T. DE WITT TALMAGEAS I KNEW HIM

BY THE LATET. DE WITT TALMAGE, D. D. 

WITH CONCLUDING CHAPTERS BYMRS. T. DE WITT TALMAGE

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

NEW YORK:E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY1912

CONTENTS

FIRST MILESTONESECOND MILESTONETHIRD MILESTONEFOURTH MILESTONEFIFTH MILESTONESIXTH MILESTONESEVENTH MILESTONEEIGHTH MILESTONENINTH MILESTONETENTH MILESTONEELEVENTH MILESTONETWELFTH MILESTONETHIRTEENTH MILESTONEFOURTEENTH MILESTONEFIFTEENTH MILESTONESIXTEENTH MILESTONESEVENTEENTH MILESTONEBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF HIS LAST MILESTONES-- FIRST MILESTONE SECOND MILESTONE THIRD MILESTONE LAST MILESTONE

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE, D. D. DAVID AND CATHERINE TALMAGE--PARENTS OF DR. T. DE WITT TALMAGEDR. TALMAGE IN HIS FIRST CHURCH, BELLEVILLE, NEW JERSEYDR. TALMAGE AS CHAPLAIN OF THE THIRTEENTH REGIMENT OF NEW YORKTHE THIRD BROOKLYN TABERNACLETHE FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, WASHINGTON, D. C. DR. AND MRS. T. DE WITT TALMAGEFACSIMILE OF PRESIDENT ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S LETTER

PREFACE

I write this story of my life, first of all for my children. How muchwould I now give for a full account of my father's life written by hisown hand! That which merely goes from lip to ear is apt to be soonforgotten. The generations move on so rapidly that events becomeconfused. I said to my son, "Do you remember that time in Philadelphia, during the war, when I received a telegram saying several hundredwounded soldiers would arrive next day, and we suddenly extemporised ahospital and all turned in to the help of the suffering soldiers?" Myson's reply was, "My memory of that occurrence is not very distinct, asit took place six years before I was born. " The fact is that we thinkour children know many things concerning which they know nothing at all. 

But, outside my own family, I am sure that there are many who would liketo read about what I have been doing, thinking, enjoying, and hoping allthese years; for through the publication of my entire Sermons, as hasagain and again been demonstrated, I have been brought into contact withthe minds of more people, and for a longer time, than most men. This Imean not in boast, but as a reason for thinking that this autobiographymay have some attention outside of my own circle, and I mention it alsoin gratitude to God, Who has for so long a time given me this unlimitedand almost miraculous opportunity. 

Each life is different from every other life. God never repeats Himself, and He never intended two men to be alike, or two women to be alike, ortwo children to be alike. This infinite variety of character andexperience makes the story of any life interesting, if that story beclearly and accurately told. 

I am now in the full play of my faculties, and without any apprehensionof early departure, not having had any portents, nor seen the moon overmy left shoulder, nor had a salt-cellar upset, nor seen a bat fly intothe window, nor heard a cricket chirp from the hearth, nor been one ofthirteen persons at a table. But my common sense, and the family record, and the almanac tell me it must be "towards evening. "

T. DE WITT TALMAGE

AS I KNEW HIM

FIRST MILESTONE

1832-1845

Our family Bible, in the record just between the Old and the NewTestaments, has this entry: "Thomas DeWitt, Born January 7, 1832. " I wasthe youngest of a family of twelve children, all of whom lived to growup except the first, and she was an invalid child. 

I was the child of old age. My nativity, I am told, was not heartilywelcomed, for the family was already within one of a dozen, and themeans of support were not superabundant. I arrived at Middlebrook, NewJersey, while my father kept the toll-gate, at which business the olderchildren helped him, but I was too small to be of service. I have nomemory of residence there, except the day of departure, and that onlyemphasised by the fact that we left an old cat which had purred her wayinto my affections, and separation from her was my first sorrow, so faras I can remember. 

In that home at Middlebrook, and in the few years after, I went throughthe entire curriculum of infantile ailments. The first of these wasscarlet fever, which so nearly consummated its fell work on me that Iwas given up by the doctors as doomed to die, and, according to customin those times in such a case, my grave clothes were completed, theneighbours gathering for that purpose. During those early years I tooksuch a large share of epidemics that I have never been sick since withanything worthy of being called illness. I never knew or heard of anyonewho has had such remarkable and unvarying health as I have had, and Imention it with gratitude to God, in whose "hand our breath is, and allour ways. "

The "grippe, " as it is called, touched me at Vienna when on my way fromthe Holy Land, but I felt it only half a day, and never again since. 

I often wonder what has become of our old cradle in which all of uschildren were rocked! We were a large family, and that old cradle wasgoing a good many years. I remember just how it looked. It wasold-fashioned and had no tapestry. Its two sides and canopy were ofplain wood, but there was a great deal of sound sleeping in that cradle, and many aches and pains were soothed in it. Most vividly I rememberthat the rockers, which came out from under the cradle, were on the topand side very smooth, so smooth that they actually glistened. But itwent right on and rocked for Phoebe the first, and for DeWitt the last. 

There were no lords or baronets or princes in our ancestral line. Nonewore stars, cockade, or crest. There was once a family coat-of-arms, butwe were none of us wise enough to tell its meaning. Do our best, wecannot find anything about our forerunners except that they behavedwell, came over from Wales or Holland a good while ago, and died whentheir time came. Some of them may have had fine equipages andpostilions, but the most of them were sure only of footmen. My fatherstarted in life belonging to the aristocracy of hard knuckles andhomespun, but had this high honour that no one could despise: he was theson of a father who loved God and kept His commandments. Two eyes, twohands, and two feet were the capital my father started with. 

Benignity, kindness, keen humour, broad common sense and industrycharacterised my mother. The Reverend Dr. Chambers was for many yearsher pastor. He had fifty years of pastorate service, in Somerville, N. J. , and the Collegiate Church, New York. He said, in an address at thededication of the Brooklyn Tabernacle, that my mother was the mostconsecrated Christian person he had ever known. My mother worked veryhard, and when we would come in and sit down at the table at noon, Iremember how she used to look. There were beads of perspiration alongthe line of her grey hair, and sometimes she would sit down at thetable, and put her head against her wrinkled hand and say, "Well, thefact is, I'm too tired to eat. "

My father was a religious, hard-working, honest man. Every day began andclosed with family worship, led by my father, or, in case of hisabsence, by Mother. That which was evidently uppermost in the minds ofmy parents, and that which was the most pervading principle in theirlives, was the Christian religion. The family Bible held a perfectfascination for me, not a page that was not discoloured either with timeor tears. My parents read out of it as long as I can remember. When mybrother Van Nest died in a foreign land, and the news came to ourcountry home, that night they read the eternal consolations out of theold book. When my brother David died that book comforted the old peoplein their trouble. My father in mid-life, fifteen years an invalid, outof that book read of the ravens that fed Elijah all through the hardstruggle for bread. When my mother died that book illumined the darkvalley. In the years that followed of loneliness, it comforted my fatherwith the thought of reunion, which took place afterward in Heaven. 

To the wonderful conversion of my grandfather and grandmother, in thosegrand old days of our declaration of independence, I trace the wholepurpose, trend, and energies of my life. I have told the story of theconversion of my grandfather and grandmother before. I repeat it here, for my children. 

My grandfather and grandmother went from Somerville to Baskenridge toattend revival meetings under the ministry of Dr. Finney. They were soimpressed with the meetings that when they came back to Somerville theywere seized upon by a great desire for the salvation of their children. That evening the children were going off for a gay party, and mygrandmother said to the children, "When you get all ready for theentertainment, come into my room; I have something very important totell you. " After they were all ready they came into my grandmother'sroom, and she said to them, "Go and have a good time, but while you aregone I want you to know I am praying for you and will do nothing butpray for you until you get back. " They did not enjoy the entertainmentmuch because they thought all the time of the fact that Mother waspraying for them. The evening passed. The next day my grandparents heardsobbing and crying in the daughter's room, and they went in and foundher praying for the salvation of God, and her daughter Phoebe said, "Iwish you would go to the barn and to the waggon-house for Jehiel andDavid (the brothers) are under powerful conviction of sin. " Mygrandparent went to the barn, and Jehiel, who afterward became a usefulminister of the Gospel, was imploring the mercy of Christ; and then, having first knelt with him and commended his soul to Christ, they wentto the waggon-house, and there was David crying for the salvation of hissoul--David, who afterward became my father. David could not keep thestory to himself, and he crossed the fields to a farmhouse and told oneto whom he had been affianced the story of his own salvation, and sheyielded her heart to God. The story of the converted household went allthrough the neighbourhood. In a few weeks two hundred souls stood up inthe plain meeting house at Somerville to profess faith in Christ, amongthem David and Catherine, afterward my parents. 

[Illustration: DAVID TALMAGE. CATHERINE TALMAGE. (_The Parents of Dr. T. DeWitt Talmage_)]

My mother, impressed with that, in after life, when she had a largefamily of children gathered around her, made a covenant with threeneighbours, three mothers. They would meet once a week to pray for thesalvation of their children until all their children wereconverted--this incident was not known until after my mother's death, the covenant then being revealed by one of the survivors. We used tosay: "Mother, where are you going?" and she would say, "I am just goingout a little while; going over to the neighbours. " They kept on in thatcovenant until all their families were brought into the kingdom of God, myself the last, and I trace that line of results back to that eveningwhen my grandmother commended our family to Christ, the tide ofinfluence going on until this hour, and it will never cease. 

My mother died in her seventy-sixth year. Through a long life ofvicissitude she lived harmlessly and usefully, and came to her end inpeace. We had often heard her, when leading family prayers in theabsence of my father, say, "O Lord, I ask not for my children wealth orhonour, but I do ask that they all may be the subjects of Thy convertinggrace. " Her eleven children brought into the kingdom of God, she had butone more wish, and that was that she might see her long-absentmissionary son, and when the ship from China anchored in New Yorkharbour, and the long-absent one passed over the threshold of hispaternal home, she said, "Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart inpeace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation. " The prayer was soonanswered. 

My father, as long as I can remember, was an elder in churches. Heconducted prayer-meetings in the country, when he was sometimes the onlyman to take part, giving out a hymn and leading the singing; thenreading the Scriptures and offering prayer; then giving out another hymnand leading in that; and then praying again; and so continuing themeeting for the usual length of time, and with no lack of interest. 

When the church choir would break down, everybody looked around to seeif he were not ready with "Woodstock, " "Mount Pisgah" or "Uxbridge. " Andwhen all his familiar tunes failed to express the joy of his soul, hewould take up his own pen, draw five long lines across the sheet, put inthe notes, and then to the tune he called "Bound Brook, " begin to sing:

 As when the weary traveller gains The height of some o'erlooking hill, His heart revives if 'cross the plains He eyes his home, though distant still;

 Thus, when the Christian pilgrim views, By faith, his mansion in the skies, The sight his fainting strength renews, And wings his speed to reach the prize. 

 'Tis there, he says, I am to dwell With Jesus in the realms of day; There I shall bid my cares farewell And He will wipe my tears away. 

He knew about all the cheerful tunes that were ever printed in old "NewBrunswick Collection, " and the "Shunway, " and the sweetest melodies thatThomas Hastings ever composed. He took the pitch of sacred song onSabbath morning, and kept it through all the week. 

My father was the only person whom I ever knew without any element offear. I do not believe he understood the sensation. 

Seated in a waggon one day during a runaway that every moment threatenedour demolition, he was perfectly calm. He turned around to me, a boy ofseven years, and said, "DeWitt, what are you crying about? I guess wecan ride as fast as they can run. "

There was one scene I remember, that showed his poise and courage asnothing else could. He was Sheriff of Somerset County, N. J. , and welived in the court house, attached to which was the County Jail. Duringmy father's absence one day a prisoner got playing the maniac, dashingthings to pieces, vociferating horribly, and flourishing a knife withwhich he had threatened to carve any one who came near the wicket of hisprison, Constables were called in to quell this real or dramatisedmaniac, but they fell back in terror from the door of the prison. Theirshow of firearms made no impression upon the demented wretch. Afterawhile my father returned and was told of the trouble, and indeed heheard it before he reached home. The whole family implored him not togo near the man who was cursing, and armed with a knife. But fathercould not be deterred. He did not stand outside the door and at a safedistance, but took the key and opened the door, and without any weaponof defence came upon the man, thundering at him, "Sit down and give methat knife!" The tragedy was ended. I never remember to have heard himmake a gloomy remark. This was not because he had no perception of thepollutions of society. I once said to my father, "Are people so muchworse now than they used to-be?" He made no answer for a minute, for theold people do not like to confess much to the boys. But after awhile hiseye twinkled and he said: "Well, DeWitt, the fact is that people werenever any better than they ought to be. "

Ours was an industrious home. I was brought up to regard laziness as anabominable disease. Though we were some years of age before we heard thetrill of a piano, we knew well all about the song of "TheSpinning-Wheel. "

Through how many thrilling scenes my father had passed! He stood, atMorristown, in the choir that chanted when George Washington was buried;talked with young men whose fathers he had held on his knee; watched theprogress of John Adams's administration; denounced, at the time, AaronBurr's infamy; heard the guns that celebrated the New Orleans victory;voted against Jackson, but lived long enough to wish we had another justlike him; remembered when the first steamer struck the North river withits wheel-buckets; was startled by the birth of telegraphy; saw theUnited States grow from a speck on the world's map till all nations diptheir flag at our passing merchantmen. He was born while theRevolutionary cannon were coming home from Yorktown, and lived to hearthe tramp of troops returning from the war of the great Rebellion. Helived to speak the names of eighty children, grand-children andgreat-grand-children. He died just three years from the day when mymother sped on. 

When my father lay dying the old country minister said to him, "Mr. Talmage, how do you feel now as you are about to pass the Jordan ofdeath?" He replied--and it was the last thing he ever said--"I feelwell; I feel very well; all is well"--lifting his hand in a benediction, a speechless benediction, which I pray God may go down through all thegenerations--"It is well!"

Four of his sons became ministers of the Gospel: Reverend James R. Talmage, D. D. , who was preaching before I was born, and who died in1879; Reverend John Van Nest Talmage, D. D. , who spent his life as amissionary in China, and died in the summer of 1892; Reverend GoynTalmage, D. D. , who after doing a great work for God, died in 1891. Butall my brothers and sisters were decidedly Christian, lived usefully anddied peacefully. 

I rejoice to remember that though my father lived in a plain house themost of his days, he died in a mansion provided by the filial piety ofhis son who had achieved a fortune. 

The house at Gateville, near Bound Brook, in which I was born, has gonedown. Not one stone has been left upon another. I one day picked up afragment of the chimney, or wall, and carried it home. But the home thatI associate with my childhood was about three miles from Somerville, N. J. The house, the waggon-shed, the barn, are now just as I rememberthem from childhood days. It was called "Uncle John's Place" from thefact that my mother's uncle, John Van Nest, owned it, and from him myfather rented it "on shares. " Here I rode the horse to brook. Here Ihunted for and captured Easter eggs. Here the natural world made itsdeepest impression on me. Here I learned some of the fatigues andhardships of the farmer's life--not as I felt them, but as my father andmother endured them. Here my brother Daniel brought home his bride. Fromhere I went to the country school. Here in the evening the family weregathered, mother knitting or sewing, father vehemently talking politicsor religion with some neighbour not right on the subject of the tariff, or baptism, and the rest of us reading or listening. All the group aregone except my sister Catherine and myself. 

My childhood, as I look back upon it, is to me a mystery. While I alwayspossessed a keen sense of the ludicrous, and a hearty appreciation offun of all sorts, there was a sedate side of my nature that demonstrateditself to the older members of the family, and of which they oftenspoke. For half days, or whole days, at a time I remember sitting on asmall footstool beside an ordinary chair on which lay open "Scott'sCommentaries on the Bible. " I not only read the Scriptures out of thisbook, but long discourses of Thomas Scott, and passages adjoining. Icould not have understood much of these profound and elaboratecommentaries. They were not written or printed for children, but theyhad for my childish mind a fascination that kept me from play, and fromthe ordinary occupations of persons of my years. 

So, also, it was with the religious literature of the old-fashionedkind, with which some of the tables of my father's house were piled. Indeed, when afterwards I was living at my brothers' house, he aclergyman, I read through and through and through the four or fivevolumes of Dwight's "Theology, " which must have been a wading-in farbeyond my depth. I think if I had not possessed an unusual resiliency oftemperament, the reading and thinking so much of things pertaining tothe soul and a future state would have made me morbid and unnatural. This tendency to read and think in sacred directions was not a case ofearly piety. I do not know what it was. I suppose in all natures thereare things inexplicable. How strange is the phenomenon of childhood daysto an old man!

How well I remember Sanderson's stage coach, running from New Brunswickto Easton, as he drove through Somerville, New Jersey, turning up to thepost-office and dropping the mail-bags with ten letters and two or threenewspapers! On the box Sanderson himself, six feet two inches, and wellproportioned, long lash-whip in one hand, the reins of six horses in theother, the "leaders" lathered along the lines of the traces, foamdripping from the bits! It was the event of the day when the stage came. It was our highest ambition to become a stage-driver. Some of the boysclimbed on the great leathern boot of the stage, and those of us whocould not get on shouted "Cut behind!" I saw the old stage-driver notlong ago, and I expressed to him my surprise that one around whose headI had seen a halo of glory in my boyhood time was only a man like therest of us. Between Sanderson's stage-coach and a Chicago express train, what a difference!

And I shall always marvel at our family doctor. Dear old Dr. Skillman!My father's doctor, my mother's doctor, in the village home! He carriedall the confidences of all the families for ten miles around. We allfelt better as soon as we saw him enter the house. His face pronounced abeatitude before he said a word. He welcomed all of us children intolife, and he closed the old people's eyes. 

THE SECOND MILESTONE

1845-1869

When moving out of a house I have always been in the habit, aftereverything was gone, of going into each room and bidding it a mutefarewell. There are the rooms named after the different members of thefamily. I suppose it is so in all households. It was so in mine; wenamed the rooms after the persons who occupied them. I moved from thehouse of my boyhood with a sort of mute affection for its remembrancesthat are most vivid in its hours of crisis and meditation. Through allthe years that have intervened there is no holier sanctuary to me thanthe memory of my mother's vacant chair. I remember it well. It made acreaking noise as it moved. It was just high enough to allow us childrento put our heads into her lap. That was the bank where we deposited allour hurts and worries. 

Some time ago, in an express train, I shot past that old homestead. Ilooked out of the window and tried to peer through the darkness. While Iwas doing so, one of my old schoolmates, whom I had not seen for manyyears, tapped me on the shoulder, and said: "DeWitt, I see you arelooking out at the scenes of your boyhood. "

"Oh, yes, " I replied, "I was looking out at the old place where mymother lived and died. "

I pass over the boyhood days and the country school. The first realbreath of life is in young manhood, when, with the strength of theunknown, he dares to choose a career. I first studied for the law, atthe New York University. 

New York in 1850 was a small place compared to the New York of to-day, but it had all the effervescence and glitter of the entire country eventhen. I shall never forget the excitement when on September 1st, 1850, Jenny Lind landed from the steamer "Atlantic. " Not merely because of herreputation as a singer, but because of her fame for generosity andkindness were the people aroused to welcome her. The first $10, 000 sheearned in America she devoted to charity, and in all the cities ofAmerica she poured forth her benefactions. Castle Garden was then thegreat concert hall of New York, and I shall never forget the night ofher first appearance. I was a college boy, and Jenny Lind was the firstgreat singer I ever heard. There were certain cadences in her voice thatoverwhelmed the audience with emotion. I remember a clergyman sittingnear me who was so overcome that he was obliged to leave the auditorium. The school of suffering and sorrow had done as much for her voice as theAcademy of Stockholm. 

The woman who had her in charge when a child used to lock her in a roomwhen she went off to the daily work. There by the hour Jenny would sitat the window, her only amusement singing, while she stroked her cat onher lap. But sitting there by the window her voice fell on a listener inthe street. The listener called a music master to stand by the samewindow, and he was fascinated and amazed, and took the child to thedirector of the Royal Opera, asking for her the advantages of musicaleducation, and the director roughly said: "What shall we do with thatugly thing? See what feet she has. And, then, her face; she will neverbe presentable. No, we can't take her. Away with her!" But God haddecreed for this child of nature a grand career, and all those sorrowswere woven into her faculty of song. She never could have been what shebecame, royally arrayed on the platforms of Berlin and Vienna and Parisand London and New York, had she not first been the poor girl in thegarret at Stockholm. She had been perfected through suffering. That shewas genuinely Christian I prove not more from her charities than fromthese words which she wrote in an album during her triumphal Americantour:

 In vain I seek for rest In all created good; It leaves me still unblest And makes me cry for God. And safe at rest I cannot be Until my heart finds rest in Thee. 

