"You will not wonder, my dear young friend," she said, "at the warmth with which I speak of the blessed Jesus, when I tell you of all his mercy and love towards me and my brother and sister. He often retired to Bethany from the noise and crowd of the city, and our house was honoured by being made his home. The light of his countenance shed joy and peace over our dwelling, and his words were as heavenly music, to which we could have listened for ever. Oh! it was a blessed privilege to sit at his feet, and hear his words, and receive the divine instruction that flowed from his gracious lips. It was in the month Tisri,[2] a few days after our beloved Master had spent a day in our humble dwelling on his return into the country from attending the feast of tabernacles, that our brother Lazarus fell sick, and we soon perceived that his sickness was mortal. My sister and I were in deep distress; but we remembered the power and love of Jesus, and we delayed not to send a messenger to Bethabara, beyond Jordan, where we knew that he abode at that time. We could not doubt his willingness to succour us in our affliction, for he loved Lazarus, and he loved us also. Therefore we only sent to him, saying, 'Lord, behold he whom thou lovest is sick;' and we were fully convinced that he would instantly return to us and heal our brother. But our messenger had not long been gone when a fearful change took place in Lazarus. The fever increased, the struggles of death came on, and in anguish and despair we saw our only, our beloved brother expire! Did not Jesus know what was passing beneath our humble roof at Bethany? And could not he, who had performed so many miracles, have stayed the hand of death, and restored Lazarus to health with one word of his mouth? Such were the thoughts of our faithless hearts while weeping over the bed of death, and preparing for the hasty burial which is customary and necessary in this climate. [2] The Hebrew month answering to a part of our September and a part of October. "The place where Jesus then abode was a day's journey from Bethany; and Lazarus was laid in his cold grave almost at the moment when our messenger reached him who we hoped would come and heal him. The following day we expected to see our Lord arrive, if not to restore our brother, yet to comfort our bleeding hearts with his words of grace and love. But the messenger returned alone; and the reply which he brought us only weakened our expiring faith. Jesus had said to him, 'This sickness is not unto death,' and yet Lazarus was in the grave--what could we believe? what could we hope?