“But when the pain was too violent, nothing was of the slightest avail, and the fits of screaming it occasioned had other ill results. And so the days passed; in alternations of more or less violent pain, for he was seldom altogether free from it; and this of course retarded his growth and prevented him from gaining strength. He remained very, very small, with a sweet little pale face, and big blue eyes, full of expression. In the spring I was able to take him out, and hoped that might strengthen him. By the beginning of May we moved to Bonn, for him to be under the observation of the surgeon who had performed the operation; and there his condition became so far satisfactory, that he seemed to begin at last to grow and develop in a normal manner. The terrible fits of pain still continued, for although everything that could be was done to alleviate them, they were of a nature that rendered all human succour unavailing. When out of pain, he lay perfectly still; one never heard him laugh or coo like other babies. And, although he began to lift himself up and take notice of things, his growth was very slow, and the cutting of each tooth almost cost him his life. When he had to be weaned, there were fresh dangers, and a journey to England, undertaken to give him the benefit of the sea air, very nearly proved fatal. In London a celebrated physician was consulted, whose opinion absolutely coincided with that of the doctor in Bonn, both affirming that the child could never live to grow up, human skill being powerless to aid in such a case. The asses’ milk, however, prescribed by the London doctor, proved very beneficial, and for some time this with arrowroot formed his diet. He remained a very small baby, and only took his first few steps on his second birthday, having also made no attempt at all to speak up to that time. But he was a dear sweet child, with eyes that looked at one so pitifully, it was as if they were imploring help. There was something in him quite different to all other children. It must have been the fearful attacks of pain, in which several hours of each night and day were passed, that gave him this heavenly expression. In the summer of 1853, we went to Paris; and again the poor little thing was at death’s door in a teething crisis. He was not yet three years old, but the delirium was hardly over, when he insisted, as he lay exhausted on his bed, that all the servants should come in to see him for a moment, and it was touching to see him stretch out his tiny little thin hand to each in turn, telling them how ill he had been, but that he was getting better! It took some time after this for him to recover his strength sufficiently to be able to walk again.”