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.
[LETTER XXVI.]
My Dear Father:
In my last letter I told you that Lazarus was dead. I write this to say that he who was dead is alive! Lazarus lives! He whom I saw dead and buried, and sealed up within the rocky cave of the tomb, is alive again from the dead; and at this moment, while I am penning this extraordinary account, I hear his voice from the porch.
How, my dear father, how shall I find adequate language to tell you all that has happened here within the last twenty-four hours!
The funeral procession was so very long that strangers, pausing, asked what great master in Israel, or person of note, was being taken to the sepulchre.
Some answered, "Lazarus, the industrious scribe;" others said, "A young man who has devoted his life to honor his mother." Others answered, as Lazarus himself, were he alive, would have had them: