s changed the whole
complexion of life for him. What will be the effect upon him? If he
be a sane, strong, morally high-bred man, the effect will be
ennobling; it will certainly not darken the face of nature for him.
Matthew Arnold wished that when he died he might be placed at
the open window, that he might see the sun shining on the
landscape, and catch at evening the gleam of the rising star.
Everything that is beautiful in the world will still be beautiful; he
will thankfully accept the last draught of the joy which nature has
poured into his goblet. Everything that is really uplifting in human
life will have a more exquisite and tender message for him. The
gayety of children will thrill him as never before, interpreted as a
sign of the invincible buoyancy of the human race, of that race
which will go on battling its way after he has ceased to live. If he
be a man of large business connections, he will still, and more than
ever, be interested in planning how what he has begun may be
safely continued. If he be the father of a family, he will provide
with a wise solicitude, as far as possible, for every contingency. He
will dispose of matters now, as if he could see what will happen
after his departure. On the other hand, all that is vain or frivolous,
every vile pleasure, gambling, cruelty, harsh language to wife or
child, trickery in business, social snobbishness, all the base traits
that disfigure human conduct, he will now recoil from with horror,
as being incongruous with the solemn realization of his condition.
The frank facing of death, therefore, has the effect of sifting out
the true values of life from the false, the things that are worth
while from the things that are not worth while, the things that
are related to the highest end from those related to the lower
partial ends. The precept, "Live as if this hour were thy last," is
enjoined as a touchstone; not for the purpose of dampening the
healthy relish of life, but as a means of enhancing the relish for
real living, the kind of living that is devoted to things really worth
while. As such a test it is invaluable. The question, "Should I care
to be surprised by death in what I am doing now?"--put it to the
dissipated young man in his cups, put it to the respectable
rogue--nay, put it to each one of us, and it will often bring the
blush of shame to our cheeks. When, therefore, I commend the
thought of death, I think of death not as a grim, grisly skeleton,