well as one
or two other friends. I had long felt that there was a real, though
subtle, difference between human--and, shall I say divine?--affection,
but did not see just what it was. Turning it over in my mind that
day, it suddenly came to me as this. Human friendship may be entirely
selfish, giving only to receive in return, or may be partially so--yet
still selfish. But the love that grows out of the love of Christ, and
that delights in His image wherever it is seen, claims no response;
loves because it is its very nature to do so, because it can not help
it, and this without regard to what its object gives. I dare not pretend
that I have fully reached this state, but I have entered this land, and
know that it is one to be desired as a home, an abiding place. I have
thought painfully of the narrow quarters and the hot nights endured by
so many in New York, during this unusually warm weather--especially of
Mrs. G. with three restless children in bed with her and her poor lonely
heart. I can not but believe that Christ has real purposes of mercy to
her soul. I feel interested in Mr. H.'s summer work in a hard field. In
place of aversion to young men, I am beginning to realise how true work
for Christ one may do by praying persistently for them, especially those
consecrated to the ministry of His gospel. I do hope Christ will have
the whole of you, and that you will have the whole of Him. When you
write, let me know how you like my beloved Fenelon. Still, you may
not like him. Some Christians never get to feeding on these mystical
writers, and get on without them.

_To Mrs. Condict, Dorset, July 18, 1870._

I was greatly struck with these words yesterday: "As for God His way is
perfect"; think of reading the Bible through four times in one year, and
nobody knows how many times since, and never resting on these words.
Somehow they charmed me. And these words have been ringing in my ears,

"Earth looks so little and so low,"

while conscious that when I can get ferns and flowers, it does not look
so "little" or so "low," as it does when I can't. My cook, who is a
Romanist, has been prevented from going to her own church seven miles
off, by the weather, ever since we came here, and last Sunday said
she meant to go to ours. Mr. P. preached on God's character as our
Physician, and she was delighted. I think it was hearing one of his
little letters to the children that made her realise, that he was a
Christian man who