Memphis, Mo., Feb. 14, 1878.

Dear Benson—­I know of my personal knowledge that you did a grand work here.  Bro.  B., you remember my pointing out to you a Dr. ——­, and telling you what a persecutor of churches he was, and how hard he drank.  He in two nights after you were here signed the pledge, and in telling his experience, said that you saved him—­that no other person had ever been able to impress him as you did.

    Truly, ——­

    ——­, Jan. 1, 1878.

My very dear friend—­I wish I could be with you and knee with you as in the past, and hear your faith in God.  Here is my hand forever.  You have done more for me than all the shepherds on the bleak hillsides of this black world.

    Lovingly, ——­

    Terre haute, Ind., Feb. 22, 1878.

Dear Benson—­You have done more for me than all the men and women on earth.  One year ago I heard you lecture on Temperance in Lafayette.  Then I was a poor outcast drunkard; you saved me.  I am now a sober man and a Christian. ——­

I could furnish thousands of such testimonials as the above, but deem these sufficient to convince any honest person that my toil is not in vain.

From one of the journals of my native State I clip the concluding extract: 

“Luther Benson, the gifted inebriate orator, is still struggling against the demon of strong drink.  He spoke at Jeffersonville recently, and in the middle of his discourse became so chagrined and disheartened at his repeated failures at reform, that he took his seat and burst into a flood of tears.  He has since connected himself with the church, and has professed religion.  May his new resolves and associations strengthen him in the line of duty.  But, like the man among the tombs, the demons of appetite have taken full possession of his soul, and riot in every vein and fiber of his being.  It is a fearful thraldom to be encompassed with the wild hallucinations begotten through a life of dissipation and debauchery.  The strongest resolves at reform are broken as ropes of sand.  All the moral faculties are made tributary to the one ruling passion—­drink, drink, drink!  But still his repeated resolves and heroic efforts betoken a greatness of soul rarely witnessed.  May he yet live to see the devils that so sorely beset him running furiously down a steep place into the sea, and sink forever from his annoyance.  But when they do come out of the man, instead of entering a herd of heedless swine for their coursers to the deep, may they ride, booted and spurred, every saloon-keeper who has contributed to make Luther Benson what he is, to the very verge of despair, and to the brink of hell’s yawning abyss.”