These hot winds affect infants and children a good deal, and my baby
is not at all well. However, his doctor thinks the change to the
station will set him all right again, so we are hurrying off much
sooner than our kind friends here wish, and long before the little
house in the hills can possibly be made comfortable, though F--- is
working very hard to get things settled for us.



Letter IX: Death in our new home--New Zealand children.


Broomielaw, Malvern Hills, May 1866.
I do not like to allow the first Panama steamer to go without a line
from me: this is the only letter I shall attempt, and it will be but
a short and sad one, for we are still in the first bitterness of
grief for the loss of our dear little baby. After I last wrote to
you he became very ill, but we hoped that his malady was only caused
by the unhealthiness of Christchurch during the autumn, and that he
would soon revive and get on well in this pure, beautiful mountain
air. We consequently hurried here as soon as ever we could get into
the house, and whilst the carpenters were still in it. Indeed,
there was only one bedroom ready for us when I arrived. The poor
little man rallied at first amazingly; the weather was exquisitely
bright and sunny, and yet bracing. Baby was to be kept in the open
air as much as possible, so F--- and I spent our days out on the
downs near the house, carrying our little treasure by turns: but all
our care was fruitless: he got another and more violent attack about
a fortnight ago, and after a few hours of suffering he was taken to