"Ruth, darling Ruth, I have lingered all the day to love you once more and tell you I am not dying. Just going home, where I will love you still, and when the evening shadows fall and you go wandering into the grove think of me as with you. Oh, Ruth, I will come so near that you will feel my presence in your soul. My darling girl, banish every thought of death and bare your bosom to the storms of life until the angel comes to call you home. Oh, sister dear, if you could only know my feelings now, in this strange scene that you call death. The sting of all life's troubles are more than repaid in these passing moments of tranquil bliss, and yet some scenes have been so sad. I pleaded with all my soul before Caiaphas, but his heart was hardened; they went their way. They nailed him to the cross and then the sun grew dim and the world became cold. But while I waited at the tomb a form appeared, and it was Jesus, who told me that your faith was weak and I must comfort you now, as you had me in days gone by." "Did Jesus speak to you after he was dead?" "Oh, Ruth, you thoughtless child, banish the idea of death. He is not dead. They killed his body, but the body is just the mask; that is why great souls are unknown on earth. Jesus still lives. I cannot tell if he spoke or not, or how he appeared or disappeared, but the word, 'Mary,' sounded just as he always spoke, and I saw him as distinctly as I see you now. His attitude and movement were such that I supposed he had come to life until he disappeared. The body is not the person, Ruth. It is the form that we wear; it is ever dying, dying while the unseen yet lives. Love me, sweet, dear Ruth, and let me go. John, come; kiss me and say you will never cease to love. Dear ones, you must not weep when I am gone. Think of me as living, as one who can still commune, influence, comfort and help you when mystery darkens all your ways." Softly the fading flower swooned away, her lips parting and eyes closing; then, strangely, a shadowy movement brightened her face and a little flush came to her cheeks; while John and Ruth, in silence, awaited the death angel. Three days' journey brought the mourners to the hillside city of Nazareth, where Magdalene had so often shocked the sanctimonious with her naughty pranks. The tide had turned, harsh criticism had changed to love, as from Nazareth, Endor, Nain and Cana, together with the throng from the west shore, they sadly approached the hillside home of Aunt Susanna, where, near the close of day, in the old garden, they laid to sleep the form of Mary Magdalene. Here, when the tourist visits the ruins of Capernaum, where Jesus met rebuff, they mention with pride Peter in prison, Paul before Agrippa and John on the Isle of Patmos, while they never mention the heroic maid to whom the Gate Beautiful first swung ajar. THE PRICKETT HOME Goshen, Ind., May 18, 1902.