To Mrs. Henry B. Smith, Genevrier, Oct. 20, 1859.

You ask how I find time to make flower-pictures.  Why, I have been confined to the house a good deal by the baby’s sickness, and could hardly set myself about anything else when I was not watching and worrying about him.  When we got home from Chamouni we found him with what proved to be a very serious disease in the case of so young a child.  It has shaken his little frame nearly to pieces, leaving him after weeks of suffering not much bigger than a doll, and all eyes and bones.  It was a pretty hard struggle for life, and I hardly know how he has weathered the storm.  The idea of leaving our dear little Swiss baby in a little Swiss grave, instead of taking him home with us, was very distressing to me, and I can not help earnestly desiring that death may not assail us in this foreign land.

Our trip to Chamouni was very pleasant and did me a deal of good.  If I could have kept on the mule-riding and mountain-viewing a few weeks I should have got quite built up, but the children’s coughs made it impossible to take any more journeys.  Mr. de Palezieux, our landlord, called Monday to see if I would sell him my sewing-machine, as his wife was crazy to have one, and didn’t feel as if she could wait to get one from New York.  I told him I would, and all night could not sleep for teaching him how to use it—­for his wife is in Germany, and he had to learn for her.  I invited him to come to dinner on Wednesday and take his lessons.  On Tuesday George said he wanted me to make a pair of sleeves for Mrs. Tholuck before the machine went off, so I went to town to get the stuff, at three o’clock began the sleeves and worked like a lion for a little over two hours, when they were done, beautifully.  This morning I made four collars, which I shall want for Christmas presents, and a shirt for Jules (our old hired man), who never had one made of linen, and will go off the handle when he gets it.  So I am tolerably used up, and shall be almost glad to send away the tempter to-morrow, though I dare say I shall miss it.  I wish you could look out of my window this minute, and see how beautiful the autumnal foliage is already beginning to look.  But my poor old head, what shall I do with it!  You ask about my health; I am as well as I can be without sleep.  I have had only one really good night since the baby came, to say nothing of those before; some worse than others, to be sure; but all wakeful to a degree that tries my faith not a little.  I don’t see what is to hinder my going crazy one of these days.  However, I won’t if I can help it.  George goes to Germany this week.  Well, my dear, good-bye.

To Mrs. Stearns, Dec. 12th.