book, what she was reading, and being answered, and at the same time asked
whether she should read aloud, he assented, and would appear to give
particular attention. The doctor asked him if he believed that Jesus
Christ is the Son of God? After a pause of some minutes he replied, 'I
have no wish to believe on that subject.' 'For my own part,' says the
doctor, 'I believe that had not Thomas Paine been such a distinguished
infidel he would have left less equivocal evidences of a change of
opinion.' "

The Roman Catholic Bishop, Fenwick, says: "A short time before Paine died
I was sent for by him." He was prompted to do this by a poor Catholic
woman who went to see him in his sickness, and who told him if anybody
could do him any good it was the Catholic priest. "I was accompanied by F.
Kohlman, an intimate friend. We found him at a house in Greenwich, now
Greenwich street, New York, where he lodged. A decent-looking, elderly
woman 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 other
denominations calling upon him, that he has left express orders to admit
no one but the clergymen of the Catholic church.' Upon informing her who
we were, she opened the door and showed us into the parlor. 'Gentlemen,'
said the lady, 'I really wish you may succeed with Mr. Paine, for he is
laboring under great distress of mind every since he was told by his
physicians that he can not possibly live, and must die shortly. He is
truly to be pitied. His cries, when 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 these expressions 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," then
again, "yet if there should be, what would 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 for me by name. On one occasion I inquired what
he wanted. "Stay with me," he replied, "for God's sake, for I can not bear
to be left alone." I told him I could not always be in the room. "Then,"
said he, "_send even a child to stay with me, for it is a hell to be
alone._" _I never saw_,' she continued, '_a more unhappy, a more forsaken
man. It seems he can not reconcile himself to die._'

"Such was the co