MY DEAR OLD FRIEND: You do not know the pleasure your letter gave me, I have wanted to write you ever since my return, but did not know where a letter would reach you, nor do I know where to direct this, but suppose I can get your address from Will. I was at the Mission last night, and missed you sadly. We all missed you in many ways. Your good, hard, common horse sense is sadly needed. It is the same old story; we never appreciate a man until it is too late. I used to think I could pick many flaws in your management of the mission work, but I have now come to the conclusion that you can't be downed in that line, and hereafter I shall not even think a thought against your management. Last night we had some ignoramus to preach, and his grammar and ways of expressing himself were (to say the least) tiresome; but we had testimonies afterward, and I said to myself, "Well, Brother Steve is away, and I have been on the quiet lay for a long time; I think, for the sake of Christ and old Steve, I will give a red-hot testimony right from the shoulder," and I did. I was followed by Hocker in a like strain, and others chiming in, we made the welkin ring from turret to foundation-stone. But the banner-bearer was not there; so the good intended to be done fell short. Only one stood up for prayer. But never mind, we will have our old veteran leader with us soon, when we will unfurl our battle-flag anew and carry terror and dismay into old Beelzebub's camp. I think if our winter campaign is well organized, there will be no "Indians on the warpath next spring." I miss you and want to see you so bad, that you may give me a hundred lectures and I won't shirk. Your true blues are all holding fast. Your Old Guard is a true and tried one. I think they all can be depended on both on dress parade and under fire. Your family are all well. May our heavenly Father bless you, my dear friend, both here and hereafter. Your sins have been great; but oh, what would I not give to know that, after life's fitful fever is over, I would be permitted to occupy a seat in the beautiful land of the blest alongside of you. Truly your faith has made you whole. Good-bye, and once more, God bless you. Your sincere friend, P. B. * * * * * FROM A CONVERT. ATLANTA, GA., February 3, 1885. _Dear Brother Holcombe:_