My Dear Father:

We are now at the humble abode of Sarah, at Nain, whither I have come to breathe the fresh mountain air for a time. Her cottage stands in a garden, from which is a sublime view of Tabor, in all the majesty of his mountain grandeur. One day while I was in the garden walking, two men, dusty and travel-worn, stopped at the half-open gate, and saluting us, said:

"Peace be to this house, maiden, and all who dwell therein."

"Enter," said the widow, overhearing them, "enter and ye shall have water for your feet and bread for your hunger."

The two men then entered and seated themselves, and having been refreshed by the poor but hospitable widow, one of them rose and said:

"'This day is salvation come to this house. We are ambassadors of Jesus of Nazareth, and go from city to city, proclaiming the day of the Lord at hand, for Messiah is come!'"

"Will he, then, come to Nain?" asked the widow with emotion. "I should be willing to die so that I could lay my eyes once upon so great and holy a man!"

"Yes, he will come hither," answered the men, "and when we shall report to him your hospitality to us, he will visit your house, for he never forgets a cup of water given to one of his disciples."

The men then departed, again calling the peace of God upon our abode. They had not been gone many minutes before we heard a great commotion in the market-place near by. Upon going to the house-top, we beheld these two men standing upon an elevation, and preaching the kingdom of Christ at hand. Upon this, some cried out against Jesus, and others threw stones at the two men, and when we reached the house-top, we saw one of them remove his sandals and shake the dust from them, saying in a loud voice:

"As ye reject the words of life, your sins remain upon you, as I return to you the dust of your city."

They then departed, followed by Levites, who fairly drove them from the town.

While we were grieving at this enmity against a Prophet sent from God, whose life is a series of good deeds, there entered hastily a fair young maid whose name was Ruth. She held an open letter in her hand, and her beautiful face glowed rosily with some secret joy, which contrasted strangely with the present sadness of our own. We knew Ruth well, and loved her as if she had been a sister. She was an orphan, and dwelt with her uncle, Elihaz, the Levite, a man of influence in the town. She was artless, unsuspecting, and very interesting in all her ways.

"What good news, dear Ruth?" asked Mary, smiling in response to her bright smiles. "A letter from whom?"

"For Sarah," answered the pretty maid, blushing so timidly and consciously that we half suspected the truth.

"But that is not telling us from whom," persevered Mary, with a little playfulness.

"You can guess," she answered, glancing over her white shoulder, as she bounded away from us into the house.

We were soon after her, and heard her as she cried on putting the letter into the dear widow's hand:

"From Samuel!"

"God be blessed!" cried the widow. "My son liveth and is well!"

"Read, dear Sarah!" cried the maiden. "He was at Alexandria when he wrote this, and will soon be at home. Oh, happy, happy day!" added the overjoyed girl, quite forgetful of our presence.

"Nay," said the widow, "my eyes are filled with tears of gladness; I cannot see to read. Do thou read it aloud. Let Adina and Mary also know what he writeth."

Ruth then cast a bright look upon us, and read aloud the letter from over the sea, which told that the writer would return in the first ship bound to Sidon, or Cesarea, when he hoped to behold her and his mother face to face, and to receive as his bride the maiden he had so long loved and cherished in his heart.

At length, as the day drew near for me to leave, we were all filled with delightful surprise at the appearance of the long-absent son and lover in the midst of our happy circle.

Mary and I had once seen him, and we were now impressed with his manly and sun-browned beauty, his bold air, and frank, ingenuous manner. We could not but agree that the pretty Ruth had shown fine taste. But alas! my dear father, our joy was short-lived! Little did we anticipate how speedily our rejoicing was to end in mourning! The very night of his return he was seized with a malignant fever, which he had brought from Africa with him, and we were all overwhelmed with grief.

It would be impossible to paint the anguish of the mother, the heart-rending distress of his betrothed.

Unconscious of their presence, he raved wildly, and sometimes fancied himself suffering thirst on the burning sands of Africa, and at others battling with barbarians for his life. All that physicians could do was of no avail. This morning, the third day after his return, he expired, amid the most distressing agonies.

Alas! instead of a bridal, behold a funeral! Already the bearers are at the door, and in a few minutes he will be borne forth upon the dead-bier to the burial-place without the city.

"Oh!" sighs Mary near me as I write, "Oh, that Jesus, the mighty Prophet, had been here! He could have healed him!"

John has sent to her a message, saying that Jesus is traveling this way, on his mission of healing and teaching, and may be here this evening. But what will it avail, dear father? Even Jesus may not return the dead to life! Oh, if he could have been here yesterday, his power over disease would have enabled him to save this precious life!

I hear the heavy tread of the dead-bearers in the court below. The shrieks and wails of the mourning-women thrill my soul with awe. But above all pierces the wild cry of anguish of the bereaved mother! Ruth's voice is hushed. She has been for the last hour inanimate as marble. Only by her pulse can it be said she lives! Poor maiden! The blow is too terrible for her to bear.

My Cousin Mary has at this moment received a small roll of parchment which, from the flush on her cheek, I know to be from her betrothed. She smiles sadly, and with tears in her eyes hands it to me.

I have read it, dear father. It is as follows:

"Gadara, beyond Judea.

"The bearer, beloved, is one of the disciples of Jesus. His name is Bartimeus. He was blind and poor, and subsisted by begging; and, as you see, his sight is restored, and he insists now on going from town to town where he has been known as a blind man to proclaim what Jesus has done for him. This letter cometh beseeching thee, maiden, that as we love one another unfeignedly, so may we soon be united in that holy union which God hath blessed and commanded. But, having much to say hereupon, I will not commit it to paper and ink; but by to-morrow, or the day after, I trust to come to you, and speak with you, dearly beloved, face to face, upon those things which now come to my lips. Farewell, lady. Peace be with you, and all in your house. Greet thy friends in my name, letting them know that we shall shortly be with you."

"Oh, that the mighty Prophet had come one day sooner!" cried Mary. "What woe and anguish would have been spared poor Ruth and his mother! But the will of Jehovah be done!"

We hear now, dear father, the voice of the governor of the funeral, bidding us come down to bury the dead.

Farewell, my father. I know you will shed a tear to the memory of the noble youth whose death has this day filled all Nain with mourning. As I look from the lattice, I see the concourse of people to be immense, filling all the street. Now, may the God of our father Abraham preserve and keep you, and suffer us once more to meet face to face in joy and peace.

Your dutiful and sorrowful daughter,

Adina.