OUR MISSION IN SWITZERLAND—MUTTERINGS OF THE COMING STORM.  
Very soon after this we were notified that the Apostle Snow was on his way to Switzerland, and that we might shortly expect him.
This to me was joyful news, for he had relieved me of my trouble once before, and I almost looked upon him as my good angel. He came, and remained with us a few days; and before he left he instructed Mr. Stenhouse to repair to England, to raise funds to aid the mission. He also gave me a few pounds to procure what I needed for an event which I expected shortly to take place. This kindness on his part brought to my mind such a sense of relief, and so renewed my energy, that I felt ready for my missionary labours again.
When my second child was about two months old I went to Lausanne to reside, while my husband was absent in England. Apartments were engaged for me at the house of a gentleman who had recently been baptized. I was made very comfortable there, and for the first time since my husband was sent on a mission, I experienced a feeling of repose, so that I now had some hopes of regaining mental and physical strength. No provision had been made by the Saints for my support; but even without that, I thought, living among those who were themselves happy, and one with us in the faith, I should myself find more tranquillity of mind.
Madame and Monsieur Balif, in whose house I resided, were persons of good social position. The husband was one of nature’s gentlemen, and as good a man as I ever knew. He received the Mormonism taught by Mr. Stenhouse with all his heart, and never seemed weary of showing his gratitude by his good deeds. Madame Balif did not at once join the church, and probably never would have done so but for the love which she bore to her husband. She was not, however,[57] hostile to the new faith, as some other wives were, and she did all that she could to render pleasant my stay with them, and tried to make me forget what I had suffered in Geneva.
Madame Balif was a high-spirited, impulsive woman, and devotedly attached to her husband; I never saw a woman more so. She impressed me as being one of the happiest of wives; he one of the best of husbands. After I had lived in the house a few weeks, she was baptized; but she never was satisfied with Mormonism. Poor, dear lady! How often have I bitterly regretted that I was instrumental in leading her into the Mormon Church, in which, as (years later, in Utah) she told me, she endured such cruel humiliation and martyrdom. I knew well indeed then what all that meant.
While I lived with them, it was agreed that I should pay for my apartments monthly; but after I had paid for the first month, Monsieur Balif told me that I should do so no more. And knowing that he meant it as an expression of kindness and gratitude on his part, I felt relieved of all anxiety on that account. All that I had, even then, for the support of myself and my two little ones was about five francs ($1) a week; but my wants were few, for I had taught myself to require nothing but what was absolutely necessary to keep me alive.
During Mr. Stenhouse’s absence, the meetings were held in my parlour; and as the brethren who had joined the church had not previously been religious men, though they were persons of the best moral character, they were very diffident about conducting the meetings, and for a time could not think of praying before others. It devolved upon me—of sheer necessity, for I disliked prominence as much as they did—to lead the singing, to pray, to preach—in fact, to do everything. Had I not done so, they would have sat looking at each other, for they were all too timid to speak. I encouraged them in every way to try, and finally we got along very well. A “good spirit” prevailed; and we were like a little band of brothers and sisters.
The only person, now, who gave me any anxiety was Madame Balif, who was very weak in the faith. Her doubts and fears troubled me much, for I had conceived a very great regard for her. I feared that with a heart so proud and rebellious as hers, she would never get salvation, and I trembled for her happiness. How slight a hold the new faith had taken of her mind, I was forcibly reminded by an incident which was at the time a great trial to me.
My little daughter fell sick of intermittent fever, and I[58] dared not call in a physician; it would not do for me, a missionary’s wife, to show lack of faith. Such was our zeal in those days. But now, as I once before stated, even the most orthodox Mormons, including Brigham Young, do not think of relying upon God and the ordinances of the church, as they used to in former years, but call in the best physician they can get.
I was much troubled about my little girl, for she was evidently failing fast. She had been “administered to” by one of the native elders, who had anointed her with oil, and prayed over her; but yet she did not get better. Madame Balif, in the midst of my affliction, taunted me about the child not recovering, and asked where was the power of God, of which I had talked so much: “Now,” she said “if you could get that child healed, it would be some proof to my mind that the power you speak of is still in the church.” I felt ashamed that I had not exercised more faith. I was certain that the gift of healing was in the church, and I believed it was my own fault that the child was not even now well. In my zeal I replied rather warmly, “My child will be healed, and you shall see it.” But I had no sooner uttered these words than I began to fear I had promised too much.
I determined, however, that nothing on my part should be left undone. I sent for Governor Stoudeman, our new convert, as he was the president of the branch and an elder. I told him that this child must be healed by the power of God. We had not witnessed any manifestation of the healing power among the Saints in Switzerland up to that time; and I earnestly desired that now for the first time this gift might be proved among us, for the sake of the church as well as for my own. So I told the governor that it was his duty, as well as mine, to fast and pray that the Lord might grant us this blessing, that it might be a testimony that it was His work and that we were His servants.
