so busy fixing and fussing for winter, which has come upon us all in a rush.  Isabella has been bewitched for about a week, having got at last a letter from her beau, and every speck of work she has done on the sewing machine was either wrongside out or upside down.  While George was gone I made up a lot of flower-pictures to adorn the walls of our parlor; he is walking about admiring them, and I wish you would drop in and help him.  He had a real homesick fit to see you all to-day, feeling so tired after his journey; but seems brighter to-night, and promises faithfully to get well now, right off.

Dec. 5th.—­The death of Sarah P. must have excited all your sympathies.  The loss of a little child—­and I shudder when I recall the pangs of such a loss!—­can be nothing in comparison with such an affliction as this.  I well remember what a bright young thing she was.  Her poor mother’s grief and amazement must be all the greater for the fact of the perfect vigor and sound health which had, as it were, assured her of long life and happiness and usefulness.  I had an inexpressible sadness upon me as soon as I heard that she was dangerously ill; often in such moments one bitterly realises that all this world’s idols are likewise perishable.

A.’s teacher gives lessons also in a family half an hour from Vevay, who are going to Germany to spend a year, and she gave such an account of the place, that George let her persuade him into going to see it, as the owner desired to rent it during his absence.  He took A. with him, as I could not go.  They came back in ecstasies, and have both set their hearts so on taking it that I should not at all wonder if that should be the end.  We left some of our things at Chateau d’Oex, fully expecting to return there, but this Vevay country seat with its cherry, apple and pear trees, its seclusion, its vicinity to reading-room and library, has quite disgusted George with the idea of spending another summer “en pension.”  The family entertained G. and A. very hospitably, gave them a lunch of bologna sausage, bread and butter, cake, wine and grapes, and above all, the little girls gave A. two little Guinea pigs, which you may imagine filled her with delight.  The whole affair was very agreeable to her, as she had not spoken to a child (save M.) since we came to Montreux.

January 3d, 1859.—­We read your letter, written at Bedford, with no little interest and sympathy.  While we could not but rejoice that one more saint had got safely and without a struggle home, we felt the exceeding disappointment you must have had in losing the last smile you came so near receiving. [3] I think you had a sort of presentiment last winter what this one might bring forth, for I remember your saying it would probably be the last visit to you, and that you wanted to make it as pleasant as possible.  And pleasant I do not doubt you and the whole household made it to her.  Still there always will be regrets and vain wishes after the death of one we love.  What a pity that we can not be to our friends while they live all we wish we had been after they have gone!  George and I feel an almost childish clinging to mother, while we hope and believe she will live to bless us if we ever return home.