To Mrs. Stearns, Genevrier, Jan. 21, 1860.

...  Boiling over does one good of itself, and I am sure you feel the better for having done so.  I do not know why men seem to get along without such reliefs as women almost always seek in this way; whether there is less water in their kettles or whether their kettles are bigger than ours and boil with more safety.  It is a comfort to believe that, whatever our troubles, in the end all will work together for our good.  The new year has opened upon us here at Genevrier pretty gloomily, as George has told you.  You will not be surprised, therefore, to hear that M. is also quite sick, much sicker than G. She is one of those meek, precious little darlings whom it is painful to see suffer, and I have hardly known what I was about, or where I was, since she was taken down.  My baby is deserted by us all; I have only seen him in moments for three weeks.  You can not think how lonely poor A. is; half the time she eats alone in the big solitary dining-room; nobody has any time to walk out with her, what few children she knew are afraid to come here or to have her come nigh them, and I feel as if I should fly, when I think of it—­for she is not strong or well and her life here in Switzerland has been a series of disappointments and anxieties.  The only leisure moments I can snatch in the course of the twenty-four hours I have to spend in writing to George; but the last few evenings M. has slept, so that I could play a game of chess with her and try to cheer and brace her up against next day’s dreariness.  All her splendid dreams of getting off from this solitude to the life and stir of Paris have been dissipated, but she has never uttered one word of complaint; I have not heard her say as much as “Isn’t it too bad!” And indeed we ought none of us to say so or to feel so, for the doctor assures me that for three such delicate children as he considers ours, to pass safely through whooping-dough and scarlet-fever, is a perfect wonder and that he is sure it is owing to the pure country air.  And when I think how different a scene our house might present if our three little ones had been snatched away, as three or four even have been from other families, I am ashamed of myself that I dare to sigh, that I am lonely and friendless here, or that I have anything to complain of.  It has been no small trial, however, to pass through such anxieties in so remote a place, with George gone; while on the other hand I have been most thankful that he has been spared all the details of the children’s ailments, and permitted once more to feel himself about his Master’s business.  Providence most plainly called him to Paris, and I trust he will stay there and get good till we can join him.  But I feel uneasy about him, too, lest his anxiety about the children should hang as a dead weight on his not quite rested head and heart.  At any rate, I shall be tolerably glad to see him again at the end of our two months’ separation.  How I should love to drop in on you to-night!  Doesn’t it seem as if one could if one tried hard enough!  Well, good night to you.