He became as enthusiastic as I was myself, and we fasted and prayed for nearly two days. At the end of that time he came to see me, and by the bedside we knelt and prayed; and he laid his hands upon the child, and blessed her in the name of the Lord.
That night the child was very low; and though I strove to show my faith, I dreaded that she would have her usual attack of fever about midnight. After the departure of the elder, Madame Balif came into the room, and said, “Your child is very ill; if your God cannot help her, why do not you[59] send for a physician?” This appeared to me so profane, and such an insult to my God and my faith, that I replied indignantly, “Madame, she will and shall be healed this very night; for I know that power is in the church. The reason why the child was not healed before is, because I have not been earnest enough in seeking the Lord.”
When I was left alone I sat down by the bedside, trembling lest I had been too rash in declaring that the child would be healed that same night. Much and fondly as I loved my little treasure, I confess that I suffered more at the thought of God’s name suffering reproach than I did from fear of my darling’s death; and I tried earnestly to banish my doubts, with the remembrance that all things are possible to them that believe.
Kneeling there in the dark and lonesome midnight, I poured out my soul fervently to God, beseeching Him, for His kingdom’s sake, and for the glory of His great name, to answer, and not to suffer my unworthiness to stand in the way. I watched hour after hour beside my darling’s bed, and the child slept on peacefully, without any symptoms of returning fever; and, oh! how anxiously I waited for her awaking.
At last, worn out with fatigue and watching, I laid myself down on the bed beside her, and soon fell asleep; and when I awoke it was daylight, and my little one was peacefully sleeping on still—the fever had left her. No tongue could tell the gratitude which filled my heart; I could only weep tears of joy, and sing aloud my praise to God.
Madame Balif entered the room early in the morning to see what kind of a night we had passed. Then I drew her to the bedside, and told her how tranquilly the child had slept all night, and showed her how much better she looked, and asked her if she did not see in all this the providence of God. But she simply said, “Ah, well! I suppose the disease had run its course.” This grieved me, for I had trusted that such a direct answer to my prayers would have helped to increase her faith in our religion; but Mormonism had not touched her heart; and I believe it is much more the devotion of the heart than it is the mental acquiescence in doctrine which gives us the power to hope, and endure, and believe.
When, by-and-by, my little Clara awoke, she was evidently very much better, and not only free from the fever, but bright and cheerful, like her former self; and she never relapsed. In the course of a week she was running about as[60] well as ever, and the Saints were greatly confirmed in their faith.
One morning, not long after this, Madame Balif brought me a letter which, as it bore the English postmark, she supposed came from my husband. The writing, however, was strange to me; and dreading that some terrible thing might have happened, I tore it open. There, at the bottom of the last page—for the letter was very long—in neat, clear characters, was the signature of my fairy friend, as I called her, Mary Burton. I read the letter through with the deepest interest. It was addressed “To darling Sister Stenhouse,” and was overflowing with affection. Used as I was to all her endearing ways, I could almost fancy that while I read I heard her speaking the words. After a great outpouring of love, she said,—
“Since you went, I have grown quite an old woman. You used to call me ‘Little fairy,’ but, Sister Stenhouse, I am much bigger now. I am now a good deal over seventeen, and people say that I am getting to be quite a woman. I might tell you some other pretty things that are said about me, but I’m afraid you would say it was all vanity of vanities. If you stay away much longer, you won’t recognize me when we meet again.
“And now I want to tell you something that interests you as much as me. I have not been able to discover anything more with certainty about those hateful things of which I told you, although the word Polygamy seems to me to become every day much more familiar in people’s conversation. Elder Shrewsbury tells me that there is not a word of truth in it; and he has had a good deal of conversation upon that subject with the apostles who are here, and also with a man named Curtis E. Bolton—an Elder from the Salt Lake; and they all positively declare that it is a foul slander upon the Saints of the Most High. So you see that all our unhappiness was for naught. Our Saviour said we should be blessed when all men spoke evil of us falsely for His name’s take; and the wicked scandal which has been raised against our religion has had a tendency to strengthen my faith, which you know was rather wavering.
“And yet do you know, Sister Stenhouse, that even while I am writing to you in this strain, I am weak enough to allow doubts and fears to creep into my heart when I think of the conduct of some of the American brethren.
“They appear to me, for married men, to act so very imprudently;[61] and to call their conduct ‘imprudent’ is really treating it with the greatest leniency, for I have often been quite shocked at the way in which some of the brethren and sisters acted. But I will tell you a little about it, and you shall judge for yourself.
“When I found out, as I had long suspected, that dear papa was going to marry again, I at once resolved that I would no longer be a burden to him, but would find some employment, and support myself. I was induced to do this, partly because as you know, step-mothers and daughters do not always love each other quit............