There never was anyone who could equal Jenny Lind in the warble. Somesaid it was like a lark, but she surpassed the lark. Oh, what a warble!I hear it yet. All who heard it thirty-five years ago are hearing ityet. 

I should probably have been a lawyer, except for the prayers of mymother and father that I should preach the Gospel. Later, I entered theNew Brunswick Theological Seminary. Why I ever thought of any other workin the world than that which I have done, is another mystery of myyouth. Everything in my heredity and in my heart indicated my career asa preacher. And yet, in the days of my infancy I was carried byChristian parents to the house of God, and consecrated in baptism to theFather, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost; but that did not save me. Inafter time I was taught to kneel at the Christian family altar withfather and mother and brothers and sisters. In after time I readDoddridge's "Rise and Progress, " and Baxter's "Call to the Unconverted, "and all the religious books around my father's household; but that didnot save me. But one day the voice of Christ came into my heart saying, "Repent, repent; believe, believe, " and I accepted the offer of mercy. 

It happened this way: Truman Osborne, one of the evangelists who wentthrough this country some years ago, had a wonderful art in the rightdirection. He came to my father's house one day, and while we were allseated in the room, he said: "Mr. Talmage, are all your childrenChristians?" Father said: "Yes, all but De Witt. " Then Truman Osbornelooked down into the fireplace, and began to tell a story of a stormthat came on the mountains, and all the sheep were in the fold; butthere was one lamb outside that perished in the storm. Had he looked mein the eye, I should have been angered when he told me that story; buthe looked into the fireplace, and it was so pathetically and beautifullydone that I never found any peace until I was inside the fold, where theother sheep are. 

When I was a lad a book came out entitled "Dow Junior's Patent Sermons";it made a great stir, a very wide laugh all over the country, that bookdid. It was a caricature of the Christian ministry and of the Word ofGod and of the Day of Judgment. Oh, we had a great laugh! The commentaryon the whole thing is that the author of that book died in poverty, shame, debauchery, kicked out of society. 

I have no doubt that derision kept many people out of the ark. Theworld laughed to see a man go in, and said, "Here is a man starting forthe ark. Why, there will be no deluge. If there is one, that miserableship will not weather it. Aha! going into the ark! Well, that is toogood to keep. Here, fellows, have you heard the news? This man is goinginto the ark. " Under this artillery of scorn the man's good resolutionperished. 

I was the youngest of a large family of children. My parents wereneither rich nor poor; four of the sons wanted collegiate education, andfour obtained it, but not without great home-struggle. The day I leftour country home to look after myself we rode across the country, and myfather was driving. He began to tell how good the Lord had been to him, in sickness and in health, and when times of hardship came howProvidence had always provided the means of livelihood for the largehousehold; and he wound up by saying, "De Witt, I have always found itsafe to trust the Lord. " I have felt the mighty impetus of that lessonin the farm waggon. It has been fulfilled in my own life and in thelives of many consecrated men and women I have known. 

In the minister's house where I prepared for college there worked a manby the name of Peter Croy. He could neither read nor write, but he was aman of God. Often theologians would stop in the house--gravetheologians--and at family prayer Peter Croy would be called upon tolead; and all those wise men sat around, wonder-struck at his religiousefficiency. 

In the church at Somerville, New Jersey, where I was afterwards pastor, John Vredenburgh preached for a great many years. He felt that hisministry was a failure, and others felt so, although he was a faithfulminister preaching the Gospel all the time. He died, and died amid somediscouragements, and went home to God; for no one ever doubted that JohnVredenburgh was a good Christian minister. A little while after hisdeath there came a great awakening in Somerville, and one Sabbath twohundred souls stood up at the Christian altar espousing the cause ofChrist, among them my own father and mother. And what was peculiar inregard to nearly all of those two hundred souls was that they datedtheir religious impressions from the ministry of John Vredenburgh. 

I had no more confidence in my own powers when I was studying for theministry than John Vredenburgh. I was often very discouraged. "DeWitt, "said a man to me as we were walking the fields at the time I was in thetheological school, "DeWitt, if you don't change your style of thoughtand expression, you will never get a call to any church in Christendomas long as you live. " "Well, " I replied, "if I cannot preach the Gospelin America, then I will go to heathen lands and preach it. " I thought Imight be useful on heathen ground, if I could ever learn the language ofthe Chinese, about which I had many forebodings. The foreign tonguebecame to me more and more an obstacle and a horror, until I resolved ifI could get an invitation to preach in the English language, I wouldaccept it. So one day, finding Rev. Dr. Van Vranken, one of ourtheological professors (blessed be his memory), sauntering in the campusof Rutgers College, I asked him, with much trepidation, if he would byletter introduce me to some officer of the Reformed Church atBelleville, N. J. , the pulpit of which was then vacant. With an outburstof heartiness he replied: "Come right into my house, and I will give youthe letter now. " It was a most generous introduction of me to Dr. Samuel Ward, a venerable elder of the Belleville church. I sent theletter to the elder, and within a week received an invitation to occupythe vacant pulpit. 

I had been skirmishing here and there as a preacher, now in the basementof churches at week-night religious meetings, and now in school-houseson Sunday afternoons, and here and there in pulpits with brave pastorswho dared risk having an inexperienced theological student preach totheir people. 

But the first sermon with any considerable responsibility resting uponit was the sermon preached as a candidate for a pastoral call in theReformed Church at Belleville, N. J. I was about to graduate from the NewBrunswick Theological Seminary, and wanted a Gospel field in which towork. I had already written to my brother John, a missionary at Amoy, China, telling him that I expected to come out there. 

I was met by Dr. Ward at Newark, New Jersey, and taken to his house. Sabbath morning came. With one of my two sermons, which made up myentire stock of pulpit resources, I tremblingly entered the pulpit ofthat brown stone village church, which stands in my memory as one of themost sacred places of all the earth, where I formed associations which Iexpect to resume in Heaven. 

The sermon was fully written, and was on the weird battle between theGideonites and Midianites, my text being in Judges vii. 20, 21: "Thethree companies blew the trumpets, and brake the pitchers, and held thelamps in their left hands, and the trumpets in their right hands to blowwithal; and they cried, The sword of the Lord, and of Gideon. And theystood every man in his place round about the camp; and all the host ran, and cried, and fled. " A brave text, but a very timid man to handle it. I did not feel at all that hour either like blowing Gideon's trumpet, orholding up the Gospel lamp; but if I had, like any of the Gideonites, held a pitcher, I think I would have dropped it and broken that lamp. Ifelt as the moment approached for delivering my sermon more like theMidianites, who, according to my text, "ran, and cried, and fled. " I hadplaced the manuscript of my sermon on the pulpit sofa beside where Isat. Looking around to put my hand on the manuscript, lo! it was gone. But where had it gone? My excitement knew no bound. Within three minutesof the greatest ordeal of my life, and the sermon on which so muchdepended mysteriously vanished! How much disquietude and catastrophewere crowded into those three minutes it would be impossible to depict. Then I noticed for the first time that between the upper and lower partsof the sofa there was an opening about the width of threefinger-breadths, and I immediately suspected that through that openingthe manuscript of my sermon had disappeared. But how could I recover it, and in so short a time? I bent over and reached under as far as I could. But the sofa was low, and I could not touch the lost discourse. Thecongregation were singing the last verse of the hymn, and I was reducedto a desperate effort. I got down on my hands and knees, and then downflat, and crawled under the sofa and clutched the prize. Fortunately, the pulpit front was wide, and hid the sprawling attitude I wascompelled to take. When I arose to preach a moment after, the fugitivemanuscript before me on the Bible, it is easy to understand why I feltmore like the Midianites than I did like Gideon. 

This and other mishaps with manuscripts helped me after a while tostrike for entire emancipation from such bondage, and for about aquarter of a century I have preached without notes--only a sketch of thesermon pinned in my Bible, and that sketch seldom referred to. 

When I entered the ministry I looked very pale for years, for four orfive years, many times I was asked if I had consumption; and, passingthrough the room, I would sometimes hear people sigh and say, "A-ah! notlong for this world!" I resolved in those times that I never, in anyconversation, would say anything depressing, and by the help of God Ihave kept the resolution. 

The day for my final examination for a licence to preach the Gospel forordination by the laying on of hands, and for installation as pastor forthe Reformed Church of Belleville, N. J. , had arrived. The examination asto my qualifications was to take place in the morning, and if the wayproved clear, the ordination and installation were to be solemnised inthe afternoon of the same day. The embarrassing thought was that membersof the congregation were to be present in the morning, as well as theafternoon. If I made a mistake or failure under the severe scrutiny ofthe Ecclesiastical Court, I would ever after be at a great disadvantagein preaching to those good people. 

It so happened, however, that the Classis, as the body of clergy werecalled, was made up mostly of genial, consecrated persons, and no honestyoung man would suffer anything at their hands. Although I wasexceedingly nervous, and did not do myself justice, and no doubtappeared to know less than I really did know, all went well until aclergyman, to whom I shall give the fictitious name of "Dr. Hardman, "took me in hand. This "Dr. Hardman" had a dislike for me. He had oncewanted me to do something for him and take his advice in matters of apastoral settlement, which I had, for good reasons, declined to take. Iwill not go further into the reasons of this man's antipathy, lestsomeone should know whom I mean. One thing was certain to all present, and that was his wish to defeat my installation as pastor of thatchurch, or make it to me a disagreeable experience. 

As soon as he opened upon me a fire of interrogations, what littlespirit I had in me dropped. In the agitation I could not answer thesimplest questions. But he assailed me with puzzlers. He wanted to know, among other things, if Christ's atonement availed for other worlds; towhich I replied that I did not know, as I had never studied theology inany world but this. He hooked me with the horns of a dilemma. A Turkishbath, with the thermometer up to 113, is cool compared to theperspiration into which he threw me. At this point Rev. James W. Scott, D. D. (that was his real name, and not fictitious) arose. Dr. Scott was aScotchman of about 65 years of age. He had been a classmate of theremarkable Scottish poet, Robert Pollock. The Doctor was pastor of achurch at Newark, N. J. He was the impersonation of kindness, andgenerosity, and helpfulness. The Gospel shone from every feature. Inever saw him under any circumstances without a smile on his face. Hehad been on the Mount of Transfiguration, and the glory had never lefthis countenance. 

I calculate the value of the soul by its capacity for happiness. Howmuch joy it can get in this world--out of friendships, out of books, outof clouds, out of the sea, out of flowers, out of ten thousand things!Yet all the joy it has here does not test its capacity. 

As Dr. Scott rose that day he said, "Mr. President, I think thisexamination has gone on long enough, and I move it be stopped, and thatthe examination be pronounced satisfactory, and that this young man belicensed to preach the Gospel, and that this afternoon we proceed to hisordination and installation. " The motion was put and carried, and I wasreleased from a Protestant purgatory. 

But the work was not yet done. By rule of that excellent denomination, of which I was then a member, the call of a church must be read andapproved before it can be lawfully accepted. The call from that dear oldchurch at Belleville was read, and in it I was provided with a month'ssummer vacation. Dr. Hardman rose, and said that he thought that a monthwas too long a vacation, and he proposed two weeks. Then Dr. Scott aroseand said, if any change were made he would have the vacation six weeks;"For, " said he, "that young man does not look very strong physically, and I believe he should have a good long rest every summer. " But thecall was left as it originally read, promising me a month ofrecuperation each year. 

At the close of that meeting of Classis, Dr. Scott came up to me, tookmy right hand in both his hands, and said, "I congratulate you on theopportunity that opens here. Do your best, and God will see you through;and if some Saturday night you find yourself short of a sermon, senddown to Newark, only three miles, and I will come up and preach foryou. " Can anyone imagine the difference of my appreciation of Dr. Hardman and Dr. Scott?

Only a few weeks passed on, and the crisis that Dr. Scott foresaw in myhistory occurred, and Saturday night saw me short of a sermon. So I senta messenger to Dr. Scott. He said to the messenger, "I am very tired;have been holding a long series of special services in my church, butthat young Talmage must be helped, and I will preach for him to-morrownight. " He arrived in time, and preached a glowing and rousing sermon onthe text, "Have ye received the Holy Ghost?" As I sat behind him in thepulpit and looked upon him I thought, "What a magnificent soul you are!Tired out with your own work, and yet come up here to help a young manto whom you are under no obligation!" Well, that was the last sermon heever preached. The very next Saturday he dropped dead in his house. Outside of his own family no one was more broken-hearted at hisobsequies than myself, to whom he had, until the meeting of Classis, been a total stranger. 

I stood at his funeral in the crowd beside a poor woman with a fadedshawl and worn-out hat, who was struggling up to get one look at thedear old face in the coffin. She was being crowded back. I said, "Followme, and you shall see him. " So I pushed the way up for her as well asmyself, and when we got up to the silent form she burst out crying, andsaid, "That is the last friend I had in the world. "

Dr. Hardman lived on. He lived to write a letter when I was called toSyracuse, N. Y. , a letter telling a prominent officer of the SyracuseChurch that I would never do at all for their pastor. He lived on untilI was called to Philadelphia, and wrote a letter to a prominent officerin the Philadelphia Church telling them not to call me. Years ago hewent to his rest. But the two men will always stand in my memory asopposites in character. The one taught me a lesson never to be forgottenabout how to treat a young man, and the other a lesson about how not totreat a young man. Dr. Scott and Dr. Hardman, the antipodes!

So my first settlement as pastor was in the village of Belleville, N. J. My salary was eight hundred dollars and a parsonage. The amount seemedenormous to me. I said to myself: "What! all this for one year?" I wasafraid of getting worldly under so much prosperity! I resolved to inviteall the congregation to my house in groups of twenty-five each. We [A]began, and as they were the best congregation in all the world, and wefelt nothing was too good for them, we piled all the luxuries on thetable. I never completed the undertaking. At the end of six months I wasin financial despair. I found that we not only had not the surplus ofluxuries, but we had a struggle to get the necessaries. 

 [A] _While at Belleville Dr. Talmage married Miss Mary Avery, of Brooklyn, N. Y. , by whom he had two children--a son, Thomas De Witt, and a daughter, Jessie. Mrs. Talmage was accidentally drowned in the Schuylkill River while Dr. Talmage was pastor of the Second Reformed Church of Philadelphia. _

Although the first call I ever had was to Piermont, N. Y. , my first realwork began in the Reformed Church of Belleville, N. J. I preached atPiermont in the morning, and at the Congregational meeting held in theafternoon of the same day it was resolved to invite me to become pastor. But for the very high hill on which the parsonage was situated I shouldprobably have accepted. I was delighted with the congregation, and withthe grand scenery of that region. 

I was ordained to the Gospel Ministry and installed as pastor July 29th, 1856, my brother Goyn preaching the sermon from the text, FirstCorinthians iii. 12, 13. Reverend Dr. Benjamin C. Taylor, the oldestminister present, offered the ordaining prayer, and about twenty handswere laid upon my head. All these facts are obtained from a memorandummade by a hand that long since forgot its cunning and kindness. Thethree years passed in Belleville were years of hard work. The hardestwork in a clergyman's lifetime is during the first three years. No otheroccupation or profession puts such strain upon one's nerves and brain. Two sermons and a lecture per week are an appalling demand to make upona young man. Most of the ministers never get over that first threeyears. They leave upon one's digestion or nervous system a mark thatnothing but death can remove. It is not only the amount of mentalproduct required of a young minister, but the draft upon his sympathiesand the novelty of all that he undertakes; his first sermon; his firstbaptism; his first communion season; his first pastoral visitation; hisfirst wedding; his first funeral. 

My first baptism was of Lily Webster, a black-eyed baby, who grew up tobe as beautiful a woman as she was a child. 

I baptised her. Rev. Dr. John Dowling, of the Baptist Church, New York, preached for me and my church his great sermon on, "I saw a greatmultitude which no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, andpeople, and tongues, clothed in white robes. " In my verdancy I fearedthat the Doctor, who did not believe in the baptism of infants, mighttake it for a personal affront that I had chosen that evening for thismy first baptism. 

[Illustration: DR. TALMAGE IN HIS FIRST CHURCH, BELLEVILLE, NEW JERSEY. ]

Sometimes at the baptism of children, while I have held up one hand inprayer, I have held up the other in amazement that the parents shouldhave weighted the babe with such a dissonant and repulsive nomenclature. I have not so much wondered that some children should cry out at theChristening font, as that others with such smiling faces should take atitle that will be the burden of their lifetime. It is no excusebecause they are Scriptural names to call a child Jehoiakim, or TiglathPileser. I baptised one by the name of Bathsheba. Why, under all thecircumambient heaven, any parent should want to give a child the name ofthat loose creature of Scripture times, I cannot imagine. I have oftenfelt at the baptismal altar when names were announced somewhat likesaying, as did the Rev. Dr. Richards, of Morristown, New Jersey, when achild was handed to him for baptism, and the names given, "Hadn't youbetter call it something else?"

On this occasion I had adopted the theory, which I long since abandoned, that an officiating clergyman at baptism should take the child in hisarms. Now, there are many ministers who do not know how to hold a baby, and they frighten the child and increase the anxiety of the mother, andmay create a riot all along the line if there be other infants waitingfor the ceremony. 

After reading the somewhat prolonged liturgy of the dear old ReformedChurch, I came down from the pulpit and took the child in my arms. Shewas, however, far more composed than myself, and made no resistance; butthe overpowering sensation attached to the first application of the holychrism is a vivid and everlasting memory. 

Then, the first pastoral visitation! With me it was at the house of aman suffering from dropsy in the leg. He unbandaged the limb andinsisted upon my looking at the fearful malady. I never could with anycomposure look at pain, and the last profession in all the world suitedto me would have been surgery. After praying with the man and offeringhim Scriptural condolence, I started for home. 

My wife met me with anxious countenance, and said, "How did you gethurt, and what is the matter?" The sight of the lame leg had made my leglame, and unconsciously I was limping on the way home. 

But I had quite another experience with a parishioner. He was a queerman, and in bad odour in the community. Some time previously his wifehad died, and although a man of plenty of means, in order to economiseon funeral expenses, he had wheeled his wife to the grave on awheelbarrow. This economy of his had not led the village to any higherappreciation of the man's character. Having been told of his inexpensiveeccentricities, I was ready for him when one morning he called at theparsonage. As he entered he began by saying: "I came in to say that Idon't like you. " "Well, " I said, "that is a strange coincidence, for Icannot bear the sight of you. I hear that you are the meanest man intown, and that your neighbours despise you. I hear that you wheeled yourwife on a wheelbarrow to the graveyard. " To say the least, ourconversation that day was unique and spirited, and it led to hisbecoming a most ardent friend and admirer. I have had multitudes offriends, but I have found in my own experience that God so arranged itthat the greatest opportunities of usefulness that have been openedbefore me were opened by enemies. And when, years ago, they conspiredagainst me, their assault opened all Christendom to me as a field inwhich to preach the Gospel. So you may harness your antagonists to yourbest interests and compel them to draw you on to better work. He allowedme to officiate at his second marriage, did this mine enemy. All thetown was awake that night. They had somehow heard that this economist atobsequies was to be remarried. Well, I was inside his house trying, under adverse circumstances, to make the twain one flesh. There wereoutside demonstrations most extraordinary, and all in consideration ofwhat the bridegroom had been to that community. Horns, trumpets, accordions, fiddles, fire-crackers, tin pans, howls, screeches, huzzas, halloos, missiles striking the front door, and bedlam let loose! Mattersgrew worse as the night advanced, until the town authorities read theRiot Act, and caused the only cannon belonging to the village to behauled out on the street and loaded, threatening death to the mob ifthey did not disperse. Glad am I to say that it was only a farce, and notragedy. My mode of first meeting this queer man was a case in which itis best to fight fire with fire. I remember also the first funeral. Itnearly killed me. A splendid young man skating on the Passaic River infront of my house had broken through the ice, and his body after manyhours had been grappled from the water and taken home to his distractedparents. To be the chief consoler in such a calamity was something forwhich I felt completely incompetent. When in the old but beautifulchurch the silent form of the young man whom we all loved rested beneaththe pulpit, it was a pull upon my emotions I shall never forget. On theway to the grave, in the same carriage with the eminent Reverend Dr. Fish, who helped in the services, I said, "This is awful. One morefuneral like this will be the end of us. " He replied, "You will learnafter awhile to be calm under such circumstances. You cannot consoleothers unless you preserve your own equipoise. "

Those years at Belleville were to me memorable. No vacation, but threetimes a day I took a row on the river. Those old families in mycongregation I can never forget--the Van Rensselaers, the Stevenses, the Wards. These families took us under their wing. At Mr. VanRensselaer's we dined every Monday. It had been the habit of mypredecessors in the pulpit. Grand old family! Their name not more asynonym for wealth than for piety. Mrs. Van Rensselaer was one of thesaints clear up in the heaven of one's appreciation. 

