If I open the Old Testament anywhere—the Gospels, the Epistles—what different atmospheres I find myself in at once. In the old—ways—dealings—government—man, though man and the world governed by God—piety no doubt, but piety in that scene; and even in the Gospels and Epistles the difference is quite as great—in certain respects, more important. In the Epistles (so the Acts) one active to gather—souls devoted to Christ, valuing Him and His work above all—power shown more than in Christ on earth, as He promised—it is gathering, then caring power. I get back, though now in the power of the Holy Ghost and grace in a saving, gathering way, to man, and it soon fails. But in the Gospels I find a Center where my mind reposes, which is Itself, always Itself, and nothing like It—moves through a discordant scene, attracting to Itself through grace (what no Apostle did or could do) and shining in Its own perfection, unaltered and unalterable in all circumstances. It is the thing about which all service is occupied, as its point of departure, and to which all under divine influence is attracted, for it is God. I was struck with this on the wide Atlantic, my head weary with long storms, on turning to my title—that blessed Book.