which a man may fairly sell all that he has to make his own, but it is in reality a hid treasure so long as it is unused. Oftentimes it is brought down from its hiding place to have some domestic event-birth, marriage, or death-registered on its blank leaves, and there is a kind of fancy that the fragrance of its worth steals out and encircles the persons whose "exits" or whose "entrances" are recorded on its pages. It, then, takes the first rank among the family memorandum books, it is true, but as the oracles of God it is unemployed and neglected. It might have been penned in an unknown tongue, it might contain naught but blank leaves; for the clasp of neglect closes it so securely that it becomes a candle put under a dense bushel, and not a single ray steals out to give light to them that are in the house.

Then again the clasp of Pre-occupation too commonly shuts up the Book of Life. Other reading demands our time, too much of it to leave us able to read God's book. The newspaper must of course be conned over, and the magazine must also be dipped into-if, however, it be the blue covered monthly you and I know, dear reader, and especially in this number of it, we shall not be sanctioned in putting aside the Bible by its pages-the book of travel must be duly honoured, and the last tale followed breathlessly through its cross purposes and devious windings, and its last chapter of bliss-foreverybody eagerly devoured.

But

The Book can wait till a more convenient season. There is no clasp to the novel, but Scripture is a sealed volume.

Of the wrongness of this we are all agreed; but some may not feel as I do its utter want of taste. For never book had such varied and interesting contents as this has. It is a little library in itself, and with its graphic narratives, its life-like sketches of character, its marvellous

incidents, its blending of history and philosophy, poems and letters, regarded merely as a human production it ought not surely to be so long unused that when your minister asks for it he may literally shake off its dust as a testimony against you.

Then, I must add, that sheer Laziness is another clasp. You come home weary at night. A yawn greets the rustle of its opening leaves. Then the next night you venture to say you will dispense with it for once -you are so tired. By degrees you come to regard its use as quite an exceptional thing. And thus its sweet uncomplaining voice is silenced, and its gently flowing streams of life are frost-bound, or evaporated, or left untasted and unsought. It is like a harp of divinest workmanship, but you are too fatigued to pass your fingers across its strings night and morning and make the opening hours sacred with its harmony, and the night quiet and happy with its peaceful lullaby.

Yet one more clasp of a different kind-the clasp of Superstition. Yes: I mean just that; for though we think ourselves emancipated from witchcraft and holy water, we are not yet quite purged from the old leaven. When a man hoists his Bible high and dry on a cupboard shelf among the patent medicines, I think he plainly shows how he regards it by the company he would have it keep. It is to be brought down in case of sickness, and work "charms and conjurations and mighty magic."

Moreover, superstition may tinge our use of the Bibe when we do read it. Some men rush through a few verses at a fixed hour, half understanding them and half thinking of something else, and fancy that they have been done good to because it was the Bible they read. As if any food could be so good that merely to show it the mouth would be enough to nourish the frame. We have read recently of Newman Hall's prayer

on the top of Snowdon which was, under God, the means of converting a score of Welshmen who did not understand a word of it. But what

was the influence employed by the Holy Spirit? The language of the emotions is common to all nations, and would be readily understood. The sublimity of the sunrise would impress all alike. But more than thatthese men knew the truth familiarly, and the special influence did but stir up to activity what had been already apprehended by the mind. Only so much of the truth as we understand will benefit us. Only so much of a book as we receive will instruct us. Only the seed that falls into the soft deep and unchoked soil bears any true yield of corn. treat Holy Writ in a superstitious way is just to make it a charm, a relic, and its verses like so many strings of beads to be counted over.

Το

Are we not to look at it very differently, as a book to be read and understood if it is to be of true service to us; as a chart for our voyage to be studied; as a lamp for our journey, to be ready for all the dark places; as the face of a Divine Father instinct with love and blessing to be patiently and adoringly beheld?

Other "clasps" there are, but our musing must end here, and as we close this paper let us unclasp our Bibles and gratefully read those words which declare that "The Holy Scriptures are able to make wise unto salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus, and are profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God. may be perfect, throughly furnished unto all good works."

MUCH has been said in our time concerning the supposed opposition between Religion and Science. That the opposition is only "supposed" must be evident to every intelligent Christian. For science, if it, be real science, is based on facts; and Christianity, if it be real Christianity, is also based on facts and one set of facts cannot contradict another. We may not be able to harmonize them, but there is One who sees their perfect agreement.

