It is so cold this morning that I can with difficulty hold my pen. It has been a very cold and stormy month, and there seems no prospect of fair weather yet. The snow on the mountains is as low as the lowest hills, and I pity the poor creatures who must be suffering in consequence. J. enjoys the weather very much; indeed he seems so exhilarated and invigorated by it that one could almost wish it to last on his account, but I must say that I wish it was over, and the warm sunbeams shedding their genial rays again upon the cold frozen earth.

Trouble and grief are such a common complaint at present that you will not be surprised to hear me relate my share of them. I have indeed had my full share, and you would say so too had you seen how I was occupied during my holidays last summer, in taking care of my ill and suffering brother. And aside from my fatigue, for I was always on my feet until two or three hours after midnight, quite alone with him—merely to witness such indescribable suffering as he went through, was more than is generally allotted to human beings on earth. He had been unwell for some time previous, and had been advised by the Doctor to go up to the mountains, so Mr. Calhoun kindly offered him a place in the Seminary, where he could stop until his health was recruited, and in the meantime give a couple of English lessons during the day to the boys in the Seminary. He lodged with the Theological students in a little room above the school, but he had not been up there more than a week, when his whole body became suddenly covered with a burning eruption that was always spreading and increasing in size. He could neither lie nor sit in any possible position, and was racked with pains that seemed at times well nigh driving him mad. I trembled for his reason, and was so awed and terrified by the sight, that I was in danger of losing mine as well. No one would come near him, and Mrs. Calhoun had kindly asked me to come and spend the holidays with them, so it fell to my lot to nurse and take care of him. I used to go to him in the morning as soon as I got up, and sit (or stand) up with him until two or three o'clock at night, dressing his sores; running down only occasionally for my meals, and with my little lantern coming down in the dead of night, all alone, to lay my weary head and aching heart and limbs on my bed for a little rest. But not to sleep, for whenever I closed my eyes, I had that eternal picture and scene of suffering before me. I could find no one who was willing for love or for money to help me or relieve me for one night or day. The disease was so offensive as well as frightful, that no one could stop in the room. One of the Prussian "Sisters" who went up with me, kindly assisted me sometimes until she came down. In this state did J. find me on his return from England. His family was up in Aaleih, and he used to ride over occasionally to see P. and prescribe some new medicine for him, but his skill was baffled with this terrifying disease, and poor P. remained in this agonizing state of suffering for five whole months without leaving his bed. He was carried down on a litter to Beirût, where he has been since. He took a little room by himself, and gives lessons in English until something more prosperous turns up for him. Twenty years' experience seemed to be added to my life in those three months of anxiety I went through last summer; and what a picture of suffering and grief was I, after this, myself. No wonder if I feel entirely used up this winter, and feel it a great effort to live.

There is not the slightest prospect of my ever getting back my lost property from that man—as he has long since left the country, and is said to be a great scoundrel and a very dishonorable man. If he were not, he would never have risked the earnings of a poor orphan girl by asking for it on the eve of his bankruptcy. Had I my property I might perhaps have given up teaching for a while, and gone away for a little change and rest, but God has willed it otherwise, no doubt for some wise purpose, and to some wise end, although so difficult and incomprehensible at present. It is all doubtless for the trial of my faith and trust in Him. Let me then trust in Him! Yea, though He slay me, let me yet trust in Him! Has He ever yet failed me? Has He not proved Himself in all ages to be the Father and the God of the orphan and the widow? He must see that I need these troubles and sorrows, or He would not send them, for my Father's hand would never cause his child a needless tear. A bruised reed He will not break, but will temper the storm to the shorn lamb; I will then no longer be dejected and cast down, but look upward and trust in my Heavenly Father, feeling sure that He will make all right in the end.

My letter is so sad and melancholy that I cannot let it go without something more cheerful, so I will add a line to brighten and cheer it up a little. For life, with all the bitterness it contains, has also much that is agreeable and affords much enjoyment; for there is a wonderful elasticity in the human mind which enables it, when sanctified by divine grace, to bear up under present ills. So with all my griefs and ills, I have been able to enjoy myself too sometimes this winter. I have lately attended two Concerts, one here, given by the Prussian Sisters, for the benefit of the new Orphanage, "Talitha Kumi," at Jerusalem, lately erected by the Prussian Sisters there—and one given by the "Sisters of Charity," for the benefit of the orphans and poor of this town. Daood Pasha most generously gave up the large hall in his mansion for the occasion, as well as honoring it by his attendance. The Concert in our Institution was entirely musical, vocal and instrumental. All the Missionaries came. We had nearly three hundred tickets sold at five francs apiece, so that there was a nice little sum added to the Orphan's Fund at Jerusalem.

