was greatly rejoiced, because I was at the time quite young and inexperienced in the ministry, and was glad to have his assistance, as I knew, from the great reputation of Paine, that I should have to do with one of the most impious as well as infamous of men. We shortly after set out for the house at Greenwich, where Paine lodged, and on the way agreed upon a mode of proceeding with him. We arrived at the house; a decent looking, elderly woman (probably his house-keeper), came to the door, and inquired whether we were the Catholic priests; "for," said she, "Mr. Paine has been so much annoyed of late by ministers of different other denominations calling upon him, that he has left express orders with me to admit no one to-day but the clergymen of the Catholic church." Upon assuring her that we were Catholic clergymen, she opened the door, and showed us into the parlor. She then left the room, and shortly after returned to inform us that Paine was asleep; and at the same time expressed a wish that we would not disturb him; "for," said she, "he is always in a bad humor when roused out of his sleep-tis better to wait a little till he be awake." We accordingly sat down and resolved to await the more favorable moment. "Gentlemen," said the lady, after having taken her seat also, "I really wish you may succeed with Mr. Paine; for he is laboring under great distress of mind ever since he was informed by his physicians that he can not possibly live, and must die shortly. He sent for you to-day, because he was told that if any one could do him good you might. Possibly he may think that you know of some remedy, which his physicians are ignorant of. He is truly to be pitied. His cries, when he is left alone, are heart-rending. O Lord help me! he will exclaim during his paroxysms of distress, God help me! Jesus Christ help me! repeating the same expressions without any, the least variation, in a tone of voice that would alarm the house. Sometimes he will say: O God! what have I done to suffer so much! Then shortly after: But there is no God! And again, a little after: Yet if there should be, what will become of me hereafter? Thus he will continue for some time, when on a sudden he will scream as if in terror and agony, and call out for me by name. On one of these occasions, which are very frequent, I went to him, and inquired what he wanted? Stay with me, he replied, for God's sake: for I can not bear to be left alone. I then observed that I could not always be with him, as I had much to attend to in the house. Then, said he, send even a child to stay with me; for it is a hell to be alone. I never saw," she concluded, "a more unhappy-a more forsaken man; it seems he can not reconcile himself to die." Such was the conversation, of the woman who had received us, and who probably had been employed to nurse and take care of him during his illness. She was a Protestant, yet seemed very desirous that we should afford him some relief in his state of abandonment, bordering on complete despair. Having remained thus some time in the parlor, we at length heard a noise in the adjoining room across the passage-way, which induced us to believe that Mr. Paine, who was sick in that room, had awoke. We accordingly proposed to proceed thither, which was assented to by the woman; and she opened the door for us. On entering we found him just getting out of his slumber. A more wretched being in appearance I never before beheld. He was lying in a bed sufficiently decent of itself, but at present besmeared with filth: his look was that of a man greatly tortured in mind; his eyes haggard; his countenance forbidding and his whole appearance that of one whose better days had been but one continued scene of debauch. His only nourishment at this time, as we were informed, was nothing more than milk punch, in which he indulged to the full extent of his weak state. He had partaken undoubtedly but very recently of it, as the sides and corners of his mouth exhibited very unequivocal traces of it, as well as of blood, which had also flowed in the track, and left its marks on the pillow. His face to a certain extent had also been besmeared with it. The head of his bed was against the side of the room through which the door opened. F. Kohlmann having entered first, took a seat on the side, near the foot of his bed. I took my seat on the same side near the head. Thus, in the posture in which Paine lay, his eyes could easily bear on F. Kohlmann, but not on me easily, without turning his head. As soon as we had seated ourselves, F. Kohlmann, in a very mild tone of voice, informed him that we were Catholic priests, and were come, on his invitation, to see him. Paine made no reply. After a short pause F. Kohlmann proceeded thus, addressing himself to Paine in the French language, thinking, that as Paine had been in France, he was probably ac quainted with that language, (which, however, was not the fact) and might understand better what he said, as he had at that time a greater facility, and could express his thoughts better in it than in the English. "Mons. Paine, j'ai