Wm. Stevens was an embodiment of generosity. He could not pray inpublic, or make a speech; but he could give money, and when he hadplenty of it he gave in large sums, and when monetary disaster came, hisgrief was that he had nothing to give. I saw him go right through allthe perturbations of business life. He was faithful to God. I saw himone day worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. I saw him the next dayand he was not worth a farthing. Stevens! How plainly he comes before meas I think of the night in 1857 after the New York banks had gone down, and he had lost everything except his faith in God, and he was at theprayer meeting to lead the singing as usual! And, not noticing that fromthe fatigues of that awful financial panic he had fallen asleep, I aroseand gave out the hymn, "My drowsy powers, why sleep ye so?" His wifewakened him, and he started the hymn at too high a pitch, and stopped, saying, "That is too high"; then started it at too low a pitch, andstopped, saying, "That is too low. " It is the only mistake I ever heardhim make. But the only wonder is that amid the circumstances of brokenfortunes he could sing at all. 

Dr. Samuel Ward! He was the angel of health for the neighbourhood. Before anyone else was up any morning, passing along his house you wouldsee him in his office reading. He presided at the first nativity in myhousehold. He it was that met me at the railroad station when I went topreach my first sermon as candidate, at Belleville. He medicated formany years nearly all the wounds for body and mind in that region. Anelder in the Church, he could administer to the soul as well as to theperishable nature of his patients. 

And the Duncans! Broad Scotch as they were in speech! I was so much withthem that I got unconsciously some of the Scottish brogue in my ownutterance. William, cautious and prudent; John, bold andventuresome--both so high in my affections! Among the first ones that Iask for in Heaven will be John and William Duncan. 

Gasherie De Witt! He embodied a large part of the enterprise andenthusiasm of the place. He had his head full of railroads long beforethe first spike was driven for an iron pathway to the village. We weremuch together and ardently attached; went fishing together on longsummer days, he catching the fish, and I watching the process. When wededicated the first Brooklyn Tabernacle, he was present, and gave themoney for building a baptistry in the pulpit, and gave besides $100 forhis wife and each one of his children. When we parted from each other atOxford, England, he to go to Geneva, Switzerland, to die, and I to comeback to America, much of sweet acquaintanceship and complete confidenceended for this world, only to be taken up under celestial auspices. 

But time and space would fail to tell of the noble men and women thatstood around me in those early years of my ministry. They are all gone, and their personality makes up a large part of my anticipation of theworld to come. 

THE THIRD MILESTONE

1856-1862

My first sermons were to me the most tremendous endeavours of my life, because I felt the awful responsibility of standing in a pulpit, knowingthat a great many people would be influenced by what I said concerningGod, or the soul, or the great future. 

When I first began to preach, I was very cautious lest I should bemisrepresented, and guarded the subject on all sides. I got beyond thatpoint. I found that I got on better when, without regard toconsequences, I threw myself upon the hearts and consciences of myhearers. 

In those early days of my pastoral experience I saw how men reasonthemselves into scepticism. I knew what it was to have a hundred nightspoured into one hour. 

I remember one infidel book in the possession of my student companion. He said, "DeWitt, would you like to read that book?" "Well, " said I, "Iwould like to look at it. " I read it a little while. I said to him, "Idare not read that book; you had better destroy it. I give you myadvice, you had better destroy it. I dare not read that book. I haveread enough of it. " "Oh, " he said, "haven't you a stronger mind thanthat? Can't you read a book you don't exactly believe, and not beaffected by it?" I said, "You had better destroy it. " He kept it. Heread it until he gave up the Bible; his belief in the existence of aGod, his good morals; until body, mind and soul were ruined--and he wentinto the insane asylum. I read too much of it. I read about fifteen ortwenty pages of it. I wish I had never read it. It never did me anygood; it did me harm. I have often struggled with what I read in thatbook. I rejected it, I denounced it, I cast it out with infinite scorn, I hated it; yet sometimes its caricature of good and its eulogium ofevil have troubled me. 

With supreme gratitude, therefore, I remember the wonderful impressionmade upon me, when I was a young man, of the presence of a consecratedhuman being in the pulpit. 

It was a Sabbath evening in spring at "The Trinity Methodist Church, "Jersey City. Rev. William P. Corbit, the pastor of that church, incompliment to my relatives, who attended upon his services, invited meto preach for him. I had only a few months before entered the Gospelministry, and had come in from my village settlement to occupy a placein the pulpit of the great Methodist orator. In much trepidation on mypart I entered the church with Mr. Corbit, and sat trembling in thecorner of the "sacred desk, " waiting for the moment to begin theservice. A crowded audience had assembled to hear the pastor of thatchurch preach, and the disappointment I was about to create added to myembarrassment. 

The service opened, and the time came to offer the prayer before sermon. I turned to Mr. Corbit and said, "I wish you would lead in prayer. " Hereplied, "No! sharpen your own knife!" The whole occasion was to mememorable for its agitations. But there began an acquaintanceship thatbecame more and more endearing and ardent as the years went by. After heceased, through the coming on of the infirmities of age, to occupy apulpit of his own, he frequented my church on the Sabbaths, and ourprayer-meetings during the week. He was the most powerful exhorter Iever heard. Whatever might be the intensity of interest in a revivalservice, he would in a ten minute address augment it. I never heard himdeliver a sermon except on two occasions, and those during my boyhood;but they made lasting impressions upon me. I do not remember the textsor the ideas, but they demonstrated the tremendous reality of spiritualand eternal things, and showed possibilities in religious address that Ihad never known or imagined. 

He was so unique in manners, in pulpit oratory, and in the entire typeof his nature, that no one will ever be able to describe what he was. Those who saw and heard him the last ten or fifteen years of hisdecadence can have no idea of his former power as a preacher of theGospel. 

There he is, as I first saw him! Eye like a hawk's. Hair long andstraight as a Chippewa Indian's. He was not straight as an arrow, forthat suggests something too fragile and short, but more like acolumn--not only straight, but tall and majestic, and capable of holdingany weight, and without fatigue or exertion. When he put his foot down, either literally of figuratively, it was down. Vacillation, or fear, orincertitude, or indecision, were strangers to whom he would never beintroduced. When he entered a room you were, to use a New Testamentphrase, "exceedingly filled with his company. "

He was as affectionate as a woman to those whom he liked, and cold asGreenland to those whose principles were an affront. He was not only amighty speaker, but a mighty listener. I do not know how any man couldspeak upon any important theme, standing in his presence, without beingset on fire by his alert sympathy. 

But he has vanished from mortal sight. What the resurrection will do forhim I cannot say. If those who have only ordinary stature andunimpressive physique in this world are at the last to have bodiesresplendent and of supernal potency, what will the unusual corporiety ofWilliam P. Corbit become? In his case the resurrection will have unusualmaterial to start with. If a sculptor can mould a handsome form out ofclay, what can he not put out of Parian marble? If the blast of thetrumpet which wakes the dead rouses life-long invalidism and emaciationinto athletic celestialism, what will be the transfiguration when thesound of final reanimation touches the ear of those sleeping giantsamong the trees and fountains of Greenwood?

Good-bye, great and good and splendid soul! Good-bye, till we meetagain! I will look around for you as soon as I come, if through thepardoning grace of Christ I am so happy as to reach the place of yourdestination. Meet me at the gate of the city; or under the tree of lifeon the bank of the river; or just inside of the door of the House ofMany Mansions; or in the hall of the Temple which has no need of stellaror lunar or solar illumination, "For the Lamb is the Light thereof. "

After three years of grace and happiness at Belleville I accepted a callto a church in Syracuse. My pastorate there, in the very midst of itsmost uplifting crisis, was interrupted, as I believe, by Divine orders. The ordeal of deciding anything important in my life has always been adesperate period of anxiety. I never have really decided for myself. Godhas told me what to do. The first great crisis of this sort came to mein Syracuse. While living there I received a pastoral call from theSecond Reformed Church of Philadelphia. Six weeks of agony followed. 

I was about 30 years of age. The thick shock of hair with which I hadbeen supplied, in those six weeks was thinned out to its presentscarcity. My church in Syracuse was made up of as delightful people asever came together; but I felt that the climate of Philadelphia would bebetter adapted to my health, and so I was very anxious to go. But arecent revival in my Syracuse Church, and a movement at that time onfoot for extensive repairs of our building, made the question of myleaving for another pastorate very doubtful. Six weeks of sleeplessnessfollowed. Every morning I combed out handfuls of hair as the result ofthe nervous agitation. Then I decided to stay, and never expected toleave those kind parishioners of Syracuse. 

A year afterward the call from Philadelphia was repeated, and all thecircumstances having changed, I went. But I learned, during those sixweeks of uncertainty about going from Syracuse to Philadelphia, a lessonI shall never forget, and a lesson that might be useful to others inlike crisis: namely, that it is one's duty to stay where you are untilGod makes it evident that you should move. 

In all my life I never had one streak of good luck. But I have had agood God watching and guiding me. 

While I was living in Syracuse I delivered my first lecture. It was aliterary lecture. My ideas of a literary lecture are very much changedfrom what they used to be. I used to think that a lecture ought to besomething very profound. I began with three or four lectures of thatkind in stock. My first lecture audience was in a patient community ofthe town of Hudson, N. Y. All my addresses previously had been literary. I had made speeches on literature and patriotism, and sometimes filledthe gaps when in lecture courses speakers announced failed to arrive. 

But the first paid lecture was at Hudson. The fifty dollars which Ireceived for it seemed immense. Indeed it was the extreme price paidanyone in those days. It was some years later in life that I got intothe lecturing field. It was always, however, subordinate to my chiefwork of preaching the Gospel. 

Syracuse in 1859 was the West. I felt there all the influences that arenow western. Now there is no West left. They have chased it into thePacific Ocean. 

In 1862 I accepted a call to the Second Reformed Church of Philadelphia. 

What remembrances come to me, looking backward to this period of ourterrific national carnalism! I shall never forget the first time I eversaw Abraham Lincoln. We followed into his room, at the White House, acommittee that had come to Washington to tell the President how toconduct the war. The saddest-looking man I ever saw was Abraham Lincoln. He had a far-away look while he stood listening to an address being madeto him by one of the committee, as though beyond and far and wide hecould see the battlefields and hospitals and conflagrations of nationalbereavement. One of our party asked for his autograph; he cheerfullygave it, asking, "Is that all I can do for you?" He was at that timethe most abused man in America. 

I remember the alarm in Philadelphia when General Lee's army invadedPennsylvania. Merchants sent their goods quietly to New York. Residentshid their valuables. A request for arms was made at the arsenals, andmilitary companies were organised. Preachers appealed to the men intheir congregations, organised companies, engaged a drill sergeant, andcarried on daily drills in the yards adjoining their churches. 

In the regiment I joined for a short time there were many clergymen. Itwas the most awkward squad of men ever got together. We drilled a weekor two, and then disbanded. Whether General Lee heard of the formationof our regiment or not I cannot say, but he immediately retreated acrossthe Potomac. 

There were in Philadelphia and its vicinity many camps of prisoners ofwar, hospitals for the sick and wounded. Waggon trains of supplies forthe soldiers were constantly passing through the streets. I wasprivileged to be of some service in the field to the ChristianCommission. With Dr. Brainerd and Samuel B. Falls I often performed someduty at the Cooper shop; while with George H. Stuart and George T. Merigens I invited other cities to make appeals for money to forward thegreat work of the Secretary and Christian Commissions. In our churcheswe were constantly busy getting up entertainments and fairs to helpthose rendered destitute by the loss of fathers and brothers in thefield. 

Just before the battle of Gettysburg a long procession of clergymen, headed by Dr. Brainerd, marched to Fairmount Park with spades over theirshoulders to throw up entrenchments. The victory of the Federal troopsat Vicksburg and Gettysburg rendered those earthworks unnecessary. 

A distinguished gentleman of the Civil War told me that Abraham Lincolnproposed to avoid our civil conflict by purchasing the slaves of theSouth and setting them free. He calculated what would be a reasonableprice for them, and when the number of millions of dollars that would berequired for such a purpose was announced the proposition was scouted, and the North would not have made the offer, and the South would nothave accepted it, if made. 

"But, " said my military friend, "the war went on, and just the number ofmillion dollars that Mr. Lincoln calculated would have been enough tomake a reasonable purchase of all the slaves were spent in war, besidesall the precious lives that were hurled away in 250 battles. "

There ought to be some other way for men to settle their controversieswithout wholesale butchering. 

It was due partly to the national gloom that overspread the peopleduring the Civil War that I took to the lecture platform actively. Ientered fully into the lecturing field when I went to Philadelphia, where DeWitt Moore, officer in my church and a most intimate friend, asked me to lecture for the benefit of a Ball Club to which he belonged. That lecture in a hall in Locust Street, Philadelphia, opened the wayfor more than I could do as lecturer. 

I have always made such engagements subordinate to my chief work ofpreaching the Gospel. Excepting two long journeys a year, causing eachan absence of two Sundays, I have taken no lecturing engagements, exceptone a week, generally Thursdays. Lecturing has saved my life andprolonged my work. It has taken me from an ever-ringing door-bell, andfreshened me for work, railroad travelling being to me a recuperation. 

I have lectured in nearly all the cities of the United States, Canada, England, Ireland and Scotland, and in most of them many times. Theprices paid me have seemed too large, but my arrangements have generallybeen made through bureaus, and almost invariably local committees havecleared money. The lecture platform seemed to me to offer greateropportunity for usefulness. Things that could not be said in the pulpit, but which ought to be said, may be said on the lyceum platform. Andthere was so much that had to be said then, to encourage, to cheer, tobrighten, to illumine the sorrow and bereavement. From the first Iregarded my lecture tours as an annex to my church. The lecture platformhas been to me a pastoral visitation. It has given me an opportunity ofmeeting hundreds of thousands of people to whom, through the press, Ihave for many years administered the Gospel. 

People have often asked me how much money I received for my lectures. The amounts have been a great surprise to me, often. 

For many years I have been paid from $400 to $1, 000 a lecture. Thelonger the journey the bigger the fee usually. The average remunerationwas about $500 a night. In Cleveland and in Cincinnati I received $750. In Chicago, $1, 000. Later I was offered $6, 000 for six lectures inChicago, to be delivered one a month, during the World's Fair, but Ideclined them. 

My expenses in many directions have been enormous, and without a largeincome for lectures I could not have done many things which I felt itimportant to do. I have always been under obligation to the press. Sometimes it has not intended to help me, but it has, being hard pressedfor news. 

During the Civil War, when news was sufficiently exciting for the mostambitious journalist, they used to come to my church for a copy of mySermons. News in those days was pretty accurate, but it sometimes wentwrong. 

On a Sabbath night, at the close of a preaching service in Philadelphia, a reporter of one of the prominent newspapers came into my studyadjoining the pulpit and asked of me a sketch of the sermon justdelivered, as he had been sent to take it, but had been unavoidablydetained. His mind did not seem to be very clear, but I dictated to himabout a column of my sermon. He had during the afternoon or evening beenattending a meeting of the Christian Commission for raising funds forthe hospitals, and ex-Governor Pollock had been making a speech. Thereporter had that speech of the ex-Governor of Pennsylvania in his hand, and had the sketch of my sermon in the same bundle of reportorial notes. He opened the door to depart and said, "Good evening, " and I responded, "Good evening. " The way out from my study to the street was through adark alley across which a pump handle projected to an unreasonableextent. "Look out for that pump handle, " I said, "or you may get hurt. "But the warning did not come soon enough. I heard the collision and thena hard fall, and a rustle of papers, and a scramble, and then some wordsof objurgation at the sudden overthrow. 

There was no portable light that I could take to his assistance. Besidethat, I was as much upset with cruel laughter as the reporter had beenby the pump handle. In this state of helplessness I shut the door. Butthe next morning newspaper proved how utter had been the discomfitureand demoralisation of my journalistic friend. He put my sermon under thename of ex-Governor Pollock at the meeting of the Christian Commission, and he made my discourse begin with the words, "When I was Governor ofPennsylvania. "

Never since John Gutenberg invented the art of printing was there such ariot of types or such mixing up of occasions. Philadelphia went into abrown study as to what it all meant, and the more the people read ofex-Governor Pollock's speech and of my sermon of the night before, themore they were stunned by the stroke of that pump handle. 

But it was soon forgotten--everything is. The memory of man is poor. Allthe talk about the country never forgetting those who fought for it isan untruth. It does forget. Picture how veterans of the war sometimeshad to turn the hand-organs on the streets of Philadelphia to get aliving for their families! How ruthlessly many of them have been turnedout of office that some bloat of a politician might take their place!The fact is, there is not a man or woman under thirty years of age, who, born before the war, has any full appreciation of the four yearsmartyrdom of 1861 to 1865, inclusive. I can scarcely remember, and yet Istill feel the pressure of domestic calamity that overshadowed thenation then. 

Since things have been hardened, as was the guardsman in the Crimean Warwho heartlessly wrote home to his mother: "I do not want to see any morecrying letters come to the Crimea from you. Those I have received I haveput into my rifle, after loading it, and have fired them at theRussians, because you appear to have a strong dislike of them. If youhad seen as many killed as I have you would not have as many weak ideasas you now have. "

After the War came a period of great national rejoicing. I shall neverforget, in the summer of 1869, a great national peace jubilee was heldin Boston, and DeWitt Moore, an elder of my church, had been honoured bythe selection of some of his music to be rendered on that occasion. Iaccompanied him to the jubilee. Forty thousand people sat and stood inthe great Colosseum erected for that purpose. Thousands of wind andstringed instruments; twelve thousand trained voices! The masterpiecesof all ages rendered, hour after hour, and day after day--Handel's"Judas Maccabæus, " Spohr's "Last Judgment, " Beethoven's "Mount ofOlives, " Haydn's "Creation, " Mendelssohn's "Elijah, " Meyerbeer's"Coronation March, " rolling on and up in surges that billowed againstthe heavens! The mighty cadences within were accompanied on the outsideby the ringing of the bells of the city, and cannon on the common, inexact time with the music, discharged by electricity, thundering theirawful bars of a harmony that astounded all nations. Sometimes I bowed myhead and wept. Sometimes I stood up in the enchantment, and sometimesthe effect was so overpowering I felt I could not endure it. 

When all the voices were in full chorus, and all the batons in fullwave, and all the orchestra in full triumph, and a hundred anvils undermighty hammers were in full clang, and all the towers of the city rolledin their majestic sweetness, and the whole building quaked with the boomof thirty cannon, Parepa Rosa, with a voice that will never again beequalled on earth until the archangelic voice proclaims that time shallbe no longer, rose above all other sounds in her rendering of ournational air, the "Star Spangled Banner. " It was too much for a mortal, and quite enough for an immortal, to hear: and while some fainted, onewomanly spirit, released under its power, sped away to be with God. Itwas a marvel of human emotion in patriotic frenzy. 

Immediately following the Civil War there was a great wave ofintemperance, and bribery swept over our land. The temptation tointemperance in public places grew more and more terrific. Of the menwho were prominent in political circles but few died respectably. Themajority among them died of delirium tremens. The doctor usually fixedup the case for the newspapers, and in his report to them it was usuallygout, or rheumatism, or obstruction of the liver, or exhaustion frompatriotic services--but we all knew it was whiskey. That which smote thevillain in the dark alley smote down the great orator and the greatlegislator. The one you wrapped in a rough cloth, and pushed into arough coffin, and carried out in a box waggon, and let him down into apauper's grave, without a prayer or a benediction. Around the othergathered the pomp of the land; and lordly men walked with uncoveredheads beside the hearse tossing with plumes on the way to a grave to beadorned with a white marble shaft, all four sides covered with eulogium. The one man was killed by logwood rum at two cents a glass, the other bya beverage three dollars a bottle. I write both their epitaphs. I writethe one epitaph with my lead pencil on the shingle over the pauper'sgrave; I write the other epitaph with a chisel, cutting on the whitemarble of the senator: "Slain by strong drink. " The time came whendissipation was no longer a hindrance to office in this country. Did wenot at one time have a Secretary of the United States carried home deaddrunk? Did we not have a Vice-President sworn in so intoxicated thewhole land hid its head in shame? Judges and jurors and attorneyssometimes tried important cases by day, and by night caroused togetherin iniquity. 

During the war whiskey had done its share in disgracing manhood. Whatwas it that defeated the armies sometimes in the late war? Drunkennessin the saddle! What mean those graves on the heights of Fredericksburg?As you go to Richmond you see them. Drunkenness in the saddle. In placeof the bloodshed of war, came the deformations of character, libertinism!

Again and again it was demonstrated that impurity walked under thechandeliers of the mansion, and dozed on damask upholstery. In Albany, in Harrisburg, in Trenton, in Washington, intemperance was rife inpublic places. 