Ever your affectionate

Melita.

Saada Gregory was engaged in teaching at different times in Tripoli, Aleppo, Hasbeiya and Egypt. Her school in Tripoli was eminently successful, and her labors in Alexandria were characterized by great energy and perseverance. She kept up a large school even when suffering from great bodily pain. She is now in the United States in enfeebled health.

American Mission House, Alexandria, November 8, 1867.

My Dear Mrs. Whiting,

I know you will be expecting a letter from me soon, partly in answer to yours sent by Mrs. Van Dyck, and especially because it is the day on which you expect all your children to remember you. I never do forget this day, but this time there are special reasons for my remembering it. Whenever the day has come around, I have felt more forcibly than at others, how utterly alone I have been, for since dear Mr. Whiting was taken away from us, it has seemed as though we were made doubly orphans, but this time it has not been so. I think I have been made to realize that I have a loving Father in heaven who loves and watches over and cares for me more than ever you or Mr. Whiting did. I do really feel now that God has given me friends, so this day has not been so sad a one to me as it usually is. Another source of thankfulness to-day is, that I have been raised up from a bed of pain and suffering from which neither I nor any of my friends thought I ever would rise. Weary days and nights of pain, when it was torture to move and almost impossible to lie still, and when it seemed at times that death would be only a relief, and yet here I am still living to praise Him for many, many mercies. Mr. Pinkerton waited on me day and night, often depriving himself of sleep and rest in order to do it, and when convalescence set in, and with the restlessness of a sick person, I used to fancy I would be more comfortable up stairs, he used to carry me up and down and gratify all my whims. For five weeks I was in bed, and many more confined to my room and the house. But the greatest reason for thankfulness is, that God has in His great mercy brought me to a knowledge of Himself, and of my own lost state as a guilty sinner. It was while lying those long weary days on the bed that I was made to see that for ten long years I had been deceiving myself. Instead of being a Christian and being prepared to die, I was still in the gall of bitterness and the bonds of iniquity, and if God had taken me away during that sickness, it would have been with a lie in my right hand. Now when I look back on those long years spent in sin and in self-deception, I wonder at God's loving kindness and patience in sparing me still to show forth in me His goodness and forbearance. Truly it is of His mercies that I was not consumed. How often I taught others and talked to them of the love of Christ, and yet I had not that love myself. How many times I sat down to His table with his children, and yet I had no portion nor lot in the matter. Sometimes when I think how near destruction I was, with literally but a step between me and death, eternal death, and yet God raised me up and brought me to Christ and made me love Him, and how ever since He has been watching over me giving me the measure of comfort and peace that I enjoy and giving me the desire to know and love Him more, I wonder at my own coldness, at the frequency with which I forget Him. How strong sin still is over me, how prone I am to wander away from Christ and to forget His love, to allow sin to come between me and Him, and yet He still follows me with His love, still He brings me back to Him, the good Shepherd. Oh! if I could live nearer Christ, if I could realize and rejoice in His love. Now when I think how near I may be to the eternal world, that at any moment a severe attack of pain may come on which will carry me off, it is good to know that my Saviour will be with me; that He is mine and I am His. It is not easy to look death calmly in the face and know that my days are numbered, yet can I not participate in the promise that He Himself will come and take me to be with Him where He is. I would like to be allowed to live longer and be permitted to bring souls to Christ, but I feel assured that He will do what is best, and that He will not call me away as long as He has any work for me to do here I have a feeling that this will be my last letter to you, and I now take the opportunity of thanking you for all you have done for me, for all the care you bestowed on me, the prayers you have offered for me, and the kind thoughtfulness you still manifest for my welfare. It would be a comfort to me if I could see and talk with you once more, but I fear that will never be in this world, but shall we not meet in our Saviour's presence, purified, justified and sanctified through His blood? With truest love and gratitude