ORSON HYDE.
P.S. In justice to the American missionaries at Jerusalem, I must say, however, particularly of Mr. Whiting, with whom I became most acquainted, that as men, their conduct towards me was both courteous and civil; and when I left Mr. W.'s house I could not withhold my blessing from himself and family—his interesting wife and lovely little girls, who all speak fluently the English and Arabic. A kind word or action towards a stranger in a strange land is not soon forgotten. May the Lord bless them and their families with his salvation, through the knowledge of the truth, was my desire then, and is my prayer still.
Note.—Expecting a letter or letters from you to be lodged in Bavaria for me, I have addressed a note there requesting them (if any) to be forwarded to me at this place; but as my note went on shore in the bustle without the postage being paid, and having to pass through different kingdoms, I do not expect it will be forwarded. I hope, however, to get news from you and the church when I get there myself. I hope also to hear something from my wife. I feel that a word from her would be more precious than gold; yet I am afraid to hear lest she may be in trouble, or some of her friends dead—a father or mother perhaps, or brother or sister. Yet I try to comfort myself with the thought that my long absence is the cause of all my bad feelings. The Lord knows, and I pray that he may bind up every broken heart. Fare-thee-well; thy brother in the Lord,
O. H.
LETTER II.
Trieste, January 17, 1842.
DEAR BRETHREN AND SISTERS AT NAUVOO,
I have just written a lengthy letter to the Twelve, and sent it by way of Elder Pratt, in England. In that, and in a former one written to him from Alexandria in Egypt, is contained an account of my mission to Jerusalem. I feel, however, as though I wished to write a few lines more on this the last day of my confinement on ship board, where I have spent the last fifty-six days: six days in the harbour of Alexandria—twenty-two days on our passage—and twenty-eight here in quarantine. To-morrow, if the Lord will, the the jubilant song, with its thrice welcome melody, will greet the ears of a poor captive exile, the prison doors give way, and he be permitted once more to breathe the air of freedom in a land where he is not annoyed by the sight of the star and crescent, the turban and the covered face—all of which are an abomination in my sight.