rial body.

nected and harmonious agencies, forming one grand and symmetrical whole, the counterpart and cause of the mateThe body without these is dead, and the organic forces-if it be permitted to speak of them as intelligent agents-even supposing them to act, would not know what to do; but while the anima, or soul, continues to energise the body, all its functions proceed in active harmony.

But let us look a little closer at this anima or soul, which so wonderfully gives direction to the organic forces. In every individual it has a type or pattern, according to which it works its labourers, and models its materials. The anima of a bird produces from the egg a bird: this is its type of working, from which it is incapable of deviating. The anima of a dog, on the other hand, produces a dog, and nothing else.

This, however, is not all; not only is there a specific type in each, there is also an individual type, according to which every individual has its own peculiar form. The materials of which a man is made, are constantly undergoing change. The hair, the nails, and the skin, the fluids, the flesh, and the bones, are all undergoing a process of continual renovation, constantly throwing off the old matter, and constantly receiving deposits of the The Falls of Niagara are not more changeful in their material than is the body of every living man. Every hour is producing a change in the materials of our bodies, although in some parts the change is more rapid than in others; and it may be truly said that every part of our body is but a slow cascade, receiving fresh matter in one place, and throwing off old matter in another; and yet, notwithstanding this continual change of material, the form remains always the same. Like the Falls of

new.

Niagara, the matter changes, but the form and fashion in every particular continue unchanged. There is the same eye, the same nose, the same mouth, the same colour, the same height, and the same general form. What is it, then, that constitutes the identity of the individual? Is it the visible matter that is without? No! it is the unseen psyche or soul within.

To illustrate the bearing of these truths on the doctrine of the resurrection, we shall consider the case of a man who, either by disease or famine, is reduced to a mere skeleton, his eyes are sunk, his cheeks hollow, and his bones protrude from underneath the skin. We shall first suppose that this man recovers his former health; and that by careful nursing for a few months, his strength and fulness return, so that those who now look on his bright eye and powerful frame, would not suppose that he had ever been sick. The question naturally presents itself, Is this man's body which we now see the same as the body he had before he became ill? When he was in his lowest state of emaciation his friends would not have known him; and had he been weighed, it would have been found that he had lost several pounds in weight. Now, he is as heavy as he was before, and we perceive no change in his appearance, notwithstanding all he has come through. In one sense it is the same body as before, but in another it is not the same. There is the same appearance, the same form, the same colour, the same peculiarity of features; but as regards the materials, they are not the same; besides the regular change that is always taking place in the body, there are all the fresh materials which have been added during recovery. If even the bones, the flesh, and the liquids, which remained at the time of emaciation, have been continually changing, so that not

even they are the same, when we take into account the increase in weight which has taken place, and which is attributable, of course, to the nourishment which he has received, we are forced to the conclusion, that the materials of his body are not, to any great extent, the same. Nothing can be more certain than that the flesh which was lost in disease is gone for ever, and the flesh that now is has been acquired from the food received during his recovery.

But we shall next suppose that the man does not recover; he dies, and his emaciated body is laid in the grave-the dust returning to its kindred dust. Another . question suggests itself, When this man rises at the resurrection, with what body shall he come? If in the resurrection morn he arises, not as when he died, spent and emaciated, but as when he was in health, strong and robust, what are the materials of which his body is composed? If it be asserted that the body which rises at the resurrection is the same as that which is laid in the grave, or rather that which was in health before the sickness of which he died, then it does seem strange that the materials which were wasted from his body before he died, should be available for the resurrection, and yet they would not be available for his recovery; in other words, that the flesh which he lost in sickness, would be really lost if the man recovered, but if he died it would not be lost, but, on the contrary, though it were carried by the four winds of heaven, and dispersed over all the earth, every particle would be watched over by a superintending Providence, and at the resurrection reunited, so as to make up the healthy body, of which it once formed a part.

When viewed in this light, it is evident that the real

identity of our bodies does not depend so much upon the identity of the materials of which they are composed, as the identity of the soul or psyche, which gives them their form. If we acknowledge this principle in health and in sickness, why should we not acknowledge it also in regard to the resurrection? Let us revert, for illustration, to our old idea of a cataract, in which the waters are continually changing, though the cataract itself remains unchanged; and we shall suppose that by some great convulsion of nature, the waters of the St Lawrence, instead of pouring down over Niagara, should find an outlet to the ocean by some other channel,-the rocky shelf, over which they were wont to leap, would be left bare and dry, and the great Niagara would be dead. But let us next suppose, that, by another convulsion of nature, the waters of the St Lawrence return to their former channel, after an interval, say, of a thousand years,―the rocky precipices over which they once plunged is the very same as it was before-every projecting rock, every torn gulley, is still there; and when at length the waters reach the edge, and again commence their song of thunder, every minute feature that the traveller used to mark in the living landscape would reappear, and the great Niagara would be alive again—the very same Niagara that it was before.

CHAPTER XXXI.

SCRIPTURE DOCTRINE OF THE RESURRECTION.

We now turn to Scripture to learn what the resurrection from the dead should mean, aided by the light that modern science is able to reflect upon it; and, in the first place, we must remark that Scripture, when studied attentively, presents the doctrine of the resurrection somewhat differently from the manner in which it is at present popularly understood.

The doctrine, as presented in Scripture, is of magnificent importance, involving all our hopes of future glory; whereas, in modern times, it is viewed merely as an interesting fact, that the body is ultimately to share the blessedness enjoyed by the spirit after death. The general impression is, that the spirit after death is admitted into heaven, and immediately experiences a joy unspeakable and full of glory, one hour of which would be sufficient to compensate for all the sorrows of our pilgrimage on earth. For this reason, the question of a future resurrection of the body is viewed as of comparatively little importance; for although it is acknowledged that the blessedness of the saints will not be complete until that event takes place, it is scarcely ever felt as if the want of it would be a matter greatly to be deplored. Hear, then, what Paul says (1 Cor. xv. 29-32), "If the dead rise not