God does not care, nor his angels. Ah, quite otherwise is God revealed
in Him who wept over Jerusalem, and is touched with the feeling of our
infirmities.
I went with Mrs. Fazy the other night to call on Mrs. C.'s friend,
Pastor C. They were so affectionate, so full of beautiful kindness!
The French language sounds sweetly as a language of affection and
sympathy: with all its tart vivacity, it has a richness in the gentler
world of feeling. Then, in the evening, I was with a little circle of
friends at the house of the sister of Merle d'Aubigne, and they prayed
and sang together. It was beautiful. The hymn was one on the following
of Jesus, similar to that German one of old Godfrey Arnold, which is
your favorite. These Christians speak with deep sorrow of our slavery;
it grieves, it distresses them, for the American church has been to
them a beloved object. They have leaned towards it as a vine inclines
towards a vigorous elm. To them it looks incomprehensible that such a
thing could gain strength in a free Christian republic.
I feel really sorry that I have had to withdraw so much from proffered
kindness here, and to seem unwilling to meet feeling; but so it has
been. Yet, to me, apparently so cold, many of these kind Genevese have
shown most considerate attention.