In the present paper we wish to exhibit the harmony between Religion and Science as illustrated in the life of one who was an earnest believer in both; a man of eminent scientific attainments, honoured as such by some of the most distinguished philosophers of our age; and at the same time a most devout and humble follower of the Lord Jesus Christ. We speak of Dr. George Wilson, the chemist-a man of sparkling wit and genial eloquence, a popular scientific writer and lecturer, and at the time of his death

Of

(little more than eleven years ago) Professor of Technology in the University of Edinburgh, and Director of the Industrial Museum of Scotland. the life of this Christian philosopher, as we may well call him, we propose first to give a very brief outline sketch, and then to add a few illustrative details.

Dr. George Wilson was born in Edinburgh in the year 1818. His parents were members of a Baptist church in that city; not wealthy, but able to give their children a good middle-class education. The mother, as is usual with the mothers of eminent men, was a very superior woman, and her influence did much to mould the character and determine the career of her sons; of whom another, besides the one we now speak of, became distinguished in the walks of literature and science, and indeed is now a Professor in the University of Toronto. George Wilson was one of twins; and there is a pleasant story told of the

urged upon railway companies the importance of testing their servants upon this point.

Besides writing many papers for philosophical societies and associations, Dr. Wilson also published Lives of Cavendish, the great chemist, and of Dr. John Reid, a medical professor at St. Andrews. But perhaps his best known work is a little book entitled, "The Five Gateways of Knowledge." This is a charming exposition of the scientific facts connected with the five senses. It was first delivered as a lecture for the benefit of a Sunday school, and afterwards expanded into a book. One short paragraph may be quoted as a specimen, both of the work in question, and of Wilson's style of writing in some other of his publications.

He is speaking of the sense of touch, and more especially of the human hand. "When I think," says he, "of all that man's and woman's hand has wrought from the day when Eve put forth her erring hand to pluck the fruit of the forbidden tree, to that dark hour when the pierced hands of the Saviour of the world were nailed to the predicted tree of shame, and of all that human hands have done of good or evil since,-I lift up my hand and gaze upon it with wonder and awe. What an instrument for good it is! What an instrument for evil! And all the day long it is never idle. There is no instrument which it cannot wield, and it should never, in working hours, be without one. We unwisely restrict the term handicraftsman or handworker to the more laborious callings; but it belongs to all honest men and women, and it is a title which each should covet. For the queen's hand there is the sceptre, and for the soldier's hand the sword; for the carpenter's hand the saw, and for the smith's hand the hammer; for the farmer's hand the plough; for the miner's hand the spade; for the sailor's hand the oar; for the painter's hand the brush; for the sculptor's hand the chisel; for the poet's hand the pen; and for the woman's hand the needle. If none of these or the like will fit us, the felon's chain should be round our wrist, and our hand on the prisoner's crank. But for each willing man and woman there is a tool they may learn to handle; for all there is the command

'Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might!"

Such was Dr. Wilson's manner when addressing not specially his scientific brethren, but the general public. Let us now, however, proceed to speak of him as a son of God and a servant of Jesus.

But

As would be naturally expected from one possessing such a mother, and trained in such a home, Wilson grew up amiable, moral, and shewing much sympathy with divine and spiritual things. Indeed some of his friends declared that they had never known him to be other than a Christian. up to the age of twenty-two his spiritual state was very similar to that of some young people who will probably read this paper-upright and perfectly honourable in conduct, interested in the truths of religion, a regular attendant on public worship, but yet not an avowed disciple, and indeed not thoroughly hearty and earnest in the service of the Lord Jesus. But about the time we have mentioned, George Wilson, whose health had previously been good, began to be a great bodily sufferer. Over fatigue in a walking excursion, combined probably with something inherited in his constitution, brought on a disease in the bones of the foot. For two years various remedies were tried, such as rest and change of air, but at length it became evident that either the foot must be amputated, or he must sink under the constant pain it occasioned him. This fact being communicated to him by the surgeons, he at once consented to the operation, but asked for one week in which to prepare. That week was a solemn and yet blessed crisis in his spiritual history. It is true that during the previous two years he had been led to think more earnestly than heretofore of the great purposes of existence, and had been, brought by disappointment and anxiety to look more frequently to God for comfort and strength. Thus about this time writing to his brother, he says, "I have lain awake alone and in darkness, suffering sore agony for hours, often thinking that the slightest aggravation must make my condition unbearable, and finding my only consolation in murmuring to myself the words, 'patience,' 'courage,' and 'submission.' My religious faith is feeble because my light