Julia M. Bachman. 231 



romantic and lovely scene before me, in this sweet 

 valley, surrounded* by mountains, covered to their 

 highest peaks with rich and varied foliage. In the 

 buildings around me what a contrast ! night and 

 day I hear coughing. 



I meet with pallid faces, and see on many a cheek 

 the hectic flush. How terrible is consumption ! It 

 seizes with a deadly hold, weakens the cords of life, 

 day by day ; and only relinquishes its fatal grasp 

 when life is extinct. How sad to see this beautiful 

 garden of earth, disfigured by graves and monu- 

 ments of the dead. But so it is ; and man, the 

 child of the dust, must .bow submissively to the will 

 of heaven. 



August 2d. 



The shadow of hope which I sought to indulge in 

 has given place to the saddest of realities ; disease is 

 sapping away the fountain of life our Julia will 

 never leave the mountains alive. 



I have received all your letters, but I do not feel 

 able to reply to them, 



All send love 1 . 



August 10th. 



Since I last wrote, hope has arisen anew in my 

 heart. Four days ago Julia revived, and with a 

 little assistance was able to walk about the room ; 

 this slight improvement has fed our hopes. She has 

 little appetite, but likes birds. I have shot for her 

 pheasants, ruffled grouse and partridges; but all 

 birds are scarce in the mountains; sometimes I walk 

 or ride six or seven miles, without meeting even a 

 sparrow. Animal life seems almost absent on these 

 mountains ; I scarcely hear the hum of an insect. 

 How sad this place is to me ! It is thronged with 

 coughers, there is around us every form of disease, 

 and we are daily distressed by sad sights and melan- 



