My Dear and Honored Father:

It is with emotions of the deepest grief that I convey to you the sad intelligence of the death of Lazarus. The hand of the Lord hath fallen heavily upon this household and stricken down its prop; smitten the oak around which clung these vine-like sisters, vine-like in their dependence upon him and confiding trust in his wisdom and love. Now prostrate in the dust they lie stunned by the sudden and mysterious stroke of God's providence.

I have told you, dear father, something of this family; what a happy household I have seen it when Jesus completed the number; for he stayed so much with them when not preaching, or when wishing to rest a day or two from his weary toil, that they came to regard him as one of their family. Martha seemed ever to be thinking what and how she should administer to his comfort, by providing every delicacy for her table; but so that Jesus could find listeners to his words of truth and wisdom, like Mary—who loved to sit at his feet and hear the golden language fall from his sacred lips—he thought not of meat or drink.

One day when I, with Mary and Lazarus, was listening to his heavenly teachings, wrapt in wonder and absorbing interest, Martha, who was preparing the meal, came and desired Mary to come and assist her; but the dear, pious girl heeded not nor heard her, feeding, forgetful of all else, upon the celestial food that fell from the lips of Jesus. At length Martha, finding that Mary had not heard, appealed to Jesus, saying somewhat sharply:

"Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? Bid her, therefore, that she help me."

We turned with surprise to hear her, who was usually so gentle and good, thus forget what was due to the presence of the Prophet, and Lazarus was about to speak and excuse his sister, who looked as if she were much worried with her domestic troubles, when Jesus said kindly to her:

"Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things. But one thing is needful, and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her. While thou carest much for the wants of the body, she careth for those of the spirit. Think not, beloved Martha, of sumptuous living for me, who have no earthly goods, nor even where to lay my head."

"Say not thus, oh, say not so, dear Lord!" cried Martha, suddenly bursting into tears at Jesus' touching words, and casting herself impulsively at his feet. "This house is thy home—ever beneath its roof, while I have one above me, shalt thou have where to lay thy head; say not so, my Lord!"

We were all moved at Martha's pathetic earnestness. Jesus raised her up and said gently:

"It is thy love for me, I well know, that maketh thee so careful and troubled to provide for me at thy bountiful table. But I have meat to eat that ye know not of. To teach the truths of God, as thou findest me doing to these, is to me meat and drink, for therein I am doing my Father's will, who sent me."

My last letter closed with informing you of the departure of the messenger to Jesus. After he had gone out of sight from the door, and the last echo of his horse's hoofs ceased to be heard by the long-listening ears of his sister Martha, I re-entered the room where Lazarus lay. He was as white as marble. His large black eyes seemed to be twice their usual size and brilliancy. He breathed with difficulty, and every few moments he would be compelled to have his head raised in order to free his mouth from the welling blood that was constantly bubbling up from the broken fountains of his life. Mary's tender privilege it was, assisted by Rachel, to render him this service of love. As she bent over him, looking downward with anxious fondness into his pale, intellectual face, watching every shadow of the change that the sable wing of advancing Death cast over it, I thought I had never gazed on a more lovely being. I forgot for the moment the dying young man about whose form her snow-white arms were entwined, his head reclining upon her bosom, her raven tresses, bronzed with a changing light, all unbound and floating above him and over his pillow, like a rich veil interwoven of sable silken floss and threads of gold.

I commenced this letter by informing you of the departure of the good and generous and pious Lazarus. He fell asleep in death as an infant sinks to slumber in its mother's arms.

All too late was Jesus sent for! To-morrow his burial will take place. Alas, how suddenly has perished the noblest young man in Judea!

Farewell, dear father. My heart is full. I can now write no more. The God of Abraham preserve you in your journey, and bring you in safety to the embraces of

Your loving daughter,

Adina.