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.