ater:

I remember when I was, religiously, at your age I was longing for
holiness, but my faith staggered at some of the conditions for it. I had
no conception, much as Christ was to me, what He was going to become.
But I wish I could make you a birth-day present of my experience since
then, and you could have Him now, instead of learning, as I had to learn
Him, in much tribulation.

_To Mrs. Condict, Jan. 15, 1873._

I have been meaning, for some days, to write you about the
Professorship. [1] It is a new one, and is called "the Skinner and
McAlpine" chair, and Mr. Prentiss says there could not be a more
agreeable field of usefulness. It is most likely that he will feel it
to be his duty to accept. As to myself, I am about apathetic on the
subject. My will has been broken over the Master's knee, if I may use
such an expression, by so much suffering, that I look with indifference
on such outward changes. We can be made willing to be burnt alive, if
need be. For four or five years to come I shall not be obliged to leave
the church I love so dearly; if the Seminary is moved out to Harlem, it
will be different; but it is not worth while to think of that now.
It seems to me that Mr. P. has reached an age when, never being very
strong, a change like this may be salutary. _February 3d._--You will be
sorry to hear that dear Mrs. C. is quite sick. Her daughters are all
worn out with the care of her. I was there all day Saturday, but I can
do nothing in the way of night watching; nor much at any time. A very
little over-exertion knocks me up this winter. It is just as much as
I can do to keep my head above water.... Sometimes I think that the
_dreadful_ experience I have been passing through is God's way of
baptizing me; some _have_ to be baptized with suffering. Certainly He
has been sitting as the Refiner, bringing down my pride, emptying me of
this and that, and not leaving me a foot to stand on. If it all ends in
sanctification I don't care what I suffer. Though cast down, I am not in
despair.

It is an encouragement to hear Mahan compare states of the soul to
house-cleaning time. [2] It is just so with me. Every chair and table,
every broom and brush is out of place, topsy-turvy.... But I can't
believe God has been wasting the last two years on me; I can't help
hoping that He is answering my prayer, my cry for holiness--only in a
strange way. Dr. and Mrs. Abbot spent Sunday and Monday with us a week
ago, and I read to