The two political parties remained silent on the question. Hand in handwith intemperance went the crime of bribery by money--by profferedoffice. 

For many years after the war had been almost forgotten, in many of thelegislatures it was impossible to get a bill through unless it hadfinancial consideration. 

The question was asked softly, sometimes very softly, in regard to abill: "Is there any money in it?" And the lobbies of the Legislaturesand the National Capitol were crowded with railroad men andmanufacturers and contractors. The iniquity became so great thatsometimes reformers and philanthropists have been laughed out ofHarrisburg, and Albany, and Trenton, and Washington, because they cameempty-handed. "You vote for this bill, and I'll vote for that bill. ""You favour that monopoly of a moneyed institution, and I'll favour theother monopoly of another institution. " And here is a bill that is goingto be very hard to get through the Legislature, and some friends mettogether at a midnight banquet, and while intoxicated promised to votethe same way. Here are $5, 000 for prudent distribution in thisdirection, and here are $1, 000 for prudent distribution in thatdirection. Now, we are within four votes of having enough. $5, 000 tothat intelligent member from Westchester, and $2, 000 to that stupidmember from Ulster, and now we are within two votes of having it. Give$500 to this member, who will be sick and stay at home, and $300 to thismember, who will go to see his great-aunt languishing in her lastsickness. The day has come for the passing of the bill. The Speaker'sgavel strikes. "Senators, are you ready for the question? All in favourof voting away these thousands of millions of dollars will say, 'Ay. '""Ay! Ay! Ay! Ay!" "The Ays have it. " It was a merciful thing that allthis corruption went on under a republican form of government. Any otherstyle of government would have been consumed by it long ago. There wereenough national swindles enacted in this country after the war--yes, thirty years afterwards--to swamp three monarchies. 

The Democratic party filled its cup of iniquity as it went out of power, before the war. Then the Republican party came along and it filled itscup of iniquity a little sooner; and there they lie, the Democraticparty and the Republican party, side by side, great loathsome carcassesof iniquity, each one worse than the other. 

These are reminiscences of more than thirty years ago, and yet it seemsthat I have never ceased to fight the same sort of human temptations andfrailties to this very day. 

THE FOURTH MILESTONE

1862-1877

I spent seven of the most delightful years of my life in Philadelphia. What wonderful Gospel men were round me in the City of Brotherly Love atthis time--such men as Rev. Alfred Barnes, Rev. Dr. Boardman, Rev. Dr. Berg, Rev. Charles Wadsworth, and many others equally distinguished. Ishould probably never have left Philadelphia except that I was afraid Iwould get too lazy. Being naturally indolent I wanted to get somewherewhere I would be compelled to work. I have sometimes felt that I wasnaturally the laziest man ever born. I am afraid of indolence--as afraidof indolence as any reformed inebriate is afraid of the wine cup. Heknows if he shall take one glass he will be flung back into inebriety. Iam afraid, if I should take one long pull of nothing to do, I shouldstop forever. 

My church in Philadelphia was a large one, and it was crowded withlovely people. All that a congregation could do for a pastor's happinessthey were doing, and always had done. 

We ministers living in Philadelphia at this time may have felt the needfor combating indolence, for we had a ministerial ball club, and twice aweek the clergymen of all denominations went out to the suburbs of thecity and played baseball. We went back to our pulpits, spiritslightened, theology improved, and able to do better service for thecause of God than we could have done without that healthful shaking up. 

The reason so many ministers think everything is going to ruin isbecause their circulation is lethargic, or their lungs are in need ofinflection by outdoor exercise. I have often wished since that thissplendid idea among the ministers in Philadelphia could have beenemulated elsewhere. Every big city should have its ministerial ballclub. We want this glorious game rescued from the roughs and put intothe hands of those who will employ it in recuperation. 

My life in Philadelphia was so busy that I must have had very littletime for keeping any record or note-books. Most of my warmest andlife-long friendships were made in Philadelphia, however, and in theretrospect of the years since I left there I have sometimes wondered howI ever found courage to say good-bye. 

I was amazed and gratified one day at receiving a call from four of themost prominent churches at that time in America: Calvary Church ofChicago, the Union Church of Boston, the First Presbyterian Church ofSan Francisco, and the Central Church of Brooklyn. These invitations allcame simultaneously in February, 1869. The committees from these variouschurches called upon me at my house in Philadelphia. It was a period ofanxious uncertainty with me. One morning, I remember, a committee fromChicago was in one room, a committee from Brooklyn in another room of myhouse, and a committee from my Philadelphia church in another room. Mywife [B] passed from room to room entertaining them to keep the threecommittees from meeting. It would have been unpleasant for them to meet. 

 [B] _In 1863, Dr. Talmage married his second wife, Miss Susan C. Whittemore, of Greenport, N. Y. They had five children: May, Edith, Frank, Maud, and Daisy. _

At this point my Syracuse remembrance of perplexity returned, and Iresolved to stay in Philadelphia unless God made it very plain that Iwas to go and where I was to go. An engagement to speak that night inHarrisburg, Pennsylvania, took me to the depot. I got on the train, mymind full of the arguments of the three committees, and all abewilderment. I stretched myself out upon the seats for a sound sleep, saying, "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do? Make it plain to me when Iwake up. " When I awoke I was entering Harrisburg, and as plainly asthough the voice had been audible God said to me, "Go to Brooklyn. " Iwent, and never have doubted that I did right to go. It is always bestto stay where you are until God gives you marching orders, and then moveon. 

I succeeded the Rev. J. E. Rockwell in the Brooklyn Church, who resignedonly a month or so before I accepted the call. Mr. Charles CravatConverse, LL. D. , an elder of the Church, presented the call to me, beingappointed to do so by the Board of Trustees and the Session, after I hadbeen unanimously elected by the congregation at a special meeting forthat purpose held on February 16, 1869. The salary fixed was $7, 000, payable monthly. 

In looking over an old note-book I carried in that year I find, underdate of March 22, 1869, the word "installed" written in my ownhandwriting. It was written in pencil after the service of installationheld in the church that Monday evening. The event is recorded in theminutes of the regular meetings of the church as follows:

"Monday evening, March 22, the Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage having beenreceived as a member of the Presbytery of Nassau, was this eveninginstalled pastor of this church. The Rev. C. S. Pomeroy preached thesermon and proposed the constitutional questions. Rev. Mr. Oakleydelivered the charge to the pastor, and Rev. Henry Van Dyke, D. D. , delivered the charge to the people; and the services were closed withthe benediction by the pastor, and a cordial shaking of hands by thepeople with their new pastor. "

The old church stood on Schemerhorn Street, between Nevins and PowerStreets. It was a much smaller church community than the one I had leftin Philadelphia, but there was a glorious opportunity for work in it. Iremember hearing a minister of a small congregation complain to aminister of a large congregation about the sparseness of attendance athis church. "Oh, " said the one of large audience, "my son, you will findin the day of judgment that you had quite enough people for whom to beheld accountable. "

My church in Brooklyn prospered. In about three months from the date ofmy installation it was too small to hold the people who came there toworship. This came about, not through any special demonstration of myown superior gifts, but by the help of God and the persecution ofothers. 

During my pastorate in Brooklyn a certain group of preachers began toslander me and to say all manner of lies about me; I suppose becausethey were jealous of my success. These calumnies were published in everyimportant newspaper in the country. The result was that the New Yorkcorrespondents of the leading papers in the chief cities of the UnitedStates came to my church on Sundays, expecting I would make counterattacks, which would be good news. I never said a word in reply, withthe exception of a single paragraph. 

The correspondents were after news, and, failing to get the sensationalcharges, they took down the sermons and sent them to the newspaper. 

Many times have I been maligned and my work misrepresented; but all suchfalsehood and persecution have turned out for my advantage and enlargedmy work. 

Whoever did escape it?

I was one summer in the pulpit of John Wesley, in London--a pulpit wherehe stood one day and said: "I have been charged with all the crimes inthe calendar except one--that of drunkenness, " and his wife arose in theaudience and said: "You know you were drunk last night. "

I saw in a foreign journal a report of one of George Whitefield'ssermons--a sermon preached a hundred and twenty or thirty years ago. Itseemed that the reporter stood to take the sermon, and his chief ideawas to caricature it, and these are some of the reportorial interliningsof the sermon of George Whitefield. After calling him by a nicknameindicative of a physical defect in the eye, it goes on to say: "Here thepreacher clasps his chin on the pulpit cushion. Here he elevates hisvoice. Here he lowers his voice. Holds his arms extended. Bawls aloud. Stands trembling. Makes a frightful face. Turns up the whites of hiseyes. Clasps his hands behind him. Clasps his arms around him, and hugshimself. Roars aloud. Holloas. Jumps. Cries. Changes from crying. Holloas and jumps again. "

One would have thought that if any man ought to have been free frompersecution it was George Whitefield, bringing great masses of thepeople into the kingdom of God, wearing himself out for Christ's sake:and yet the learned Dr. Johnson called him a mountebank. Robert Hallpreached about the glories of heaven as no uninspired man ever preachedabout them, and it was said when he preached about heaven his face shonelike an angel's, and yet good Christian John Foster writes of RobertHall, saying: "Robert Hall is a mere actor, and when he talks aboutheaven the smile on his face is the reflection of his own vanity. " JohnWesley stirred all England with reform, and yet he was caricatured byall the small wits of his day. He was pictorialised, history says, onthe board fences of London, and everywhere he was the target for thepunsters; yet John Wesley stands to-day before all Christendom, his namemighty. I have preached a Gospel that is not only appropriate to thehome circle, but is appropriate to Wall Street, to Broadway, to FultonStreet, to Montague Street, to Atlantic Street, to every street--notonly a religion that is good for half past ten o'clock Sunday morning, but good for half past ten o'clock any morning. This was one of theconsiderations in my work as a preacher of the Gospel that extended itsusefulness. A practical religion is what we all need. In my previouswork at Belleville, N. J. , and in Syracuse, I had absorbed otherconsiderations of necessity in the business of uniting the humancharacter with the church character. 

Although the Central Presbyterian Church in Brooklyn of which I waspastor was one of the largest buildings in that city then, it did notrepresent my ideal of a church. 

I learned in my village pastorates that the Church ought to be a greathome circle of fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters. That would be avery strange home circle where the brothers and sisters did not knoweach other, and where the parents were characterised by frigidity andheartlessness. The Church must be a great family group--the pulpit thefireplace, the people all gathered around it. I think we sometimes cantell the people to stay out by our church architecture. People come inand find things angular and cold and stiff, and they go away never againto come; when the church ought to be a great home circle. 

I knew a minister of religion who had his fourth settlement. His firsttwo churches became extinct as a result of his ministry, the thirdchurch was hopelessly crippled, and the fourth was saved simply by thefact that he departed this life. On the other hand, I have seenpastorates which continued year after year, all the time strengthening, and I have heard of instances where the pastoral relation continuedtwenty years, thirty years, forty years, and all the time the confidenceand the love were on the increase. So it was with the pastorate of oldDr. Spencer, so it was with the pastorate of old Dr. Gardiner Spring, soit was with the pastorate of a great many of those old ministers ofJesus Christ, of whom the world was not worthy. 

I saw an opportunity to establish in Brooklyn just such a church as Ihad in my mind's eye--a Tabernacle, where all the people who wanted tohear the Gospel preached could come in and be comfortable. I projected, designed, and successfully established the Brooklyn Tabernacle within alittle over a year after preaching my first sermon in Brooklyn. Thechurch seated 3, 500 people, and yet we were compelled to use the oldchurch to take care of all our active Christian work besides. 

The first Brooklyn Tabernacle was, I believe, the most buoyantexpression of my work that I ever enjoyed. It drew upon all my energiesand resources, and as the sacred walls grew up towards the skies, Iprayed God that I might have the strength and spiritual energy to growwith it. 

Prayer always meets the emergency, no matter how difficult it may be. 

That was the substantial backing of the first BrooklynTabernacle--prayer. Prayer furnished the means as well as the faith thatwas behind them. I was merely the promoter, the agent, of a companyorganised in Heaven to perpetuate the Gospel of Christ. It wasconsidered a great thing to have done, and many were the reasonswhispered by the worldly and the envious and the orthodox, for itssuccess. Some said it was due to magnetism. 

As a cord or rope can bind bodies together, there may be an invisiblecord binding souls. A magnetic man throws it over others as a hunterthrows a lasso. Some men are surcharged with this influence, and haveemployed it for patriotism and Christianity and elevated purposes. 

It is always a surprise to a great majority of people how churches arebuilt, how money for which the world has so many other uses can beobtained to build churches. There are names of men and women whom I haveonly to mention and they suggest at once not only great wealth, butreligion, generosity, philanthropy, such as Amos Laurence, James Lennox, Peter Cooper, William E. Dodge, Miss Wolfe, Mrs. William Astor. A goodmoral character can be accompanied by affluent circumstances. 

In the '70's and '80's in Brooklyn and in New York there were merchantswho had prospered, but by Christian methods--merchants who took theirreligion into everyday life. I became accustomed, Sabbath after Sabbath, to stand before an audience of bargain-makers. Men in alloccupations--yet the vast majority of them, I am very well aware, wereengaged from Monday morning to Saturday night in the store. In many ofthe families of my congregations across the breakfast table and the teatable were discussed questions of loss and gain. "What is the value ofthis? What is the value of that?" They would not think of givingsomething of greater value for that which is of lesser value. They wouldnot think of selling that which cost ten dollars for five dollars. Ifthey had a property that was worth $15, 000, they would not sell it for$4, 000. All were intelligent in matters of bargain-making. 

But these were not the sort of men who made generous investments forGod's House. There was one that sort, however, among my earliestremembrances, Arthur Tappen. There were many differences of opinionabout his politics, but no one who ever knew Arthur Tappen, and knew himwell, doubted his being an earnest Christian. Arthur Tappen was deridedin his day because he established that system by which we come to findout the commercial standing of business men. He started that entiresystem, was derided for it then; I knew him well, in moral character A1. Monday mornings he invited to a room in the top of his storehouse in NewYork the clerks of his establishment. He would ask them about theirworldly interests and their spiritual interests, then giving out a hymnand leading in prayer he would give them a few words of good advice, asking them what church they attended on the Sabbath, what the text was, whether they had any especial troubles of their own. 

Arthur Tappen, I have never heard his eulogy pronounced. I pronounce itnow. There were other merchants just as good--William E. Dodge in theiron business, Moses H. Grinnell in the shipping business, Peter Cooperin the glue business, and scores of men just as good as they were. 

I began my work of enlarging and improving the Brooklyn Church almostthe week following my installation. My first vacation, a month, began onJune 25, 1869, the trustees of the church having signified and orderedrepairs, alterations and improvements at a meeting held that day, andfurther suspending Sabbath services for four weeks. I spent part of myvacation at East Hampton, L. I. , going from there for two or three shortlecturing trips. I find that I can never rest over two weeks. More thanthat wearies me. Of all the places I have ever known East Hampton is thebest place for quiet and recuperation. 

I became acquainted with it through my brother-in-law, Rev. S. L. Mershon. His first pastorate was at the Presbyterian Church in EastHampton, where, as a young man, I preached some of my first sermons. East Hampton is always home to me. When a boy in grammar-school andcollege I used to visit my brother-in-law and his wife, my sister Mary. Later in life I established a summer home there myself. I particularlyrecall one incident of this month's vacation that has affected my wholelife. One day while resting at Sharon Springs, New York, walking in thePark of that place, I found myself asking the question: "I wonder ifthere is any special mission for me to execute in this world? If thereis, may God show it to me!"

There soon came upon me a great desire to preach the Gospel through thesecular printing-press. I realised that the vast majority of people, even in Christian lands, never enter a church, and that it would be anopportunity of usefulness infinite if that door of publication wereopened. And so I recorded that prayer in a blank book, and offered theprayer day in and day out until the answer came, though in a waydifferent from that which I had expected, for it came through themisrepresentation and persecution of enemies; and I have to record itfor the encouragement of all ministers of the Gospel who aremisrepresented, that if the misrepresentation be virulent enough andbitter enough and continuous enough, there is nothing that so widensone's field of usefulness as hostile attack, if you are really doing theLord's work. The bigger the lie told about me the bigger the demand tosee and hear what I really was doing. From one stage of sermonicpublication to another the work has gone on, until week by week, and forabout twenty-three years, I have had the world for my audience as no manever had. The syndicates inform me that my sermons go now to abouttwenty-five millions of people in all lands. I mention this not in vainboast, but as a testimony to the fact that God answers prayer. Would GodI had better occupied the field and been more consecrated to the work!

The following summer, or rather early spring, I requested an extensionof my vacation time, in order to carry out a plan to visit the "OldWorld. " As the trustees of the church considered that the trip might beof value to the church as well as to myself, I was given "leave ofabsence from pastoral duties" for three months' duty from June 18, 1870. All that I could do had been done in the plans in constructing the newTabernacle. I could do nothing by staying at home. 

I have crossed the Atlantic so often that the recollections of thisfirst trip to Europe are, at this writing, merely general. I think themost terrific impression I received was my first sight of the ocean themorning after we sailed, the most instructive were the ruins of churchand abbey and palaces. I walked up and down the stairs of HolyroodPalace, once upon a time considered one of the wonders of the world, andI marvelled that so little was left of such a wonderful place. Ruinsshould be rebuilt. 

The most spiritual impression I received was from the music of churchorgans in the old world. 

I stopped one nightfall at Freyburg, Switzerland, to hear the organ ofworld-wide celebrity in that place. I went into the cathedral atnightfall. All the accessories were favourable. There was only one lightin all the cathedral, and that a faint taper on the altar. I looked upinto the venerable arches and saw the shadows of centuries; and when theorgan awoke the cathedral awoke, and all the arches seemed to lift andquiver as the music came under them. That instrument did not seem to bemade out of wood and metal, but out of human hearts, so wonderfully didit pulsate with every emotion; now laughing like a child, now sobbinglike a tempest. At one moment the music would die away until you couldhear the cricket chirp outside the wall, and then it would roll up untilit seemed as if the surge of the sea and the crash of an avalanche hadstruck the organ-pipes at the same moment. At one time that night itseemed as if a squadron of saddened spirits going up from earth had meta squadron of descending angels whose glory beat back the woe. 

In Edinburgh I met Dr. John Brown, author of the celebrated "Rab and hisFriends. " That one treatise gave him immortality and fame, and yet hewas taken at his own request to the insane asylum and died insane. 

"What are you writing now, Dr. Brown?" I said to him in his study inEdinburgh. 

"Oh, nothing, " he replied, "I never could write. I shall never tryagain. "

I saw on his face and heard in his voice that melancholy that so oftenunhorsed him. 

I went to Paris for the first time in this summer of 1870. It was duringthe Franco-German war. I stood studying the exquisite sculpturing of thegate of the Tuileries. Lost in admiration of the wonderful art of thatgate I knew not that I was exciting suspicion. Lowering my eyes to thecrowds of people I found myself being closely inspected by governmentofficials, who from my complexion judged me to be a German, and that forsome belligerent purpose I might be examining the gates of the palace. My explanations in very poor French did not satisfy them, and theyfollowed me long distances until I reached my hotel, and were notsatisfied until from my landlord they found that I was only aninoffensive American. Inoffensive Americans were quite as welcome inEurope in 1870 as they are now. I was not curious of the signs I foundanywhere about me of aristocratic grandeur, of the deference paid tolineage and ancient family name. I know in America some people look backon the family line, and they are proud to see that they are descendedfrom the Puritans or the Huguenots, and they rejoice in that as thoughtheir ancestors had accomplished a great thing to repudiate a Catholicaristocracy. 

I look back on my family line, and I see there such a mingling andmixture of the blood of all nationalities that I feel akin to all theworld. I returned from my first visit to Europe more thankful than everfor the mercy of having been born in America. The trip did meimmeasurable good. It strengthened my faith in the breadth andsimplicity of a broadminded religion. We must take care how we extendour invitation to the Church, that it be understandable to everyone. People don't want the scientific study of religion. 

On Sunday morning, September 25, 1870, the new Tabernacle erected onSchemerhorn Street was dedicated to the worship of Almighty God. It wasto my mind a common-sense church, as I had planned it to be. In many ofour churches we want more light, more room, more ventilation, morecomfort. Vast sums of money are expended on ecclesiastical structures, and men sit down in them, and you ask a man how he likes the church: hesays, "I like it very well, but I can't hear. " The voice of the preacherdashes against the pillars. Men sit down under the shadows of the Gothicarches and shiver, and feel they must be getting religion, or somethingelse, they feel so uncomfortable. 

