y here in a balloon if you knew
what a beautiful spot we are in. We are surrounded with magnificent
views of both the lake and the mountains, and can not turn in any
direction without being ravished. The house is pretty, and in most
respects well and even handsomely furnished; damask curtains, a Titian,
a Rembrandt, and a Murillo in the parlor; the floors are waxed and
carpetless, to be sure, but Mrs. Buck has given us lots of large pieces
of carpeting such as are used in this country to cover the middle of the
rooms, and these will make us comfortable next winter. But the winters
here are so short that one hardly gets fixed to meet them, when they are
over.

We have quite a nice garden, from which we have already eaten lettuce,
spinach, and parsley; our potatoes were planted a day or two ago, and
our peas are just up. One corner of the house, unconnected with our
part, is occupied by a farmer who rents part of the land; he is obliged
to do our marketing, etc., and we get milk and cream from him. I wish
the latter was as easy to digest as it is palatable and cheap. They beat
it up here till it looks like pure white lather and eat it with sugar.
The grounds about our house are very neat and we shall have oceans of
flowers of all sorts; several kinds are in full bloom now. The wild
flowers are so profuse, so beautiful and so various that A. and I are
almost demented on the subject. From the windows I see first the wide,
gravelled walk which runs round the house; then a little bit of a green
lawn in which there is a little bit of a pond and a tiny _jet d'eau_
which falls agreeably on the ear; beyond this the land slopes gently
upward till it is not land but bare, rugged mountain, here and there
sprinkled with snow and interspersed with pine-trees. The sloping land
is ploughed up and men and women are busy sowing and planting; too far
off to disturb us with noise, but looking, the women at least, rather
picturesque in their short blue dresses and straw hats. On the right
hand the Dent du Midi is seen to great advantage; it is now covered with
snow. The little village of St. Leger lies off in the distance; you can
just see its roofs and the quaint spire of a very old church; otherwise
you see next to no houses, and the stillness is very sweet. _Now_ won't
you come? The children seem to enjoy their liberty greatly, and are
running about all the time. They have each a little garden and I hope
will live out of doors all summer.