From collection Frances Willard Journal Transcripts
imminent. Pres't has called Congress. How far away it all seems in presence of these glittering, changeless sights! How mean ill will looks at this altitude. O Heavenly Father make me good! Early to bed to get nerve-rest, brain-convolutions and red blood corpuscles.
July 11, 1893
Cossie much better. She was "quite low["] with headache yesterday & day before & also in consequence of the time of calendar & her Salisbury treatment, resolutely begun in her usual practical way. I fear it is too much for her, fatigued as she is. We sleep like tops, on these heights-
There will be little sun I fear-only one day in the three of yet. We drove out yesterday in the drip[?] & visited Catholic ch. kindergarten of those who live in the light of their own eyes. The monastery is just by-its bell sounds pleasantly from the covered balcony where we take our meals when weather permits.-We got some charming books at the little "Buchbandling"[?] here & lovely Alpine flowers. It seems little boys [are] held over precipices by ropes to gather some of them!
July 12, 1893
Off up the valley after 9 hours sleep-2 miles or more walk-a glass of milk for me at a road side "rest" & hot water for poor Cos. Glorious day, gleams of [blue crossed out] blue. Lots of letters from all about though none were to be forwarded! It seems my Birth Day Fund is minus- Baird & Bradley failed! Cossie still hopes however. Well, I never expected to have it-never have handled or had a cent of it-Blessed be the women who gave it & I do not grieve that it is gone save that I meant to do good with it if it ever came into my hands.-I am surprised not to hear from my little Nan. Probably it is because she is away to Spain. Am telegraphing to be sure all is well with that loyal & true loving heart.
-Later: Had lovely reply from Nan Alice-William-all is well.
July 13, 1893
We wrote like fly-aways all the morning and went up the valley in the rain from 2 to 6. We penetrated to "the End of the World[,]"- a lovely spot among[?]the hills & a chapel is there, tawdry & depressing to us but helpful we hope to these dear peasants. We rested on a bench beside an old chalet door & the bronzed mother & her two nice daughters came out bringing shawls to warm us & showing their skilled needlework. We asked them if they got lonesome & they said "O no, we are too busy." Yet they live in gt isolation, unable to "see out" at all & they said the winters were long & deep[?]. Their father-now dead-had cut by hand every shingle of the pretty curve-edged ones that covered in the sides