We want more common sense in the rearing of churches. There is no excusefor lack of light when the heavens are full of it, no excuse for lack offresh air when the world swims in it. It ought to be an expression, notonly of our spiritual happiness, but of our physical comfort, when wesay: "How amiable are Thy tabernacles, O Lord God of Hosts! A day inThy courts is better than a thousand. "

My dedication sermon was from Luke xiv. 23, "And the Lord said unto theservants, go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to comein that my house may be filled. " The Rev. T. G. Butter, D. D. , offered thededicatory prayer. Other clergymen, whose names I do not recall, werepresent and assisted at the services. The congregation in attendance wasvery large, and at the close of the services a subscription andcollection were taken up amounting to $13, 000, towards defraying theexpenses and cost of the church. 

In less than a year later the congregation had grown so large and theattendance of strangers so pressing that the new church was enlargedagain, and on September 10, 1871, the Tabernacle was rededicated withimpressive services. The sermon was preached by my friend the Rev. Stephen H. Tyng, D. D. He was a great worker, and suffered, as many of usin the pulpit do, from insomnia. He was the consecrated champion ofeverything good, a constant sufferer from the lash of active work. Heoften told me that the only encouragement he had to think he would sleepat night was the fact that he had not slept the night before. Insomniamay be only a big word for those who do not understand its effect. Ithas stimulated intellectuality, and exhausted it. One of the greatestEnglish clergymen had a gas jet on each side of his bed, so that hemight read at nights when he could not sleep. Horace Greeley told me hehad not had a sound sleep in fifteen years. Charles Dickens understoodLondon by night better than any other writer, because not being able tosleep he spent that time in exploring the city. 

I preached at the evening service from the text in Luke xvi. 5: "Howmuch owest thou unto my Lord?" It was a wonderful day for us all. Enoughmoney was taken in by collections and subscriptions at the morning andevening services to pay the floating debt of the church. We receivedthat one day $21, 000. 

I quote the following resolution made at a meeting in my study the nextThursday evening of the Session, from the records of the Tabernacle:

"In regard to the payment of the floating debt of this church andcongregation, the Session adopted the following resolution, viz. :--

"In view of the manifest instance that God has heard the supplicationsof this people regarding the floating debt of the Church, and sodirected their hearts as to accomplish the object, it is thereforeresolved that we set apart next Wednesday evening as a special season ofreligious thanksgiving to God for his great goodness to us as a Church, in granting unto us this deliverance. "

I reverently and solemnly believe the new Tabernacle was built byprayer. 

My congregation with great munificence provided for all my wants, and soI can speak without any embarrassment on the subject while I denouncethe niggardliness of many of the churches of Jesus Christ, keeping somemen, who are very apostles for piety and consecration, in circumstanceswhere they are always apologetic, and have not that courage which theywould have could they stand in the presence of people whom they knewwere faithful in the discharge of their financial duties to theChristian Church. Alas, for those men of whom the world is not worthy!In the United States to-day the salary of ministers averages less thansix hundred dollars, and when you consider that some of the salaries arevery large, see to what straits many of God's noblest servants are thisday reduced! A live church will look after all its financial interestsand be as prompt in the meeting of those obligations as any bank in anycity. 

My church in Brooklyn prospered because it was a soul-saving church. Ithas always been the ambition of my own church that it should be asoul-saving church. Pardon for all sin! Comfort for all trouble! Eternallife for all the dead!

Moral conditions in the cities of New York and Brooklyn were deplorablybad during the first few years I went there to preach. There was anonslaught of bad literature and stage immorality. For instance, therewas a lady who came forth as an authoress under the assumed name ofGeorge Sand. She smoked cigars. She dressed like a man. She wrote instyle ardent and eloquent, mighty in its gloom, terrible in itsunchastity, vivid in its portraiture, damnable in its influence, puttingforth an evil which has never relaxed, but has hundreds of copyists. Yetso much worse were many French books that came to America than anythingGeorge Sand ever wrote, that if she were alive now she might be thoughtalmost a reformer. What an importation of unclean theatrical stuff wasbrought to our shores at that time! And yet professors of religionpatronised such things. I remember particularly the arrival of a foreignactress of base morals. She came intending to make a tour of the States, but the remaining decency of our cities rose up and cancelled hercontracts, and drove her back from the American stage, a woman fit forneither continent. I hope I was instrumental to some degree in herbanishment. We were crude in our morals then. I hope we are not merelycivilised in them to-day. I hope we understand how to live better thanwe did then. 

Scarcely a year after the final dedication of our Tabernacle in 1871 itwas completely burned, just before a morning Sabbath service inDecember, 1872. 

I remember that Sabbath morning. I was coming to the church, when I sawthe smoke against the sky. I was living in an outlying section of thecity. I had been absent for three weeks, and, as I saw that smoke, Isaid to my wife: "I should not wonder if that is the Tabernacle"; at thesame time, this was said in pleasantry and not in earnest. As we came onnearer where the church stood, I said quite seriously: "I shouldn'twonder if it is the Tabernacle. "

When I came within a few blocks, and I saw a good many people indistress running across the street, I said: "It is the Tabernacle"; andwhen we stood together in front of the burning house of God, it was anawfully sad time. We had stood together through all the crises ofsuffering, and we must needs build a church in the very hardest oftimes. 

To put up a structure in those days, and so large a structure and sofirm a structure as we needed, was a very great demand upon ourenergies. The fact that we had to make that struggle in the worstfinancial period was doubly hard. 

It was a merciful providence that none of the congregation was in thechurch at the time. It was an appalling situation. In spite of the bestefforts of the fire department, the building was in ruins in a fewhours. My congregation was in despair, but, in the face of trial, Godhas always given me all but superhuman strength. In a thousand ways Ihad been blessed; the Gospel I had preached could not stop then, Iknew, and while my people were completely discouraged I immediatelyplanned for a newer, larger, more complete Tabernacle. We needed moreroom for the increasing attendance, and I realised that opportunityagain was mine. 

We continued our services in the Academy of Music, in Brooklyn, whilethe new Tabernacle was being built. Not for a minute did I relax myenergies to keep up the work of a practical religion. There were 300, 000people in Brooklyn who had never heard the Gospel preached, an armyworthy of Christian interest. There was room for these 300, 000 people inthe churches of the city. 

There was plenty of room in heaven for them. 

An ingenious statistician, taking the statement made in Revelation xxi. That the heavenly Jerusalem was measured and found to be twelve thousandfurlongs, and that the length and height and breadth of it are equal, says that would make heaven in size nine hundred and forty-eightsextillion, nine hundred and eighty-eight quintillion cubic feet; andthen reserving a certain portion for the court of heaven and thestreets, and estimating that the world may last a hundred thousandyears, he ciphers out that there are over five trillion rooms, each roomseventeen feet long, sixteen feet wide, fifteen feet high. But I have nofaith in the accuracy of that calculation. He makes the rooms too small. From all I can read the rooms will be palatial, and those who have nothad enough room in this world will have plenty of room at the last. Thefact is that most people in this world are crowded, and though out on avast prairie or in a mountain district people may have more room thanthey want, in most cases it is house built close to house, and thestreets are crowded, and the cradle is crowded by other cradles, and thegraves crowded in the cemetery by other graves; and one of the richestluxuries of many people in getting out of this world will be the gainingof unhindered and uncramped room. And I should not wonder if, instead ofthe room that the statistician ciphered out as only seventeen feet bysixteen, it should be larger than any of the rooms at Berlin, St. James, or Winter Palace. 

So we built an exceedingly large church. The new Tabernacle seatedcomfortably 5, 000 people. It was open on February 22, 1874, for worship, and completed a few months later. 

THE FIFTH MILESTONE

1877-1879

Without boast it may be said that I was among those men who with eagerand persistent vigilance made the heart of Brooklyn feel the Christianpurpose of the pulpit, and the utility of religion in everyday life. Thefifteen years following the dedication of the new Tabernacle in 1872mark the most active milestone of my career as a preacher. 

A minister's recollections are confined to his interpretation of thelife about him; the men he knows, the events he sees, the good and thebad of his environment and his period become the loose leaves thatlitter his study table. 

I was in the prime of life, just forty years of age. From my privatenote-books and other sources I begin recollections of the mostsignificant years in Brooklyn, preceding the local elections in 1877. New York and Brooklyn were playmates then, seeming rivals, but bypredestined fate bound to grow closer together. I said then that we neednot wait for the three bridges which would certainly bind them together. The ferry-boat then touching either side was only the thump of one greatmunicipal heart. It was plain to me that this greater Metropolis, standing at the gate of this continent, would have to decide the moraland political destinies of the whole country. 

Prior to the November Elections in 1877, the only cheering phase ofpolitics in Brooklyn and New York was that there were no lower politicaldepths to reach. 

There was in New York at that time political infamy greater than theheight of Trinity Church steeple, more stupendous in finance than the$10, 000, 000 spent in building their new Court House. It was a fact thatthe most notorious gambler in the United States was to get thenomination for the high office of State Senator. Both Democrats andRepublicans struggled for his election--John Morrisey, hailed as areformer! On behalf of all the respectable homes of Brooklyn and NewYork I protested against his election. He had been indicted forburglary, indicted for assault and battery with intent to kill, indictedeighteen times for maintaining gambling places in different parts of thecountry. He almost made gambling respectable. Tweed trafficked incontracts, Morrisey in the bodies and souls of young men. The DistrictAttorney of New York advocated him, and prominent Democrats talkedthemselves hoarse for him. This nomination was a determined effort ofthe slums of New York to get representation in the State Government. Itwas argued that he had _reformed_. The police of New York knew better. 

In Brooklyn the highest local offices in 1877, those of the Collector, Police Commissioners, Fire Commission, Treasurer, and the City WorksCommissioners, were under the control of one Patrick Shannon, owner oftwo gin mills. Wearing the mask of reformers the most astute andvillainous politicians piloted themselves into power. They were allelected, and it was necessary. It was necessary that New York shouldelect the foremost gambler of the United States for State Senator, before the people of New York could realise the depths of degradation towhich the politics of that time could sink. If Tweed had stolen onlyhalf as much as he did, investigation and discovery and reform wouldhave been impossible. The re-election of Morrisey was necessary. He waselected not by the vote of his old partisans alone, but by Republicans. Hamilton Fish, General Grant's secretary, voted for him. Peter Cooper, the friend of education and the founder of a great institute, voted forhim. The brown-stone-fronts voted for him. The Fifth Avenue equipagevoted for him. Murray Hill voted for him. Meanwhile gambling was madehonourable. And so the law-breaker became the law-maker. 

Among a large and genteel community in Brooklyn there was a feeling thatthey were independent of politics. No one can be so. It was felt in thehome and in the business offices. It was an influence that poisoned allthe foundations of public and private virtue in Brooklyn and New York. The conditions of municipal immorality and wickedness were the worst atthis time that ever confronted the pulpits of the City of Churches, asBrooklyn was called. 

There was one bright spot in the dark horizon of life around me then, however, which I greeted with much pleasure and amusement. 

In the early part of November, 1877, President Hayes offered to ColonelRobert Ingersoll the appointment of Minister to Germany. The Presidentwas a Methodist, and perhaps he thought that was a grand solution ofIngersollism. It was a mirthful event of the hour--the joke of theadministration. Germany was the birthplace of what was then moderninfidelity, Colonel Ingersoll had been filling the land with belatedinfidelism. 

On the stage of the Academy of Music in Brooklyn he had attacked thememory of Tom Paine, assaulted the character of Rev. Dr. Prime, one ofmy neighbours, the Nestor of religious journalism, and on that samestage expressed his opinion that God was a great Ghost. This action ofPresident Hayes kept me smiling for a week--I appreciated the joke amongothers. 

During this month the American Stage suffered the loss of threecelebrities: Edwin Adams, George L. Fox, and E. L. Davenport. While theTheatre never interested me, and I never entered one, I cannot criticisethe dead. Four years before in the Tabernacle I preached a sermonagainst the Theatre. I saw there these men, sitting in pews in front ofme, and that was the only time. They were taking notes of my discourse, to which they made public replies on the stage of the Chestnut StreetTheatre, Philadelphia, and on other stages at the close of theirperformances. Whatever they may have said of me, I stood uncovered inthe presence of the dead, while the curtain of the great future went upon them. My sympathy was with the destitute households left behind. Public benefits relieved this. I would to God clergymen were as liberalto the families of deceased clergymen as play-actors to the families ofdead play-actors. What a toilsome life, the play-actor's! On the 25th ofMarch, 1833, Edmund Kean, sick and exhausted, trembled on to the Englishstage for the last time, when he acted in the character of Othello. Theaudience rose and cheered, and the waving of hats and handkerchiefs wasbewildering, and when he came to the expression, "Farewell! Othello'soccupation's gone!" his chin fell on his breast, and he turned to hisson and said: "O God, I am dying! speak to them Charles, " and theaudience in sympathy cried, "Take him off! take him off!" and he wascarried away to die. Poor Edmund Kean! When Schiller, the famouscomedian, was tormented with toothache, some one offered to draw thetooth. "No, " said he, "but on the 10th of June, when the house closes, you may draw the tooth, for then I shall have nothing to eat with it. "The impersonation of character is often the means of destroying health. Molière, the comedian, acted the sick man until it proved fatal to him. Madame Clarion accounts for her premature old age by the fact that shehad been obliged so often on the stage to enact the griefs anddistresses of others. Mr. Bond threw so much earnestness into thetragedy of "Zarah, " that he fainted and died. The life of the actor andactress is wearing and full of privation and annoyance, as is any lifethat depends upon the whims of the public for success. 

One of the events in Church matters, towards the close of this year, wasa pastoral letter of the Episcopal Bishops against Church fairs. So manychurches were holding fairs then, they were a recognised socialattribute of the Church family. This letter aroused the question as towhether it was right or wrong to have Church fairs, and the newspapersbecame very fretful about it. I defended the Church fairs, because Ifelt that if they were conducted on Christian principles they were themeans of an universal sociality and spiritual strength. So far as I hadbeen acquainted with them, they had made the Church purer, better. Somefairs may end in a fight; they are badly managed, perhaps. A Churchfair, officered by Christian women, held within Christian hours, conducted on Christian plans, I approved, the pastoral letter of theEpiscopal Bishops notwithstanding. 

Just when we were in the midst of this religious tempest of smallfinances, the will of Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt came up in thecourt for discussion. The whole world was anxious then to know if theVanderbilt will could be broken. After battling half a century withdiseases enough to kill ten men, Mr. Vanderbilt died, an octogenarian, leaving over $100, 000, 000--$95, 000, 000 to his eldest son--$5, 000, 000 tohis wife, and the remainder to his other children and relations, withhere and there a slight recognition of some humane or religiousinstitution. I said then that the will could not be broken, because$95, 000, 000 in this country seemed too mighty for $5, 000, 000. It was astrange will, and if Mr. Vanderbilt had been his own executor of it, without lawyers' interference, I believe it would have been different. It suggests a comparison with George Peabody, who executed thedistribution of his property without legal talent. Peabody gave $250, 000for a library in his own town in Massachusetts, and in his will left$10, 000 to the Baltimore Institute, $20, 000 to the poor of London, $10, 000 to Harvard, $150, 000 to Yale, $50, 000 to Salem, Massachusetts, and $3, 000, 000 to the education of the people of the South in thiscountry. No wonder he refused a baronetcy which the Queen of Englandoffered him, he was a king--the king of human benefaction. ThatVanderbilt will was the seven days wonder of its time. 

It made way only for the President's message issued the first week inDecember, 1877. It was, in fact, Mr. Hayes's repudiation of a dishonestmeasure prepared by members of Congress to pay off our national debt insilver instead of in gold as had been promised. 

The newspapers received the President's message with indifferentopinion. "It is disappointing, " said one. "As a piece of composition itis terse and well written, " said another. "The President used a goodmany big words to say very little, " said another. "President Hayes willsecure a respectful hearing by the ability and character of thisdocument, " said another. "Leaving out his bragging over his policy ofpacification and concerning things he claims to have done, the spaceremaining will be very small, " said another. 

But all who read the message carefully realised that in it the Presidentpromised the people to put an end to the dishonour of thieving politics. There was something in the air in Washington that seemed to afflict themen who went there with moral distemper. I was told that Coates Ames wasalmost a Christian in Massachusetts, while in Washington, from hishouse, was born that monster--The Credit Mobilier. Congressmen who intheir own homes would insist upon paying their private obligations, dollar for dollar, forgot this standard of business honour when theyadvocated a swindling policy for the Government of the United States. Inits day of trouble the Government was glad to promise gold to the peoplewho had confidence in them, and just as gladly the Government proposedto swindle them by a silver falsehood in 1877. But the Nation was justrecovering from a four years' drunk; Mr. Hayes undertook to steady us, during the aftereffects of our war-spree. Why should we neglect to payin full the price of our four years' unrighteousness? As a nation wehad so often been relieved from financial depression up to that time, but, we were just entering a period of unlicensed ethics, not merely inpublic life, but in all our private standards of morality. 

It seems to me, as I recall the character of Brooklyn life at this time, there never was a period in its history when it was so intolerablywicked. And yet, we had 276 churches. One night about Christmas time, in1877, Brooklyn Heights was startled by a pistol shot that set everyonein New York and Brooklyn to moralising. It was the Johnson tragedy. Ayoung husband shot his young wife, with intent to kill. She wasseriously wounded. He went to prison. There was a child, and for thesake of that child, who is now probably grown up, I will not relate thedetails. In all my experience of life I have heard many stories ofdomestic failure, but there are always two sides. Those who moralisedabout it said, "That's what comes of marrying too young!" Others, moralising too, said, "That's what comes of not controlling one'stemper. " Who does control his temper, always?

To my mind the chief lesson was in the fact that the young men ofBrooklyn had taken too much of a notion to carry firearms. There was apuppyism sprang up in Brooklyn that felt they couldn't live unless theywere armed. Young boys went about their daily occupations armed to theteeth, as if Fulton Street were an ambush for Indians. I mention this, because it was a singular phase of the social restlessness and tremor ofthe times. 

In commercial evolution there was the same indistinctness of standards. The case of Dr. Lambert--the Life Insurance fraud--had no sooner beendisposed of, and Lambert sent to Sing-Sing, than the sudden failure ofBonner & Co. , brokers in Wall Street, presented us with the problem ofbusiness "rehypothecation. "

In my opinion a man has as much right to fail in business as he has toget sick and die. In most cases it is more honourable to fail than to goon. Every insolvent is not necessarily a scoundrel. The greatest crimeis to fail rich. John Bonner & Co. , as brokers, had loaned money ondeposited collaterals, and then borrowed still larger sums on the samecollaterals. Their creditors were duped to the extent of from one tothree millions of dollars. It was the first crime of "rehypothecation. "It was not a Wall Street theft; it was a new use for an almost unknownword in Noah Webster's dictionary. It was a new word in the rogue'svocabulary. It was one of the first attempts made, in my knowledge, tosoften the aspect of crime by baptising it in that way. Crime in thiscountry will always be excused in proportion to how great it is. Buteven in the face of Wall Street tricksters there were signs that thedays were gone when the Jay Goulds and the Jim Fisks could hold thenation at their mercy. 

The comedy of life is sometimes quite as instructive as a tragedy. Therewas a flagrant disposition in America, in the late 'seventies, todisplay family affairs in the newspapers. It became an epidemic ofnotoriety. What a delicious literature it was! The private affairs ofthe household printed by the million copies. Chief among thesenovelettes of family life was the Hicks-Lord case. The world wasinformed one morning in February, 1878, that a Mr. Lord, a millionaire, had united his fortune with a Mrs. Hicks. The children of the formerwere offended at the second marriage of the latter, more especially soas the new reunion might change the direction of the property. Thefather was accused of being insane by his children, and incapable ofmanaging his own affairs. The Courts were invoked. One thing was madeplain to all the world, though, that Mr. Lord at eighty knew more thanhis children did at thirty or forty. The happy pair were compelled toremain in long seclusion because of murderous threats against them, thechildren having proposed a corpse instead of a bride. The absorbingquestion of weeks, "Where is Mr. Lord?" was answered. He was in thenewspapers--and the children? they were across the old man's knee, wherethey belonged. Mr. Lord was right. Mrs. Hicks was right. It was nobody'sbusiness but their own. Brooklyn and New York were exceeding busy-bodiesin the late 'seventies. It was a relief to turn one's back upon themoccasionally, in the pulpit, and search the furthest horizon of Europe. 

Scarcely had Victor Emmanuel been entombed when on Feb. 7th a tired oldman, eighty-four years of age, died in the Vatican, Pius IX. , a kind andforgiving man. His trust was not wholly in the crucifix, but somethingbeyond the crucifix; and yet, how small a man is when measured by thelength of his coffin! Events in Europe marshalled themselves into aformula of new problems at the beginning of 1878. The complete defeat ofTurkey by the Russians left England and the United States--allies in thegreat causes of civilisation and Christianity--aghast. It was the mostintense political movement in Europe of my lifetime. I was glad theTurkish Empire had perished, but I had no admiration then for Russia, once one of the world's greatest oppressors. 

