dominant in the mind; and unless a divine, a living, and spiritual religion occupy the soul, as the antidote to this danger, the most skilful physician may just become practically the most thorough materialist. Nay, far more: such a physician must often see the mind of the dying utterly dependent on the state of the body. It is delirious or calm--it is soothed or agonized--it is torpid or restless, just according to the stage of the disease. This at least is commonly the case; and accustomed to that spectacle, the physician who watches, perhaps with deep sympathy for the sufferer, over every new phase of the disease, almost in spite of himself regards the patient as a piece of mere materialism. It is upon the material part that his thoughts are fixed, or his skill brought to bear. He thus magnifies his office, and hence his danger; hence the grossness of some of the more vulgar minds among physicians; hence the perils even of the purest and the most scientific. THE ANTIDOTE. But hence, also, the need and the preciousness of pure and undefiled religion. Hence the mercy implied in the revelation of a spiritual Teacher, the very Spirit of God, to ward off that danger, and give reality and prominence to the things of the soul. Hence a loud call to those who know that there is a spirit in man, to realize its existence and seek its welfare. Hence the need of solemn impressions of the truth of God, in all that is said to fix our thoughts upon the soul, its condition and its destiny. Hence, in short, if any man needs a personal religion--that is, a religion for himself, a Saviour for himself, repentance, faith, love, hope, holiness, all for himself--it is the man who lives on the confines between life and death--who has to do with the body when affection clings to it most closely; and who is apt to forget the inmate while attending to its abode--the immortal, while concentrating his skill upon the transient dust. SIN, AND DISEASE.