And then he was temporarily relieved from the incessant demands and the constant strain of his daily activity and his nightly anxiety. He had time and opportunity, as far as the importunity and kindness of his friends would allow, to get calmed, to look down into his own heart, to analyze his motives, to study his own nature, to see his own faults, to find out his own needs and to pray. He had been told by one of his friends, that while he did not work too much, he did not pray _enough_, and that he was, therefore, liable to be overtaken by some sudden temptation and be betrayed into sin. That same friend, in conducting service in one of the churches of the city on that very Sunday morning, had offered special public prayer for Mr. Holcombe and his work. He prayed specifically that if Brother Holcombe needed a thorn in the flesh, to keep him humble, God would send it. It was thought to be a special and speedy answer, that before sundown of that very day, Mr. Holcombe did receive almost literally a thorn in the flesh; a messenger of Satan it was withal to buffet him. And Mr. Holcombe was the first to acknowledge that he needed this trial and the threefold blessing which came with it. The perpetrators of the cowardly deed were, some time afterward, caught and imprisoned--every one of them. One of them has been pardoned and released, and through Mr. Holcombe's kindly intervention the other two probably will be, while through his friendly counsels one of them has been brought to realize his own sinfulness, and has promised to live a better life. It would be out of the question to reproduce here all the written messages of sympathy which Mr. Holcombe received during his confinement from the injury he received. But one of them is too touching and beautiful to be left out. It was written by Miss Jennie Casseday, a lady of culture and refinement, who has, for eighteen years, been confined to her "sick bed." She is well known as the originator of the "Flower Missions," which, all over this country, have been the bearers of blessing to many unblessed and unloved ones: "SICK BED, January 18, 1887. "_Dear Christian Friend_: "I send you some lines which have been a great blessing to me: "'I can not say, Beneath the pressure of life's cares to-day, I joy in these; But I _can_ say That I _had rather_ walk this rugged way If Him it please. "'I can not feel That all is well, when darkening clouds conceal The shining sun; But then I know God lives and loves, and say, since that is so, "Thy will be done." "'I can not speak In happy tones; the tear-drops on my cheek Show I am sad; But I _can_ speak _Of grace to suffer_ with submission meek, Until made glad.