for himself (a); and you will go there despoiled of everything, "for we brought nothing into this world, and certainly we carry nothing out" (b). Unaccom panied, then-despoiled of everything.

O God, we believe all this, and yet our hearts are so rooted in the perishable goods of this world, that, for sake of them, we stray away from our last end; and, captivated by their seductive pleasures, we permit them to draw us off from that golden indifference which is so necessary to us, and we refuse to attain that higher degree of perfection to which the Lord is pleased to call us. O child of earth! "under thee shall the moth be strewed, and worms shall be thy covering (c). Behold thy entire inheritance-rottenness and worms. Out of all that you possessed, your friends will clothe you, for the last time, in your most worthless garment; the rest you must leave behind. "For when he shall die, he shall take nothing away (d). Nothing-absolutely nothing: "As he came forth naked from his mother's womb, so shall he return, and shall take nothing away with him of his labour" (e).

Hast thou heard it? Thou shalt carry nothing with thee-none of thy money, none of thy property, none of thy estates. Nor will you, O religious, take with you any of those pretty trifles on which you have set your affections, which you used to carry about with you at such inconvenience, and which you could not bear that others should so much as touch. Take them now: carry them away with you if you can. Meanwhile, your soul, which has sought for

(a) Rom. xiv. 12. (6) 1. Tim. vi. 7. (c) Isa. xiv. 11. (d) Psalm xlviii. 18.

(e) Eccles. v. 14.

and has loved such things so immoderately, shall burn in the excruciating flames of purgatory, abandoned by all, even by those who now enjoy your property. Oh! is it not, indeed, the very excess of folly, to be unwilling to sacrifice to God at present, and with so much merit, that which you must hereafter abandon, whether you will it or not? Is it not impious to throw away so many degrees of grace, and, consequently, so many degrees of glory, rather than deprive yourself of those childish trifles? And for such vain frivolities, refuse to ascend to a greater degree of perfection?

Alas! who will not pity the blindness of those religious, who, after having generously renounced their title to their family possessions, and after binding themselves down by a vow of poverty, are ever sighing for little articles of convenience, and for worthless baubles; oftentimes desiring them more eagerly, and loving them more immoderately than worldlings love their colossal fortunes. Oh! how they will find themselves confounded at the hour of death, when they behold Jesus Christ upon the cross, poor, and stripped of everything, reproaching them with their too luxurious and too convenient poverty! Come, take courage! Conquer yourself, and offer up to-day, at the foot of the cross, that which you shall be forced to surrender at the hour of death. Jesus expects this gift at your hands. Ah! "he is indeed too covetous, for whom the possession of God is not sufficient" (a).

(a) S. Augustine, lib. xiii. Confess. cap. 8.

SECOND POINT.

Death teaches us to despise worldly honours, which are the second impediment to the above-named indifference, and to the attainment of a higher degree of perfection. Come hither, O conceited follower of vain-glory-you who permit yourself to be blinded by this smoke, and to be drawn away from your last end-come hither; approach this tomb; look upon that corpse; fix your eyes well on that putrid carcass. Behold, whether you wish it or not, "hitherto thou shalt come, and shalt go no further, and here thou shalt break thy swelling waves (a). All the glory which now surrounds your name; all the splendour attached to the offices which you fill, shall vanish at the hour of death like a shadow. As the banners which accompany you to the tomb are lowered, and as the funeral torches are put out, your fame, also, will be extinguished; and with the last toll of the funeral bell will die out the sound of your name. In a word, after this, you "shall be as if you had not been" (b). Even a man whose fame is bounded only by the confines of the earth, "when he shall die shall take nothing away; nor shall his glory descend with him" (c). You are aware of all this; and yet you stretch forth your arms so eagerly to embrace this cloud, this shadow-this nothing!

O proud man! death will come upon you when least you expect it; perhaps in this very month it will despoil you of all the trappings of your greatness, and will cast you into the tomb, where you

(a) Job xxxviii. 11. (b) Wisdom ii. 2. (c) Psalm xlviii. 18.

will no longer be great, or noble, or mighty; but the food of worms, a mass of corruption, a handful of ashes--nothing. What, then, will it avail you to have been called learned; to have occupied that professorship of which you were so proud; to have attained to those exalted positions; to have received those distinguished honours, if, because of them, your soul burns in purgatory? You will be forced to say with a certain emperor : "I have been all things, and the only advantage it brings me is, that at the point of death I am tortured at the thought that it has been so."

A few days after death, one religious appeared to another, and said to him: "I was once on a time a famous theologian, and it is nothing; I was a great preacher, and it is nothing; I held the post of superior, and it is nothing; I was a religious, and that is something." Having uttered these words, he disappeared. Learn from this that things which we upon earth prize very highly, are regarded as nothing by the dwellers in the other world. Therefore, "it is vanity to be ambitious of honours, and to raise one's self to a high station" (a). Therefore, it is an excess of folly, for the vain desire of honours, to abandon the golden principle of indifference, and the path of salvation. O death! what a teacher of humility thou art!

THIRD POINT.

Death teaches us to fly from the allurements of the flesh, which are the third obstacle to the spirit of indifference, and to a more perfect life. Come, O soul,

(a) "Imitation of Christ," book i, chap. 1.

and see. Come to the grave, and gaze upon that corpse-once the body which you inhabited. Contemplate the ultimate destiny of that flesh, through love of which you expose yourself to the danger of damnation, and shrink from embracing a more perfect life. Look upon it: those two wells, whence worms issue, were once your eyes-the rocks, perhaps, upon which your innocence suffered shipwreck. Those pieces of putrid flesh were once your mouth and your tongue-fatal instruments of gluttony. That spacious nest of worms was your belly, which you adored as your god. This entire mass of rottenness was your body-that idol of your self-love, to which so many times you sacrificed your consci

ence.

Come; take up that skull, handle those bones, mix those ashes together, gaze upon that nursery of worms. Tell me, is it not extreme folly to wander away from one's last end for the sake of that mass of corruption? Is it not madness to concentrate all the labours, all the cares, all the anxieties of life on procuring the means of a brief enjoyment for this accumulation of filth-that it may sleep better, live more delicately, and be more luxuriously nourished -and, meanwhile, bestow not the slightest care on the salvation of the soul? "O earth, earth, earth! hear the word of the Lord" (a), "no man can serve wo masters (b). It is impossible to serve God and he flesh at one and the same time.

The fruit which we ought to gather from this editation is a constant hatred of those three imediments, which, principally, destroy within us the

(a) Jerem. xxii. 29.

(b) Matt. vi. 24.