Jidla M. Bachman. 231 



romantic and lovely scene before me, in this sweet 

 valley, surrounded by mountains, covered to their 

 highest peaks with ricli and varied foliage. In the 

 buildings around me what a contrast I — night and 

 da}^ 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 gras]) 

 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 2(1. 



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. 



August lotli. 



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 liopes. 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 scarcel}' hear the hum of an insect. 

 How sad this place is to me I It is thronged witli 

 coughers, there is around us every form of disease, 

 and we are dailv distressed bv sad sio:lits and melan- 



