chock-full of worldliness. All I think of is dress and
fashion, and, on the whole, I don't know that you are worth writing to,
as you were never in Paris and don't know the modes, and have perhaps
foolishly left off hoops and open sleeves. I long, however, to hear from
you and your new babby, and will try to keep a small spot swept clear of
finery in my heart of hearts, where you can sit down when you've a mind.
Our little fellow is getting to be a sweet-looking baby, with what his
nurse calls a most "gracieuse" smile--if you can guess what kind of a
smile that is. But he is getting teeth and is looking delicate and soft,
and your Hercules will knock him down, I know.

But Paris was far from fulfilling to her or to the children the bright
anticipations with which it had been looked forward to from lonely
Genevrier. The weather could hardly have been worse; the house soon
became another hospital; and sight-seeing was a task. Friends, however,
soon gathered about her, and by their hospitality and little kindnesses,
relieved the tedium of the weary days.

_To Mrs. Stearns, Paris, March 27, 1860._

We pass many lonely hours in this big city, and often long for you and
Mr. Stearns to drop in, or for a chance to run in to see dear mother.
Getting nearer home makes it attractive. It works in the natural life
just as it does in the spiritual in that respect. The weather is
_dreadful_ and has been for five months--scarcely one cheery day in that
whole time. What with this and the children's ill-health, I should not
wonder if we left Paris as ignorant of its beauties as when we came. But
I hope we shall not let that worry us too much, but rather be thankful
that, bad as things are, they are not so bad as they might be. Our
sympathies are greatly excited now for the Rev. Mr. Little, formerly of
Bangor, who is in Paris--alone, friendless, and sick. If we could
by any miraculous power stretch our scanty accommodations, we should
certainly take him home and nurse him till his wife could be got here.
You know, perhaps, that Mrs. Little is a daughter of Dr. Cornelius; and,
when I recall the love and honor I was taught to feel towards him when I
was a little girl, my heart quite yearns towards her, especially in this
time of fearful anxiety about her husband. How insignificant my own
trials look to me, when I think of the sorrow which is probably before
her.

_April 26th._--Our patience is still tried by the cold, damp, and most
un