Let us first of all settle it with ourselves that science and religion cannot, to the believer in God, by any possibility be antagonistic. Having assured ourselves of this, we shall probably go on to perceive that the evolution of science is in fact a process of revelation, being brought about in every case, so far as I am aware, by the process which Coleridge has so justly described; that is, “that the _Ideas_ of Nature, presented to chosen minds by a higher power than Nature herself, suddenly unfold as it were in prophetic succession systematic views destined to produce the must important revolutions in the state of man.” Huxley defines the utility of Biology “as helping to give right ideas in this world, which is, after all,” he goes on to say, “absolutely governed by ideas, and very often by the wildest and most hypothetical ideas.” Again, he writes, “those who refuse to go beyond the fact rarely get as far as the fact; and anyone who has studied the history of science knows that almost every great step therein has been made by the ‘anticipation of nature,’ that is, by the invention of hypotheses.” One cannot help thinking that scientific men would find the unifying principle they are in search of in the fine saying of Coleridge’s which I have quoted more than once or twice; so would they stand revealed to themselves as the mouthpieces, not merely of _the truth_, for which they are so ready to combat and suffer, but also as the chosen and prepared servants of Him who is the Truth. =Evolution, the Master-thought of the Age.=—Few of us can forget Carlyle’s incomparable picture of the _Tiers État_ waiting for organisation: “Wise as serpents; harmless as doves: what a spectacle for France! Six hundred inorganic individuals, essential for its regeneration and salvation, sit there, on their elliptic benches, longing passionately towards life.” Less picturesque, but otherwise very much on a par with this, is Coleridge’s description of Botany, as that science existed in his own day, waiting for the unifying idea which should give it organisation. “What,” he says, “is Botany at this present hour? Little more than an enormous nomenclature; a huge catalogue, _bien arrangé_, yearly and monthly augmented, in various editions, each with its own scheme of technical memory and its own conveniences of reference! The innocent amusement, the healthful occupation, the ornamental accomplishment of _amateurs_; it has yet to expect the devotion and energies of the philosopher.” The key-word for the interpretation of life, both animal and vegetable, has been presented to our generation, and we cannot make too much of it.