The state of her health during the next three months was a source of constant and severe suffering, but could not quench her joy in the wonders of nature around her.  “My drives about this lovely place,” she wrote in June, “have begun to give me an immense amount of pleasure; indeed, my faculty for enjoyment is so great, that I sometimes think one day’s felicity pays for weeks of misery, and that if it hadn’t been for my poor health, I should have been too happy here.”  Nor did her suffering weaken in the least her sympathy with the troubles of her friends at home.  While for the most part silent as to her own peculiar trials, her letters were full of cheering words about theirs.  To one of these she wrote at this time: 

God has taken care that we should not enjoy so much of this world’s comfort since we left home as to rest in it.  Your letters are so sad, that I have fancied you perhaps overestimated our situation, feeling that you and your feeble husband were bearing the burden and heat of the day while we were standing idle.  My dear ——­, there are trials everywhere and in every sphere, and every heart knoweth its own bitterness, or else physical burdens are sent to take the place of mental depression.  After all, it will not need more than an hour in heaven to make us ashamed of our want of faith and courage here on earth.  Do cheer up, dear child, and “look aloft!” Poor Mr. ——!  I know his work is hard and up the hill, but it will not be lost work and can not last forever.  It seems to me God might accept with special favor the services of those who “toil in rowing.”  After all, it is not the amount of work He regards, but the spirit with which it is done.

Early in July she was made glad by the birth of her sixth child—­her “Swiss boy,” as she liked to call him.  Her gladness was not a little increased by a visit soon after from Professor Henry B. Smith, of the Union Theological Seminary.  This visit was one of the memorable events of her life abroad.  Professor Smith was not merely a great theologian and scholar; he was also a man of most attractive personal qualities.  And, when unbending among friends from his exacting literary labors, the charm of his presence and conversation was perfect.  His spirits ran high, and he entered with equal zest into the amusements of young or old.  His laugh was as merry as that of the merriest girl; no boy took part more eagerly in any innocent sport; nobody could beat him in climbing a mountain.  He was a keen observer, and his humor—­sometimes very dry, sometimes fresh and bright as the early dew—­rendered his companionship at once delightful and instructive.  His learning and culture were so much a part of himself, that his most familiar talk abounded in the happiest touches about books and art and life.  All his finest traits were in full play while he was at Genevrier, and, when he left, his visit seemed like a pleasant dream.