lu votre livre inti tulé, L'Age de la Raison, ou vous avez attaqué l'ecriture sainte avec une violence, sans bornes, et d'autres de vos écrits publiés en France: et je suis persuadé que "— Paine here interrupted him abruptly, and in a sharp tone of voice, ordering him to speak English, thus: "Speak English, man, speak English." F. Kohlmann, without showing the least embarrassment, resumed his discourse, and expressed himself nearly as follows, after his interruption, in English: "Mr. Paine, I have read your book entitled the Age of Reason, as well as other of your writings against the Christian religion; and I am at a loss to imagine how a man of your good sense could have employed his talents in attempting to undermine what, to say nothing of its divine establishment, the wisdom of ages has deemed most conducive to the happiness of man. Christian religion, sir" The "That's enough, sir, that's enough," said Paine, again interrupting him; "I see what you would be about-I wish to hear no more from you, sir. My mind is made up on that subject. I look upon the whole of the Christian scheme to be a tissue of absurdities and lies, and J. C. to be nothing more than a cunning knave and an impostor." F. Kohlmann here attempted to speak again, when Paine, with a lowering countenance, ordered him instantly to be silent and to trouble him no more. "I have told you already that I wish to hear nothing more from you." "The Bible, sir," said F. Kohlmann, still attempting to speak, "is a sacred and divine book, which has stood the test and the criticism of abler pens than yourspens which have made at least some show of argument, and❞— "Your Bible," returned Paine, "contains nothing but fables; yes, fables, and I have proved it to a demonstration." All this time I looked on the monster with pity mingled with indignation at his blasphemies. I felt a degree of horror at thinking that, in a very short time, he would be cited to appear before the tribunal of his God, whom he so shockingly blasphemed, with all his sins upon him. Seeing that F. Kohlmann had completely failed in making any impression upon him, and that Paine would listen to nothing that came from him, nor would even suffer him to speak, I finally concluded to try what effect I might have. I accordingly commenced with observing: “Mr. Paine, you will certainly allow that there exists a God, and that this God can not be indifferent to the conduct and actions of his creatures." "I will allow nothing, sir," he hastily replied, "I shall make no concessions." "Well sir, if you will listen calmly for one moment," said I, "I will prove to you that there is such a Being; and I will demonstrate from his very nature, that he can not be an idle spectator of our conduct." "Sir, I wish to hear nothing you have to say; I see your object, gentlemen, is to trouble me; I wish you to leave the room." This he spoke in an exceedingly angry tone, so much so that he foamed at the mouth. Paine," I continued, "I assure you, our object in coming hither was purely to do you good. We had no other motive. We had been given to understand that you wished to see us, and we are come Mr. accordingly because it is a principle with us never to refuse our services to a dying man asking for them. But for this, we should not have come, for we never obtrude upon any individual." Paine, on hearing this, seemed to relax a little; in a milder tone of voice than any he had hitherto used, he replied: "You can do me no good now-it is too late. I have tried different physicians, and their remedies have all failed. I have nothing now to expect" (this he spoke with a sigh) "but a speedy dissolution. My physicians have, indeed, told me as much." "You have misunderstood me, said I immediately to him, "We are not come to prescribe any remedies for your bodily complaints; we only come to make you an offer of our ministry for the good of your immortal soul, which is in great danger of being forever cast off by the Almighty, on account of your sins; and especially for the crime of having vilified and rejected his word, and uttered blasphemies against his Son." Paine, on hearing this, was roused into a fury; he gritted his teeth, twisted and turned himself several times in his bed, uttering all the while the bitterest imprecations. I firmly believe, such was the rage in which he was at this time, that if he had had a pistol, he would have shot one of us; for he conducted himself more like a madman than a rational creature. "Begone," says he, "and trouble me no more. I was in peace," he continued, "till you came." "We know better than that," replied F. Kohlmann; "we know that you can not be in peace-there can be no peace for the wicked. God has said it." "Away with you, and your God too; leave the room instantly," he exclaimed, "all that you have uttered are lies-filthy lies; and, if I had a little more time, I would prove it, as I did about your impostor Jesus Christ." "Monster," exclaimed F. Kohlmann, in a burst of zeal, "you will have no more time. Your hour is arrived. Think rather of the awful account you have already to render, |