My deepest sympathies at that time were with England. When England ishumiliated the Christian standards of the world are humiliated. Herthrone during Queen Victoria's reign was the purest throne in all theworld. Remember the girl Victoria, kneeling with her ecclesiasticaladviser in prayer the night before her coronation, making religiousvows, not one of which were broken. I urged then that all our Americanchurches throughout the land unite with the cathedrals and churches inEngland in shouting "God Save the Queen. " England held the balance ofthe world's power for Christianity in this crisis abroad. 

About this time, in February, 1878, Senator Pierce presented a Billbefore the Legislature in Albany for a new city charter for Brooklyn. Inits reform movement it meant that in three years at the most Brooklynand New York would be legally married. Instead of Brooklyn beingdepressed by New York, New York was to be elevated by Brooklyn. Alreadywe felt at that time, in the light of Senator Pierce's efforts, thatBrooklyn would become a reformed New York; it would be--New York withits cares set aside, New York with its arms folded at rest, New Yorkplaying with the children, New York at the tea table, New York gone toprayer-meeting. Nine-tenths of the Brooklynites then were spending theirdays in New York, and their nights in Brooklyn. In the year 1877, 80, 000, 000 of people crossed the Brooklyn ferries. Paris is France, London is England, why not New York the United States?

The new charter recommended by Senator Pierce urged other reforms in alocal government that was too costly by far. Under right administrationwho could tell what our beloved city is to be? Prospect Park, thegeographical centre, a beautiful picture set in a great frame ofarchitectural affluence. The boulevards reaching to the sea, theirsides lined the whole distance with luxurious homes and academies ofart. Our united city a hundred Brightons in one, and the inlandpopulations coming down here to summer and battle in the surf. The greatAmerican London built by a continent on which all the people are free;her vast populations redeemed; her churches thronged with worshipfulauditories! Before that time we may have fallen asleep amid the longgrass of the valleys, but our children will enjoy the brightness and thehonour of residence in the great Christian city of the continent and ofthe world. 

It was this era of optimism in the civic life of Brooklyn that helped todefeat the Lafayette Avenue railroad. 

It was a scheme of New York speculators to deface one of the finestavenues in Brooklyn. The most profitable business activity in thiscountry is to invest other people's money. It seemed to me that theLafayette railroad deal was only a sort of blackmailing institution tocompel the property holders to pay for the discontinuance of theenterprise, or the company would sell out to some other company; and asthe original company paid nothing all they get is clear gain; andwhether the railroad is built or not, the people for years, all alongthe beautiful route, would be kept in suspense. There was no more needof a car track along Lafayette avenue than there was need of one fromthe top of Trinity Church steeple to the moon! The greater facility oftravel, the greater prosperity! But I am opposed to all railroads, thedepot for which is an unprincipled speculator's pocket. 

It was only a few weeks later that I had to condemn a much greatermatter, a national event. 

On March 1, 1878, the Silver Bill was passed in Washington, notwithstanding the President's veto. The House passed it by a vote of196 against 73, and the Senate agreed with a vote of 46 against 10. Itwould be asking too much to expect anyone to believe that the 196 men inCongress were bought up. So far as I knew the men, they were as honeston one side of the vote as on the other. Senator Conkling, that giant ofintegrity, opposed it. Alexander H. Stephens voted for it. I talked withMr. Stephens about it, and he said to me at the time, "Unless the SilverBill pass, in the next six months there will not be two hundred businesshouses in New York able to stand. " Still, the Silver Bill seemed likethe first step towards repudiation of our national obligation, but Ibelieve that at least 190 out of those 196 men who voted for it wouldhave sacrificed their lives rather than repudiate our national debt. 

I had an opportunity to comprehend the political explosion of thepassage of this Bill all over the country, for it so happened I made alecturing trip through the South and South-west during the month ofMarch, 1878. 

There is one word that described the whole feeling in the South at thistime, and that was "hope. " The most cheerful city, I found, was NewOrleans. She was rejoicing in the release from years of unrighteousgovernment. Just how the State of Louisiana had been badgered, and herevery idea of self-government insulted, can be appreciated only by thosewho come face to face with the facts. While some of the best patriots ofthe North went down with the right motives to mingle in thereconstruction of the State governments of the South, many of thesepilgrimists were the cast-off and thieving politicians of the North, who, after being stoned out of Northern waters, crawled up on the beachat the South to sun themselves. The Southern States had enough dishonestmen of their own without any importation. The day of trouble passed. Louisiana and South Carolina for the most part are free. GovernorNichols of the one, and Governor Wade Hampton of the other, had theconfidence of the great masses of the people. 

It was my opinion then that the largest fortunes were yet to be made inthe South, because there was more room to make them there. During my twoweeks in the South, at that time, mingling with all classes of people, Inever heard an unkind word against the North, and that only a littleover ten years since the close of the war. Congressional politicianswere still enlarging upon the belligerency of the South, but they hadpersonal designs at President making. There was no more use for Federalmilitary in New Orleans than there was need of them in Brooklyn. I wasthe guest in New Orleans of the Hon. E. J. Ellis, many years in Congress, and I had a taste of real Southern hospitality. It was everywhere. Thespirit of fraternity was in the South long before it reached the North. Up to this time I had echoed Horace Greeley's advice, "Go West. " Foryears afterwards I changed it. In my advice to young men I said to all, "Go South. "

In the spring of 1878, however, things in Brooklyn began to look morepromising for young men and young women. I remember after closelyexamining Mayor Howell's report and the Police Commissioner's report Iwas much pleased. Mayor Howell was one of the most courteous and genialmen I ever knew, and Superintendent Campbell was a good police officer. These two men, by their individual interest in Brooklyn reforms, hadgained the confidence of our tax-payers and our philanthropists. Thepolice force was too small for a city of 5, 000, 000 people. The taxeswere not big enough to afford an adequate equipment. There was aconstant depreciation of our police and excise officials in thechurches. City officials should not be caricatured--they should berespected, or dismissed. It was about this time a mounted policedepartment was started in Brooklyn, and though small it was needed. Whatthe miscreant community of Brooklyn most needed at this time was notsermons or lessons in the common schools, but a police club--and theygot it. 

There was a political avarice in Brooklyn in the management of ourpublic taxes which handicapped the local government. For a long while Ihad been thinking about some way of presenting this sin to my people, when one day a woman, Barbara Allen by name, dropping in fatal illness, was picked up at the Fulton Ferry House, and died in the ambulance. Onher arm was a basket of cold victuals she had lugged from house tohouse. In the rags of her clothing were found deposit slips in thesavings banks of Brooklyn--for $20, 000. The case was unique at thattime, because in those days great wealth was unknown, even in New York, and the houses in Brooklyn were homes--not museums. Twenty thousanddollars was a fortune. It was a precedent that established miserlinessas an actual sin, a dissipation just as deadly as that of thespendthrift. It was a tragic scene from the drama of life, and itssurprise was avarice. The whole country read about Barbara Allen, andwondered what new strange disease this was that could scourge a humansoul with a madness for accumulating money without spending it. Thepeople of the United States suffered from quite a different idea ofmoney. They were just beginning to feel the great American fever forspending more of it than they could get. This was a serious phase ofsocial conditions then, and I remember how keenly I felt the menace ofit at the time. Those who couldn't get enough to spend became envious, jealous, hateful of those who could and these envious ones were theAmerican masses. 

In the spring of 1878, in May, there was a tiger sprang out of thisjungle of discontent, and, crouching, threatened to spring upon AmericanSociety. 

It was--Communism. Its theory was that what could not be obtainedlawfully, under the pressure of circumstances, you could take anyhow. Communism meant no individual rights in property. If wages were notadequate to the luxurious appetite, then the wage-earner claimed theright to knock his employer down and take what he wanted. "Bread orblood" was the motto. It all came from across the Atlantic, and itspread rapidly. In Brooklyn, New York, Chicago, St. Louis, it wasevident that Communism was organising, that its executive desperadoesmet in rooms, formed lodges, invented grips and pass-words. 

In the eighth ward of New York an organisation was unearthed at thistime, consisting of 800 men, all armed with muskets and revolvers. Theseorganisations described themselves as working-men's parties, and sotried to ally themselves with the interests of trade unions. 

Twenty American newspapers advocated this shocking creed. Tens ofthousands adopted this theory. I said then, in response to the opinionthat Communism was impossible in this country, that there were just asmany cut-throats along the East River and the Hudson as there werealong the Seine or the Thames. There was only one thing that preventedrevolution in our cities in this memorable spring of 1878, and that wasthe police and the military guard. 

Through dissatisfaction about wages, or from any cause, men have a rightto stop work, and to stop in bands and bodies until their labour shallbe appreciated; but when by violence, as in the summer of 1877, theycompel others to stop, or hinder substitutes from taking the places, then the act is Communistic, and ought to be riven of the lightnings ofpublic condemnation. What was the matter in Pittsburg that summer? Whatfired the long line of cars that made night hideous? What lifted thewild howl in Chicago? Why, coming toward that city, were we obliged todismount from the cars and take carriages through the back streets? Why, when one night the Michigan Central train left Chicago, were there butthree passengers on board a train of eight cars? What forced three railtrains from the tracks and shot down engineers with their hands on thevalves? Communism. For hundreds of miles along the track leading fromthe great West I saw stretched out and coiled up the great reptilewhich, after crushing the free locomotive of passengers and trade, wouldhave twisted itself around our republican institutions, and left them instrangulation and blood along the pathway of nations. The governors ofStates and the President of the United States did well in planting theloaded cannon at the head of streets blocked up by desperadoes. I feltthe inspiration of giving warning, and I did. 

But the summer came, August came, and after a lecture tour through thefar West I was amazed and delighted to find there a tremendous harvestin the grain fields. I had seen immense crops there about to start ontheir way to the Eastern sea-boundary of our continent. I saw then thatour prosperity as a nation would depend upon our agriculture. It didn'tmake any difference what the Greenback party, or the Republican andDemocratic parties, or the Communists were croaking about; the immenseharvests of the West indicated that nothing was the matter. What weneeded in the fall of 1878 was some cheerful talk. 

During this summer two of the world's celebrities died: Charles Mathews, the famous comedian, and the great American poet, William Cullen Bryant. Charles Mathews was an illustrious actor. He was born to make the worldlaugh, but he had a sad life of struggle. 

While Charles Mathews was performing in London before immense audiences, one day a worn-out and gloomy man came into a doctor's shop, saying, "Doctor, what can you do for me?" The doctor examined his case and said, "My advice is that you go and see Charles Mathews. " "Alas! Alas!" saidthe man, "I myself am Charles Mathews. "

In the loss of William Cullen Bryant I felt it as a personal bereavementof a close friend. Nowhere have I seen the following incident of hislife recorded, an incident which I still remember as one of the greatevents in my life. 

In the days of my boyhood I attended a meeting at Tripler Hall, held asa memorial of Fenimore Cooper, who at that time had just died. Washington Irving stepped out on the speaker's platform first, trembling, and in evident misery. After stammering and blushing andbowing, he completely broke down in his effort to make a speech, andbriefly introduced the presiding officer of the meeting, DanielWebster. Rising like a huge mountain from a plain this great oratorintroduced another orator--the orator of the day--William Cullen Bryant. In that memorable oration, lasting an hour and a half, the speaker toldlovingly the story of the life and death of the author of "LeatherStocking" and "The Last of the Mohicans. "

George W. Bethune followed him, thundering out in that marvellous flowof ideas, with an eloquence that made him the pulpit orator of hisgeneration in the South. Bryant's hair was then just touched with grey. The last time I saw him was in my house on Oxford Street, two years ago, in a company of literary people. I said: "Mr. Bryant, will you read forus 'Thanatopsis'?" He blushed like a girl, and put his hands over hisface and said: "I would rather read anything than my own production; butif it will give you pleasure I will do anything you say. " Then at 82years of age, and without spectacles, he stood up and with most pathetictenderness read the famous poem of his boyhood days, and from a score oflips burst forth the exclamation, "What a wonderful old man!" What madeall the land and all the world feel so badly when William Cullen Bryantwas laid down at Roslyn? Because he was a great poet who had died? No;there have been greater poets. Because he was so able an editor? No;there have been abler editors. Because he was so very old? No; some haveattained more years. It was because a spotless and noble characterirradiated all he wrote and said and did. 

These great men of America, how much they were to me, in their exampleof doing and living!

Probably there are many still living who remember what a disorderlyplace Brooklyn once was. Gangs of loafers hung around our streetcorners, insulting and threatening men and women. Carriages were held upin the streets, the occupants robbed, and the vehicles stolen. Kidnapping was known. Behind all this outrage of civil rights waspolitical outrage. The politicians were afraid to offend the criminals, because they might need their votes in future elections. They wereimmune, because they were useful material in case of a new governor orPresident. It was a reign of terror that spread also in other largecities. The farmers of Ohio and Pennsylvania were threatened if they didnot stop buying labour-saving machinery. They were not the threats ofthe working-man, but of the lazy, criminal loafers of the country. It isworth mentioning, because it was a convulsion of an American period, anational growing pain, which I then saw and talked about. The nation wasunder the cloud of political ambition and office-seeking that unsettledbusiness conditions. Every one was occupied in President-making, although we were two years from the Presidential election. There wasplenty of money, but people held on to it. 

The yellow fever scourge came down upon the South during the late summerof 1878, and softened the hearts of some. There was some moneycontributed from the North, but not as much as there ought to have been. In the Brooklyn Tabernacle we did the best we could; New York city hadbeen ravaged by yellow fever in 1832, the year I was born, but thememory of that horror was not keen enough to influence the collectionplate. What with this suffering of our neighbours in the South, and thetroubles of political jealousies local and national, there were caresenough for our church to consider. Still, the summer of 1878 was almostthrough, and many predictions of disaster had failed. We had beenthreatened with general riots. It was predicted that on June 27 all thecars and railroad stations would be burned, because of a general strikeorder. We were threatened with a fruit famine. It was said that theMaryland and New Jersey peach crop was a failure. I never saw or ate somany peaches any summer before. 

Then there was the Patten investigation committee, determined to sendMr. Tilden down to Washington to drive the President out of the WhiteHouse. None of these things happened, yet it is interesting to recallthis phase of American nerves in 1878. 

There was one event that aroused my disgust, however, much more than thecroakers had done--Ben Butler was nominated for Governor ofMassachusetts. That was when politics touched bottom. There was no lowerdepths of infamy for them to reach. Ben Butler was the chief demagogueof the land. The Republican party was to be congratulated that it gotrid of him. His election was a cross put upon the State of Massachusettsfor something it had done we knew not of. Fortunately there were menlike Roscoe Conkling in politics to counterbalance other kinds. 

Backed up by unscrupulous politicians, the equally irresponsiblerailroad promoter began his invasion of city streets with his noisyscheme. I opposed him, but the problem of transportation then was not asit is now. Just as the year 1879 had begun, a gigantic politicalpromoting scheme for an elevated railroad in Brooklyn was attempted. From Boston came the promoters with a proposition to build the road, without paying a cent of indemnity to property holders. I suggestedthat an appeal be made to Brooklynites to subscribe to a company for theagricultural improvements of Boston Common. It was a parallel absurdity. Mayor Howell, of Brooklyn, courageously opposed an elevated roadfranchise, unless property holders were paid according to the damage tothe property. This was one of many inspired grafts of politicalBrooklyn, years ago. 

A great event in the world was the announcement in November, 1878, thatProfessor Thomas Edison had applied for a patent for the discovery ofthe incandescent electric light. He harnessed the flame of a thunderboltto fit in a candlestick. I hope he made millions of dollars out of it. In direct contradiction to this progress in daily life there came, atthe same time, from the Philadelphia clergy a protest against printingtheir sermons in the secular press. It was an injustice to them, theydeclared, because the sermons were not always fully reported. I did notshare these opinions. If a minister's gospel is not fit for fiftythousand people, then it is not fit for the few hundred members of hiscongregation. My own sermons were being published in the secular pressthen, as they had been when I was in Philadelphia. 

Almost at the close of the year 1878 the loss of the S. S. "Pomerania, "in collision in the English Channel, was a disaster of the sea that Idenounced as nothing short of murder. It was shown at the trial thatthere was no fog at the time, that the two vessels saw each other forten minutes before the collision. If such gross negligence as this waspossible, I advised those people who bought a ticket for Europe on theWhite Star, the Cunard, the Hamburg, or other steamship lines, to secureat the same time a ticket for Heaven. What a difference in the oceanferry-boat of to-day!

Scarcely had the submarine telegraph closed this chapter of sea horrorthan it clicked the information that the beautiful Princess Alice haddied in Germany. Only a few days later, in America, we were in mood ofmourning for Bayard Taylor, our Minister Plenipotentiary to Germany. Inthe death of Princess Alice we felt chiefly a sympathy for QueenVictoria, who had not then, and never did, overcome her grief at theloss of Prince Albert. In the decease of Bayard Taylor we rememberedwith pride that he was a self-made gentleman of a school for which thereis no known system of education. Regarded as a dreamy, unpractical boy, nothing much was ever expected of him. When he was seventeen he set typein a printing office in Westchester. It was Bayard Taylor who explodedthe idea that only the rich could afford to go to Europe, when on lessthan a thousand dollars he spent two years amid the palaces and temples, telling of his adventures in a way that contributed classic literatureto our book-shelves. He worked hard--wrote thirty-five books. There isgenius in hard work alone. I have often thought that women pursue moreof it than men. They work night and day, year in and year out, fromkitchen to parlour, from parlour to kitchen. 

There was some strong legislative effort made in our country about thistime to exclude the Chinese. I opposed this legislation with all thevoice and ability I had, because I felt not merely the injustice of suchcontradiction of all our national institutions, but I saw its politicalfolly. I saw that the nation that would be the most friendly to China, and could get on the inside track of her commerce, would be the firstnation of the world. The legislature seemed particularly angry with theChinese immigrants in this country because they would not allowthemselves to be buried here. They were angry with the Chinese thenbecause they would not intermarry. They were angry with the Chinesebecause they invested their money in China. They did not think they werehandsome enough for this country. We even wanted a monopoly of goodlooks in those days. 

I was particularly friendly to the Chinese. My brother, John Van NestTalmage, devoted his life to them. I believed, as my brother did, thatthey were a great nation. 

When he went, my last brother went. Stunned was I until I staggeredthrough the corridors of the hotel in London, England, when the newscame that John was dead. If I should say all that I felt I would declarethat since Paul the Apostle to the Gentiles a more faithful orconsecrated man has not lifted his voice in the dark places ofheathenism. I said it while he was alive, and might as well say it nowthat he is dead. He was the hero of our family. He did not go to Chinato spend his days because no one in America wanted to hear him preach. At the time of his first going to China he had a call to succeed inBrooklyn, N. Y. , the Rev. Dr. Broadhead, the Chrysostom of the Americanpulpit, a call at a large salary; and there would have been nothingimpossible to my brother in the way of religious work or Christianachievement had he tarried in his native land. But nothing could detainhim from the work to which God called him long before he became aChristian. 

My reason for writing that anomalous statement is that, when a small boyin Sabbath-school, he read a library book, "The Life of Henry Martin. "He said to my mother, "I am going to be a missionary. " The remark at thetime made no special impression. Years after that passed on before hisconversion; but when the grace of God appeared to him, and he hadentered his studies for the Gospel ministry, he said one day, "Mother, do you remember that years ago I said, 'I am going to be a missionary'?"She replied, "Yes, I remember it. " "Well, " said he, "I am going to keepmy promise. " How well he kept it millions of souls on earth and inHeaven have long since heard. When the roll of martyrs is called beforethe throne, the name of John Van Nest Talmage will be called. He workedhimself to death in the cause of the world's evangelisation. His heart, his brain, his hand, his voice, his muscles, his nerves could do nomore. He sleeps in the cemetery of Somerville, N. J. , so near his fatherand mother that he will face them when he arises in the resurrection ofthe just, and, amid a crowd of his kindred now sleeping on the right ofthem and on the left of them, will feel the thrill of the trumpet thatwakes the dead. 

You could get nothing from my brother at all. Ask him a question toevoke what he had done for God and the Church, and his lips were astightly shut as though they had never been opened. Indeed, his reticencewas at times something remarkable. I took him to see President Grant atLong Branch, and though they had both been great warriors, the onefighting the battles of the Lord and the other the battles of hiscountry, they had little to say, and there was, I thought, at the time, more silence crowded together than I ever noticed in the same amount ofspace before. 

