. But how are we to practise dying? Fore-fancy it, as
Rutherford says. Act it over beforehand; die speculatively, as Goodwin
says. Say to yourself, Suppose this were death at my door to-night.
Suppose he were to visit me in the night, what would I say to him, and
what would he say to me? Make acquaintance with death, Rutherford writes
to Lady Kenmure also. Learn his ways, his manner of approach, his
language, and his look. Conjure him up, practise upon him, have your
part rehearsed and ready to be performed. Let not a heathen be
beforehand with you in dying. Seneca said that every night after his
lamp was out, and the house quiet, he went over all his past day, and
looked at it all in the light of death. What he did after that he does
not tell us; but Rutherford will tell you if you consult him what you
should do. Well, that is one way of practising dying. For Sleep is the
brother of Death. And to meet the one brother right will prepare us to
meet the other. Speculate at night, then--speculate and say, Suppose
this were my last night. Suppose, O my soul, thou wert to cast anchor to-
morrow in Eternity, how shouldst thou close thine eyes to-night?
Speculate also at other men's funerals. When the clod thuds down on
their coffin, think yourself inside of it. When you see the undertaker's
man screwing down the lid, suppose it yours. Take your own way of doing
it; only, practise dying, and let not death spring upon you unawares. Die
daily, for, as Dante says, 'The arrow seen beforehand slacks its flight.'

Writing to another old man, Rutherford points out to him the gracious
purpose of God in appointing him his death in old age. 'It is,' says
Rutherford, 'that you may have full leisure to look over all your
accounts and papers before you take ship.' What a tangle our papers also
are in as life goes on; and what need we have of a time of leisure to set
things right before we hand them over. Rutherford, therefore, makes us
see old Carlton on his bed with his pillows propping him up, and a drawer
open on the bed, and bundles of old letters and bills spread out before
him. Old love letters; old business letters; his mother's letters to him
when he was a boy at Edinburgh College; letters in cipher that no human
eye can read but those old, bleared, weeping eyes that fill that too late
drawer with their tears. The old voyager is looking over his papers
before he takes ship. And he comes on things he had total