But the story of my brother's work has already been told in the Heavensby those who, through his instrumentality, have already reached the Cityof Raptures. However, his chief work is yet to come. We get ourchronology so twisted that we come to believe that the white marble ofthe tomb is the milestone at which the good man stops, when it is only amilestone on a journey, the most of the miles of which are yet to betravelled. The Chinese Dictionary which my brother prepared during morethan two decades of study; the religious literature he transferred fromEnglish into Chinese; the hymns he wrote for others to sing, although hehimself could not sing at all (he and I monopolising the musicalincapacity of a family in which all the rest could sing well); themissionary stations he planted; the life he lived, will widen out anddeepen and intensify through all time and all eternity. 

Never in the character of a Chinaman was there the trait of commercialfraud that assailed our American cities in 1879. It got into our foodfinally--the very bread we ate was proven to be an adulteration ofimpure stuff. What an extravagance of imagination had crept into ourdaily life! We pretended even to eat what we knew we were not eating. Except for the reminder which old books written in byegone simpler daysgave us, we should have insisted that the world should believe us if wesaid black was white. Still, among us there were some who were genuine, but they seemed to be passing away. It was in this year that the oldestauthor in America died, Richard Henry Dana. He was born in 1788, whenliterature in this country was just beginning. His death stirred thetenderest emotions. Authorship was a new thing in America when Mr. Danabegan to write, and it required endurance and persistence. Theatmosphere was chilling to literature then, there was little applausefor poetic or literary skill. There were no encouragements whenWashington Irving wrote as "Knickerbocker, " when Richard Henry Danawrote "The Buccaneer, " "The Idle Man, " and "The Dying Raven. " There wassomething cracking in his wit, exalted in his culture. He was so gentlein his conversation, so pure in his life, it was hard to spare him. Heseemed like a man who had never been forced into the battle of theworld, he was so unscarred and hallowed. 

It was just about this time that our Tabernacle in Brooklyn became thestorm centre of a law-suit which threatened to undermine us. It wasbased upon a theory, a technicality of law, which declared that thesubscriptions of married women were not legal subscriptions. Ourattorneys were Mr. Freeman and Judge Tenney. Theirs was a battle for Godand the Church. There were only two sides to the case. Those against theChurch and those with the Church. In the preceding eight years, whetheragainst fire or against foe, the Tabernacle had risen to a higher planeof useful Christian work. I was not alarmed. During the two weeks ofpersecution, the days were to me days of the most complete peace I hadfelt since I entered the Christian life. Again and again I rememberremarking in my home, to my family, what a supernatural peace was uponme. My faith was in God, who managed my life and the affairs of theChurch. My work was still before me, there was too much to be done inthe Tabernacle yet. The disapproval of our methods before the BrooklynPresbytery was formulated in a series of charges against the pastor. Iwas told my enthusiasm was sinful, that it was unorthodox for me to beso. My utterances were described as inaccurate. My editorial work wasoffensively criticised. The Presbytery listened patiently, and after acareful consideration dismissed the charges. Once more the unjustoppression of enemies had seemed to extend the strength and scope of theGospel. A few days later my congregation presented me with a token ofconfidence in their pastor. I was so happy at the time that I was readyto shake hands even with the reporters who had abused me. How kind theywere, how well they understood me, how magnificently they took care ofme, my people of the Brooklyn Tabernacle!

THE SIXTH MILESTONE

1879-1881

In the spring of 1879 I made a Gospel tour of England, Ireland, andScotland. On a previous visit I had given a series of private lectures, under the management of Major Pond, and I had been more or lesscriticised for the amount of money charged the people to hear me. As Ihad nothing whatever to do with the prices of tickets to my lectures, which went to the managers who arranged the tour, this was somethingbeyond my control. My personal arrangement with Major Pond was for acertain fixed sum. They said in Europe that I charged too much to beheard, that as a preacher of the Gospel I should have been moremoderate. If the management had been my own I should not have been sogreedy. 

Because of this recollection and the regret it gave me, I decided tomake another tour at my own expense, and preach without price in all theplaces I had previously visited as a lecturer. It was the mostexhausting, exciting, remarkable demonstration of religious enthusiasm Ihave ever witnessed. It was an evangelistic yearning that could not berepeated in another life-time. 

The entire summer was a round of Gospel meetings, overflow meetings, open-air meetings, a succession of scenes of blessing. From the time Iarrived in Liverpool, where that same night I addressed two largeassemblages, till I got through after a monster gathering at Edinburgh, I missed but three Gospel appointments, and those because I was tootired to stand up. I preached ninety-eight times in ninety-three days. 

With nothing but Gospel themes I confronted multitudes. A collection wasalways taken up at these gatherings for the benefit of local charities, feeble churches, orphan asylums and other institutions. My services weregratuitous. 

It was the most wonderful summer of evangelical work I was everprivileged to enjoy. There must have been much praying for me and mywelfare, or no mortal could have got through with the work. In everycity I went to, messages were passed into my ears for families inAmerica. The collection taken for the benefit of the Y. M. C. A. At Leedswas about $6, 000. During this visit I preached in Scenery Chapel, London, in the pulpit where such consecrated souls as Rowland Hill andNewman Hall and James Sherman had preached. I visited the "Red HorseHotel, " of Stratford-on-Avon, where the chair and table used byWashington Irving were as interesting to me as anything in Shakespeare'scottage. The church where the poet is buried is over seven hundred yearsold. 

The most interesting place around London to me is in Chelsea, where, ona narrow street, I entered the house of Thomas Carlyle. This greatauthor was away from London at the time. Entering a narrow hall, on theleft is the literary workshop, where some of the strongest thunderboltsof the world's literature have been forged. In the room, which has twofront windows shaded from the prying street by two little red calicocurtains, is a lounge that looks as though it had been made by an authorunaccustomed to saw or hammer. On the wall were a few woodcuts in plainframes or pinned on the wall. Here was a photograph of Carlyle, takenone day, as a member of his family told me, when he had a violenttoothache and could attend to nothing else, and yet posterity regards itas a favourite picture. There are only three copies of this photographin existence. One was given to Carlyle, the other was kept by thephotographer, and the third belongs to me. In long rough shelves was thelibrary of the renowned thinker. The books were well worn with reading. Many of them were books I never heard of. American literature was almostignored; they were chiefly books written by Germans. There was anabsence of theological books, excepting those of Thomas Chalmers, whosegenius he worshipped. The carpets were old and worn and faded. He wishedthem to be so, as a perpetual protest against the world's sham. It didnot appeal to me as a place of inspiration for a writer. 

I returned to America impressed with the over-crowding of the BritishIsles, and the unsettled regions of our own country. 

"Tell the United States we want to send her five million population thisyear, and five million population next year, " said a prominentEnglishman to me. I urged a mutual arrangement between the twogovernments, to people the West with these populations. Great Britainwas the workshop of the world; we needed workers. The trouble in theUnited States at this time was that when there was one garment neededthere were three people anxious to manufacture it, and five peopleanxious to sell it. We needed to evoke more harvests and fruits to feedthe populations of the world, and more flax and wool for the clothing. The cities in England are so close together that there is a cloud fromsmokestacks the length and width of the island. The Canon of YorkMinster showed me how the stone of that great cathedral was crumblingunder the chemical corrosion of the atmosphere, wafted from neighbouringfactories. 

America was not yet discovered then. Those who had gone West twentyyears back, in 1859, were, in 1879, the leading men of Chicago, andOmaha, and Denver, and Minneapolis, and Dubuque. When I left, Englandwas still suffering from the effects of the long-continued panic inAmerica. 

Brooklyn had improved; still, we were threatened with a tremendousinflux of people. The new bridge at Fulton Ferry across the East Riverwould soon be opened. It looked as though there was to be another bridgeat South Ferry, and another at Peck Slip Ferry. Montauk Point was to bepurchased by some enterprising Americans, and a railroad was to connectit with Brooklyn. Steamers from Europe were to find wharfage in some ofthe bays of Long Island, and the passage across the Atlantic reduced tosix days! Passengers six days out of Queenstown would pass intoBrooklyn. This was the Brooklyn to be, as was seen in its prospectus, its evolution in 1879-80. 

Our local elections had resulted in a better local government. With theexception of an unsuccessful attempt by the Board of Canvassers todeprive Frederick A. Schroeder of his seat in the Senate, because someof the voters had left out the middle initial in his name in theirballots, all was better with us politically than it had been. To thecredit of our local press, the two political rivals, the _BrooklynEagle_ and the _Times_, united in their efforts to support SenatorSchroeder's claim. 

There was one man in Brooklyn at this time who was much abused andcaricatured for doing a great work--Professor Bergh, the deliverer ofdumb animals. He was constantly in the courts in defence of a lame horseor a stray cat. I supported and encouraged him. I always hoped that hewould induce legislation that would give the poor car-horses of Brooklynmore oats, and fewer passengers to haul in one car. He was one of thefirst men to fight earnestly against vivisection--which was a greatwork. 

Just after we had settled down to a more comfortable and hopeful stateof mind Mr. Thomas Kinsella, one of our prominent citizens, startled usby showing us, in a published interview, how little we had any right tofeel that way. He told us that our Brooklyn debt was $17, 000, 000, with atax area of only three million and a half acres. It was disturbing. Butwe had prospects, energies. We had to depend in this predicament uponthe quickened prosperity of our property holders, upon future examinersto be scrupulous at the ballot box, on the increase of our population, which would help to carry our burdens, and on the revenue from our greatbridge. These were local affairs of interest to us all, but in December, 1879, we had a more serious problem of our own to consider. Thisconcerned the future of the new Tabernacle. 

In consequence of perpetual and long-continued outrages committed byneighbouring clergymen against the peace of our church, the Board ofTrustees of the Tabernacle addressed a letter to the congregationsuggesting our withdrawal from the denomination. I regretted this, because I felt that the time would soon come when all denominationsshould be helpful to each other. There would be enough people inBrooklyn, I was sure, when all the churches could be crowded. Ipositively refused to believe the things that my fellow ministers saidabout me, or to notice them. I was perfectly satisfied with theChristian outlook of our church. I urged the same spirit of calm upon mychurch neighbours, by example and precept. It was a long while beforethey realised the value of this advice. In the spring of 1879 my friendDr. Crosby, pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church at the corner ofClinton and Fulton Streets, was undergoing an ecclesiastical trial, andan enterprising newsboy invaded the steps of the church, as the mostinterested market for the sale of the last news about the trial. He wasignominiously pushed off the church steps by the church officers. I wasindignant about it. (I saw it from a distance, as I was coming down thestreet. ) I thought it was a row between Brooklyn ministers, however, andturned the corner to avoid such a shocking sight. My suspicions were notgroundless, because there was even then anything but brotherly lovebetween some of the churches there. 

A synodical trial by the Synod of Long Island was finally held atJamaica, L. I. , to ascertain if there was not some way of inducing churchharmony in Brooklyn. After several days at Jamaica, in which theministers of Long Island took us ministers of Brooklyn across theirknees and applied the ecclesiastical slipper, we were sent home with abenediction. A lot of us went down there looking hungry, and they sentus back all fed up. Even some of the church elders were hungry and cameback to Brooklyn strengthened. 

It looked for awhile after this as though all clerical antagonisms inBrooklyn would expire. I even foresaw a time coming when BrothersSpeare, Van Dyke, Crosby and Talmage would sing Moody and Sankey hymnstogether out of the same hymn-book. 

The year 1880 began with an outbreak in Maine, a sort of miniaturerevolution, caused by a political appointment of my friend GovernorGarcelon contrary to the opinions of the people of his State. Garcelon Iknew personally, and regarded him as a man of honour and pure politicalmotives, whether he did his duty or not; whatever he did he believed wasthe right and conscientious thing to do. The election had gone againstthe Democrats. In a neat address Mr. Lincoln Robinson, Democrat, handedover the keys of New York State to Mr. Carroll, the Republican Governor. Antagonists though they had been at the ballot-box, the surrender wasconducted with a dignity that I trust will always surround thegubernatorial chair of the State of New York, once graced by such men asDeWitt Clinton, Silas Wright, William H. Seward, and John A. Dix. 

In January, 1880, Frank Leslie, the pioneer of pictorial journalism inAmerica, died. I met him only once, when he took me through his immenseestablishment. I was impressed with him then, as a man of much eleganceof manner and suavity of feeling. He was very much beloved by hisemployees, which, in those days of discord between capital and labour, was a distinction. 

The arrival of Mr. Parnell in New York was an event of the period. Weknew he was an orator, and we were anxious to hear him. There was someuncertainty as to whether he came to America to obtain bayonets to stickthe English with, or whether he came for bread for the starving inIreland. We did not understand the political problem between England andIreland so well--but we did understand the meaning of a loaf of bread. Mr. Parnell was welcome. 

The failure of the harvest crops in Europe made the question of the hourat the beginning of 1880--bread. The grain speculator appeared, with hisgreedy web spun around the world. Europe was short 200, 000, 000 bushelsof wheat. The American speculator cornered the market, stacked thewarehouses, and demanded fifty cents a bushel. Europe was compelled toretaliate, by purchasing grain in Russia, British India, New Zealand, South America, and Australia. In one week the markets of the AmericanNorth-west purchased over 15, 000, 000 bushels, of which only 4, 000, 000bushels were exported. Meanwhile the cry of the world's hunger grewlouder, and the bolts on the grain cribs were locked tighter than ever. American finances could have been straightened out on this one product, except for the American speculator, who demanded more for it than it wasworth. The United States had a surplus of 18, 000, 000 bushels of grainfor export, in 1880. But the kings of the wheat market said to Europe, "Bow down before us, and starve. "

Suddenly we in America were surprised to learn that flour in London wastwo dollars cheaper a barrel than it was in New York. Our grain blockadeof the world was reacting upon us. Lying idle at the wharves of New Yorkand Brooklyn were 102 ships, 439 barques, 87 brigs, 178 schooners, and47 steamers. Six or seven hundred of these vessels were waiting forcargoes. The gates of our harbour were closed in the grip of the graingambler. The thrift of the speculator was the menace of our nationalprosperity. The octopus of speculative ugliness was growing to its fullsize, and threatened to smother us utterly. There was a "corner" oneverything. 

We were busy trying to pick out our next President. There was greatagitation over the Republican candidates: Grant, Blaine, Cameron, Conkling, Sherman. Greatness in a man is sometimes a hindrance to thePresidency. Such was the case with Daniel Webster, Henry Clay, Thomas H. Benton, and William C. Preston. We were only on the edge of thewhirlpool of a presidential election. In England the election storm wasjust beginning. The first thunderbolt was the sudden dissolution ofParliament by Lord Beaconsfield. The two mightiest men in England thenwere antagonists, Disraeli and Gladstone. 

What a magnificent body of men are those Members of Parliament. Theymeet and go about without the ostentation of some of our men inCongress. Men of great position in England are born to it; they are notso afraid of losing it as our celebrated Republicans and Democrats. Eventhe man who comes up into political power from the masses in England ismore likely to hold his position than if he had triumphed in Americanpolitics. 

In the spring and summer of 1880 I took a long and exhaustive tripacross our continent, and completely lost the common dread of emigrationthat was then being talked about. There was room enough for fifty newnations between Omaha and Cheyenne, room for more still between Cheyenneand Ogden, from Salt Lake City to Sacramento. 

An unpretentious youth, Carey by name, whom I had known in Philadelphia, went West in '67. I found him in Cheyenne a leading citizen. He hadbeen District Attorney, then judge of one of the courts, owned a cityblock, a cattle ranch, and was worth about $500, 000. There wasn't roomenough for him in Philadelphia. Senator Hill of Colorado told me, whilein Denver, about a man who came out there from the East to be a miner. He began digging under a tree because it was shady. People passed by andlaughed at him. He kept on digging. After a while he sent a waggon loadof the dust to be assayed, and there was $9, 000 worth of metal in it. Heretired with a fortune. 

A man with $3, 000 and good health could have gone West in 1880, investedit in cattle, and made a fortune. San Francisco was only forty-fiveyears old then, Denver thirty-five, Leadville sixteen, Kansas Citythirty-five. They looked a hundred at least. Leadville was then a placeof palatial hotels, elegant churches, boulevards and streets. The Westwas just aching to show how fast it could build cities. Leadville wasthe most lied about. It was reported that I explored Leadville till longafter midnight, looking at its wickedness. I didn't. All the exploring Idid in Leadville was in about six minutes, from the wide open doors ofthe gambling houses on two of the main streets; but the next day it wastelegraphed all over the United States. There were more telephones inLeadville in 1880 than in any other city in the United States, to itspopulation. Some of the best people of Brooklyn and New York livedthere. The newspaper correspondents lost money in the gambling housesthere, and so they didn't like Leadville, and told the world it was abad place, which was a misrepresentation. It is a well known law ofhuman nature that a man usually hates a place where he did not behavewell. I found perfect order there, to my surprise. There was a vigilancecommittee in Leadville composed of bankers and merchants. It was theirbusiness to give a too cumbrous law a boost. The week before I got toLeadville this committee hanged two men. The next day eighty scoundrelstook the hint and left Leadville. A great institution was the vigilancecommittee of those early Western days. They saved San Francisco, andCheyenne, and Leadville. I wish they had been in Brooklyn when I wasthere. The West was not slow to assimilate the elegancies of lifeeither. There were beautiful picture galleries in Omaha, and Denver, andSacramento, and San Francisco. There was more elaboration andadvancement of dress in the West than there was in the East in 1880. Thecravats of the young men in Cheyenne were quite as surprising, and theyoung ladies of Cheyenne went down the street with the elbow wabble, then fashionable in New York. San Francisco was Chicago intensified, andyet then it was a mere boy of a city, living in a garden of Eden, calledCalifornia. On my return came Mr. Garfield's election. It was quietlyand peaceably effected, but there followed that exposure of politicaloutrages concerning his election, the Morey forgeries. I hoped then thatthis villainy would split the Republican and Democratic parties into newfields, that it would spilt the North and the South into a differentsectional feeling. I hoped that there would be a complete upheaval, arenewed and cleaner political system as a consequence. But the reformmovement is always slower than any other. 

I remember the harsh things that were said in our denomination ofLucretia Mott, the quakeress, the reformer, the world-renowned womanpreacher of the day. She was well nigh as old as the nation, eighty-eight years old, when she died. Her voice has never died in theplain meeting-houses of this country and England. I don't know that shewas always right, but she always meant to be right. In Philadelphia, where she preached, I lived among people for years who could not mentionher name without tears of gratitude for what she had done for them. There was great opposition to her because she was the first womanpreacher, but all who heard her speak knew she had a divine right ofutterance. 

In November, 1880, Disraeli's great novel, "Endymion" was published byan American firm, Appleton & Co. , a London publisher paying the authorthe largest cash price ever paid for a manuscript up to thattime--$50, 000. Noah Webster made that much in royalties on his spellingbook, but less on one of the greatest works given to the human race, hisdictionary. There was a great literary impulse in American life, inspired by such American publishing houses as Appleton's, the HarperBros. , the Dodds, the Randolphs, and the Scribners. It was the brightestmoment in American literature; far brighter than the day Victor Hugo, inyouth, long anxious to enter the French Academy, applied to Callard forhis vote. He pretended never to have heard of him. "Will you accept acopy of my books?" asked Victor Hugo. "No thank you, " replied the other;"I never read new books. " Riley offered to sell his "UniversalPhilosophy" for $500. The offer was refused. Great and wise authors haveoften been without food and shelter. Sometimes governments helped them, as when President Pierce appointed Nathaniel Hawthorne to office, andLocke was made Commissioner of Appeals, and Steele State Commissioner ofStamps by the British Government. Oliver Goldsmith said: "I have beenyears struggling with a wretched being, with all that contempt whichindigence brings with it, with all those strong passions which makecontempt insupportable. " Mr. Payne, the author of "Home, Sweet Home, "had no home, and was inspired to the writing of his immortal song by awalk through the streets one slushy night, and hearing music andlaughter inside a comfortable dwelling. The world-renowned Sheridansaid: "Mrs. Sheridan and I were often obliged to keep writing for ourdaily shoulder of mutton; otherwise we should have had no dinner. "Mitford, while he was writing his most celebrated book, lived in thefields, making his bed of grass and nettles, while two-pennyworth ofbread and cheese with an onion was his daily food. I know of no morerefreshing reading than the books of William Hazlitt. I take down frommy shelf one of his many volumes, and I know not when to stop reading. So fresh and yet so old! But through all the volumes there comes amelancholy, accounted for by the fact that he had an awful struggle forbread. On his dying couch he had a friend write for him the followingletter to Francis Jeffrey:--

 "Dear Sir, --I am at the last gasp. Please send me a hundred pounds. --Yours truly, "WILLIAM HAZLITT. "

The money arrived the day after his death. Poor fellow! I wish he hadduring his lifetime some of the tens of thousands of dollars that havesince been paid in purchase of his books. He said on one occasion to afriend: "I have carried a volcano in my bosom up and down PaternosterRow for a good two hours and a half. Can you lend me a shilling? I havebeen without food these two days. " My readers, to-day the struggle of agood many literary people goes on. To be editor of a newspaper as I havebeen, and see the number of unavailable manuscripts that come in, cryingout for five dollars, or anything to appease hunger and pay rent and getfuel! Oh, it is heartbreaking! After you have given all the money youcan spare you will come out of your editorial rooms crying. 

Disraeli was seventy-five when "Endymion" was published. Disraeli's"Endymion" came at a time when books in America were greater than theyever were before or have been since. A flood of magazines cameafterwards, and swamped them. Before this time new books were rarelymade. Rich men began to endow them. It was a glorious way of spendingmoney. Men sometimes give their money away because they have to give itup anyhow. Such men rarely give it to book-building. 

In January, 1881, Mr. George L. Seavey, a prominent Brooklyn man at thattime, gave $50, 000 to the library of the Historical Society of New York. Attending a reception one night in Brooklyn, I was shown his check, madeout for that purpose. It was a great gift, one of the first given forthe intellectual food of future bookworms. 

Most of the rich men of this time were devoting their means to makingSenators. The legislatures were manufacturing a new brand, and turningthem out made to order. Many of us were surprised at how little timber, and what poor quality, was needed to make a Senator in 1881. The nationused to make them out of stout, tall oaks. Many of those new ones weremade of willow, and others out of crooked sticks. In most cases thestrong men defeated each other, and weak substitutes were put in. Theforthcoming Congress was to be one of commonplace men. The strong menhad to stay at home, and the accidents took their places in thegovernment. Still there were leaders, North and South. 

My old friend Senator Brown of Georgia was one of the leaders of theSouth. He spoke vehemently in Congress in the cause of education. Only afew months before he had given, out of his private purse, forty thousanddollars to a Baptist college. He was a man who talked and urged a heartyunion of feeling between the North and the South. He always hoped toabolish sectional feeling by one grand movement for the financial, educational, and moral welfare of the Nation. It was my urgent wish thatPresident Garfield should invite Senator Brown to a place in hisCabinet, although the Senator would probably have refused the honour, for there was no better place to serve the American people than in theAmerican Senate. 

During the first week in February, 1881, the world hovered over thedeath-bed of Thomas Carlyle. He was the great enemy of all sorts ofcant, philosophical or religious. He was for half a century the greatliterary iconoclast. Daily bulletins of the sick-bed were publishedworld-wide. There was no easy chair in his study, no soft divans. It wasjust a place to work, and to stay at work. I once saw a private letter, written by Carlyle to Thomas Chalmers. The first part of it was devotedto a eulogy of Chalmers, the latter part descriptive of his ownreligious doubts. He never wrote anything finer. It was beautiful, grand, glorious, melancholy. 

Thomas Carlyle started with the idea that the intellect was all, thebody nothing but an adjunct, an appendage. He would spur the intellectto costly energies, and send the body supperless to bed. After years ofdoubts and fears I learned that towards the end he returned to thesimplicities of the Gospel. 

While this great thinker of the whole of life was sinking into his lastearthly sleep, the men in the parliament of his nation were squabblingabout future ambitions. Thirty-five Irish members were forcibly ejected. Neither Beaconsfield nor Gladstone could solve the Irish question. Nordo I believe it will ever be solved to the satisfaction of Ireland. Buta greater calamity than those came upon us; in the summer of this yearPresident Garfield was assassinated in Washington. 

THE SEVENTH MILESTONE

1881-1884

On July 2, 1881, an attempt was made to assassinate President Garfield, at the Pennsylvania Station, Washington, where he was about to board atrain. I heard the news first on the railroad train at Williamstown, Mass. , where the President was expected in three or four days. 

"Absurd, impossible, " I said. Why should anyone want to kill him? He hadnothing but that which he had earned with his own brain and hand. He hadfought his own way up from country home to college hall, and fromcollege hall to the House of Representatives, and from House ofRepresentatives to the Senate Chamber, and from the Senate Chamber tothe Presidential chair. Why should anyone want to kill him? He was not adespot who had been treading on the rights of the people. There wasnothing of the Nero or the Robespierre in him. He had wronged no man. Hewas free and happy himself, and wanted all the world free and happy. Whyshould anyone want to kill him? He had a family to shepherd and educate, a noble wife and a group of little children leaning on his arm andholding his hand, and who needed him for many years to come. 

Only a few days before, I had paid him a visit. He was a bitterantagonist of Mormonism, and I was in deep sympathy with his Christianendeavours in this respect. I never saw a more anxious or perturbedcountenance than James A. Garfield's, the last time I met him. It seemeda great relief to him to turn to talk to my child, who was with me. Hehad suffered enough abuse in his political campaign to suffice for onelifetime. He was then facing three or four years of insult and contumelygreater than any that had been heaped upon his predecessors. He hadproposed greater reforms, and by so much he was threatened to endureworse outrages. His term of office was just six months, but heaccomplished what forty years of his predecessors had failed to do--thecomplete and eternal pacification of the North and the South. There weremore public meetings of sympathy for him, at this time, in the Souththan there were in the North. His death-bed in eight weeks did more forthe sisterhood of States than if he had lived eight years--two terms ofthe Presidency. His cabinet followed the reform spirit of hisleadership. Postmaster General James made his department illustrious byspreading consternation among the scoundrels of the Star Route, savingthe country millions of dollars. Secretary Windom wrought what thebankers and merchants called a financial miracle. Robert Lincoln, theson of another martyred President, was Secretary of War. 

Guiteau was no more crazy than thousands of other place-hunters. He hadbeen refused an office, and he was full of unmingled and burningrevenge. There was nothing else the matter with him. It was just this:"You haven't given me what I want; now I'll kill you. " For months aftereach presidential inauguration the hotels of Washington are roosts forthese buzzards. They are the crawling vermin of this nation. Guiteauwas no rarity. There were hundreds of Guiteaus in Washington after theinauguration, except that they had not the courage to shoot. I saw themsome two months or six weeks after. They were mad enough to do it. I sawit in their eyes. 

They killed two other Presidents, William Henry Harrison and ZacharyTaylor. I know the physicians called the disease congestion of the lungsor liver, but the plain truth was that they were worried to death; theywere trampled out of life by place-hunters. Three Presidents sacrificedto this one demon are enough. I urged Congress at the next session tostart a work of presidential emancipation. Four Presidents haverecommended civil service reform, and it has amounted to little ornothing. But this assassination I hoped would compel speedy and decisiveaction. 

James A. Garfield was prepared for eternity. He often preached theGospel. "I heard him preach, he preached for me in my pulpit, " aminister told me. He preached once in Wall Street to an excited throng, after Lincoln was shot. He preached to the wounded soldiers atChickamauga. He preached in the United States Senate, in speeches ofgreat nobility. When a college boy, camped on the mountains, he read theScriptures aloud to his companions. After he was shot, he declared thathe trusted all in the Lord's hand--was ready to live or die. 

"If the President die, what of his successor?" was the great question ofthe hour. I did not know Mr. Arthur at that time, but I prophesied thatMr. Garfield's policies would be carried out by his successor. 

I consider President Garfield was a man with the most brilliant mindwho ever occupied the White House. He had strong health, a splendidphysique, a fine intellect. If Guiteau's bullet had killed the Presidentinstantly, there would have been a revolution in this country. 

He lingered amid the prayers of the nation, surrounded by seven of thegreatest surgeons and physicians of the hour. Then he passed on. His sonwas preparing a scrap-book of all the kind things that had been saidabout his father, to show him when he recovered. That was a tenderforethought of one who knew how unjustly he had suffered the slanders ofhis enemies. There was much talk about presidential inability, and inthe midst of this public bickering Chester A. Arthur became president. He took office, amid severe criticism. I urged the appointment ofFrederick T. Frelinghuysen to the President's Cabinet, feeling that. Mr. Arthur would have in this distinguished son of New Jersey, a devout, evangelical, Christian adviser. In October I paid a visit, to Mr. Garfield's home in Mentor, Ohio. On the hat-rack in the hall was hishat, where he had left it, when the previous March he left for hisinauguration in Washington. I left that bereaved household with afeeling that a full explanation of this event must be adjourned to thenext state of my existence. 

The new President was gradually becoming, on all sides, the bright hopeof our national future. In after years I learned to know him and admirehim. 

In the period of transition that followed the President's assassinationwe lost other good men. 

We lost Senator Burnside of Rhode Island, at one time commander of theArmy of the Potomac, and three times Governor of his State. I met him ata reception given in the home of my friend Judge Hilton, in Woodlawn, at Saratoga Springs. He had an imperial presence, coupled with theutterance of a child. The Senator stood for purity in politics. No oneever bought him, or tried to buy him. He held no stock in the CreditMobilier. He shook hands with none of the schemes that appealed toCongress to fleece the people. He died towards the close of 1881. 

A man of greater celebrity, of an entirely different quality, who hadpassed on, was about this time to be honoured with an effigy inWestminster Abbey--Dean Stanley. I still remember keenly the afternoon Imet him in the Deanery adjoining the abbey. There was not much of thephysical in his appearance. His mind and soul seemed to have more than afair share of his physical territory. He had only just enough body todetain the soul awhile on earth. 

And then we lost Samuel B. Stewart. The most of Brooklyn knew him--thebest part of Brooklyn knew him. I knew him long before I ever came toBrooklyn. He taught me to read in the village school. His parents andmine were buried in the same place. A few weeks later, the Rev. Dr. Bellows of New York went. I do not believe that the great work done bythis good man was ever written. It was during that long agony when thewar hospitals were crowded with the sick, the wounded, and the dying. Heenlisted his voice and his pen and his fortune to alleviate theirsuffering. I was on the field as a chaplain for a very little while, anda little while looking after the sick in Philadelphia, and I noticedthat the Sanitary Commission, of which Dr. Bellows was the presidingspirit, was constantly busy with ambulances, cordials, nurses, necessaries and supplies. Many a dying soldier was helped by the mercyof this good man's energies, and many a farewell message was forwardedhome. The civilians who served the humanitarian causes of the war, likeDr. Bellows, have not received the recognition they should. Only themilitary men have been honoured with public office. 

The chief menace of the first year of President Arthur's administrationwas the danger of a policy to interfere in foreign affairs, and thedanger of extravagance in Washington, due to innumerable appropriationbills. There was a war between Chili and Peru, and the United StatesGovernment offered to mediate for Chili. It was a pitiable interferencewith private rights, and I regretted this indication of an unnecessaryforeign policy in this country. In addition to this, there were enoughappropriation bills in Washington to swamp the nation financially. I hadstood for so many years in places where I could see clearly the ungodlyaffairs of political life in my own country, that the progress ofpolitics became to me a hopeless thing. 

The political nominations of 1882 involved no great principles. In NewYork State this was significant, because it brought before the nationMr. Grover Cleveland as a candidate for Governor against Mr. Folger. Thegeneral opinion of these two men in the unbiassed public mind wasexcellent. They were men of talent and integrity. They were not merelyactors in the political play. I have buried professional politicians, and the most of them made a very bad funeral for a Christian minister tospeak at. I always wanted, at such a time, an Episcopal prayer book, which is made for all eases, and may not be taken either as invidious ortoo assuring. 

There was another contest, non-political, that interested the nation in1882. It was the Sullivan-Ryan prize-fight. I had no great objection tofind with it, as did so many other ministers. It suggested a far bettersymbol of arbitration between two differing opinions than war. If Mr. Disraeli had gone out and met a distinguished Zulu on the field ofEnglish battle, and fought their national troubles out, as Sullivan andRyan did, what a saving of life and money! How many lives could havebeen saved if Napoleon and Wellington, or Moltke and McMahon hademulated the spirit of the Sullivan-Ryan prize fight! I saw noreasonable cause why the law should interfere between two men whodesired to pound one another in public; I stood alone almost among mybrethren in this conclusion. 

The persecution of the Jews in Russia, which came to us at this timewith all its details of cruelty and horror, was the beginning of animportant chapter in American history. Dr. Adler, in London, hadappealed for a million pounds to transport the Jews who were driven outof Russia to the United States. It seemed more important thatcivilisation should unite in an effort to secure protection for them intheir own homes, than compel them to obey the will of Russia. This wasno Christian remedy. We might as well abuse the Jews in America, andthen take up a collection to send them to England or Australia. The Jewswere entitled to their own rights of property and personal liberty andreligion, whether they lived in New York, or Brooklyn, or London, orParis, or Warsaw, or Moscow, or St. Petersburg. And yet we wereconstantly hearing of the friendly feeling between Russia and the UnitedStates. 

In after years I was privileged personally to address the Czar and hisfamily, in a private audience, and questions of the Russian problem werediscussed; but the Jews flocked to America, and we welcomed them, andthey learned to be Americans very rapidly. Their immigration to thiscountry was a matter of religious conscience, in which Russia had nointerest. 

A man's religious convictions are most important. I remember in October, 1882, what criticism and abuse there was of my friend Henry WardBeecher, when he decided to resign from the religious associations ofwhich he was a member. I was asked by members of the press to give myopinion, but I was out when they called. Mr. Beecher was right. He was aman of courage and of heart. I shall never forget the encouragement andgoodwill he extended to me, when I first came to Brooklyn in 1869 andtook charge of a broken-down church. Mr. Beecher did just as I wouldhave done under the same circumstances. I could not nor would stay inthe denomination to which I belonged any longer than it would take me towrite my resignation, if I disbelieved its doctrines. Mr. Beecher'stheology was very different from mine, but he did not differ from me inthe Christian life, any more than I differed from him. He neverinterfered with me, nor I with him. Every little while some of theministers of America were attacked by a sort of Beecher-phobia, and theyfoamed at the mouth over something that the pastor of Plymouth Churchsaid. People who have small congregations are apt to dislike a preacherwho has a full church. For thirteen years, or more, Beecher's church andmine never collided. He had more people than he knew what to do with, and so had I. I belonged to the company of the orthodox, but if Ithought that orthodoxy demanded that I must go and break other people'sheads I would not remain orthodox five minutes. Brooklyn was called thecity of churches, but it could also be called the city of shortpastorates. Many of the churches, during fifteen years of my pastorate, had two, three, and four pastors. Dr. Scudder came and went; so did Dr. Patten, Dr. Frazer, Dr. Buckley, Dr. Mitchell, Dr. Reid, Dr. Steele, Dr. Gallagher, and a score of others. The Methodist Church was once famousfor keeping a minister only three or four years, but it is no longerpeculiar in this respect. Mr. Beecher had been pastor for thirty-sixyears in Brooklyn when, in the summer of 1883, he celebrated theanniversary of his seventieth birthday. 

Every now and then, for many years, there was an investigation of somesort in Brooklyn. Our bridge was a favourite target of investigation. "Where has the money for this great enterprise been expended?" was thecommon question. I defended the trustees, because people did not realisethe emergencies that arose as the work progressed and entailed greaterexpenditures. Originally, when projected, it was to cost $7, 000, 000, butthere was to be only one waggon road. It was resolved later to enlargethe structure and build two waggon roads, and a place for trains, freight, and passenger cars. Those enlarged plans were all to theultimate advantage of the growth of Brooklyn. It was at first intendedto make the approaches of the bridge in trestle work, then plans werechanged and they were built of granite. The cable, which was originallyto be made of iron, was changed to steel. For three years these cableswere the line on which the passengers on ferry-boats hung their jokesabout swindling and political bribery. No investigation was able toshake my respect for the integrity of Mr. Stranahan, one of the bridgetrustees. He did as much for Brooklyn as any man in it. He was thepromoter of Prospect Park, designed and planned from his head andheart. With all the powers at my disposal I defended the bridge trustee. 

There was an attempt in New York, towards the close of 1882, to presentthe Passion Play on the stage of a theatre. A licence was applied for. The artist, no matter how high in his profession, who would dare toappear in the character of the Divine Person, was fit only for the Tombsprison or Sing-Sing. I had no objection to any man attempting the roleof Judas Iscariot. That was entirely within the limitations of stageart. Seth Low was Mayor of Brooklyn, and Mr. Grace was Mayor of NewYork--a Protestant and a Catholic--and yet they were of one opinion onthis proposed blasphemy. 

I think everyone in America realised that the Democratic victory in theelection of Grover Cleveland, by a majority of 190, 000 votes, asGovernor of New York, was a presidential prophecy. The contest forPresident came up, seriously, in the spring of 1883, and the sameheadlines appeared in the political caucus. Among the candidates wasBenjamin F. Butler, Governor of Massachusetts. I believed then there wasnot a better man in the United States for President than Chester A. Arthur. I believed that his faithfulness and dignity in office should behonoured with the nomination. There was some surprise occasioned whenHarvard refused to confer an LL. D. On Governor Butler, a rebuke that noprevious Governor of Massachusetts had suffered. After all, the countrywas chiefly impressed in this event with the fact that an LL. D. , or aD. D. , or an F. R. S. , did not make the man. Americans were becoming verygood readers of character; they could see at a glance the differencebetween right and wrong, but they were tolerant of both. Much more sothan I was. There was one great fault in American character that thewhole world admired; it was our love of hero-worship. A great man wasthe man who did great things, no matter what that man might stand for inreligion or in morals. 

There was Gambetta, whose friendship for America had won the admirationof our country. I myself admired his eloquence, his patriotism, hiscourage in office as Prime Minister of France; but his dying wordsrolled like a wintry sea over all nations, "I am lost!" Gambetta was anatheist, a man whose public indignities to womanhood were demonstratedfrom Paris to Berlin. Gambetta's patriotism for France could never atonefor his atheism, and his infamy towards women. His death, in the dawn of1883, was a page in the world's history turned down at the corner. 

What an important year it was to be for us! In the spring of 1883 theBrooklyn bridge was opened, and our church was within fifteen or twentyminutes of the hotel centre of New York. I said then that many of uswould see the population of Brooklyn quadrupled and sextupled. In manyrespects, up to this time, Brooklyn had been treated as a suburb of NewYork, a dormitory for tired Wall Streeters. With the completion of thebridge came new plans for rapid transit, for the widening of ourstreets, for the advancement of our municipal interests. A consolidationof Brooklyn and New York was then under discussion. It was a badlook-out for office-holders, but a good one for tax-payers. At leastthat was the prospect, but I never will see much encouragement inAmerican politics. 

The success of Grover Cleveland and his big majority, as Governor, ledboth wings of the Democratic party to promise us the millennium. Eventhe Republicans were full of national optimism, going over to theDemocrats to help the jubilee of reform. Four months later, although wewere told that Mr. Cleveland was to be President, he could not get hisown legislature to ratify his nomination. His hands were tied, and hisidolaters were only waiting for his term of office to expire. Thepoliticians lied about him. Because as Governor of New York he could notgive all the office-seekers places, he was, in a few months, executed byhis political friends, and the millennium was postponed that politicsmight have time to find someone else to be lifted up--and in turn hurledinto oblivion. 

That the politics of our country might serve a wider purpose, a greatagitation among the newspapers began. The price of the great dailiescame down from four to three cents, and from three to two cents. In aweek it looked as though they would all be down to one cent. I expectedto see them delivered free, with a bonus given for the favour of takingthem at all. It was not a pleasant outlook, this deluge of printedmatter, cheapened in every way, by cheaper labour, cheaper substance, and cheaper grammar. It was a plan that enlarged the scope of influenceover what was arrogantly claimed as editorial territory--public opinion. Public opinion is sound enough, so long as it is not taken too seriouslyin the newspapers. 

The difference between a man as his antagonists depict him, and as hereally is in his own character, may be as wide as the ocean. I wasparticularly impressed with this fact when I met the Rev. Dr. Ewer ofNew York, who had been accused of being disputatious and arrogant. Truthwas, he was a master in the art of religious defence, wielding ascimitar of sharp edge. I never met a man with more of the childlike, the affable, and the self-sacrificing qualities than Dr. Ewer had. 

He was an honest man in the highest sense, with a never-varying purityof purpose. Dr. Ewer died in the fall of 1883. 

I began to feel that in the local management of our own big city therewas an uplift, when two such sterling young men as James W. Ridgeway, and Joseph C. Hendrix, were nominated for District Attorney. They weremerely technical opponents, but were united in the cause of reform andhonest administration against our criminal population. We were fortunatein the degree of promise there was, in having a choice of such competentnominees. But it was a period of historical jubilee in our country, thisfall of 1883. 

We were celebrating centennials everywhere, even at Harvard. It seemedto be about a hundred years back since anything worth while had reallyhappened in America. Since 1870 there had been a round of centennials. It was a good thing in the busy glorification of a brilliant present, and a glorious future, that we rehearsed the struggle and hardships bywhich we had arrived to this great inheritance of blessing andprosperity. 

"The United States Government is a bubble-bursting nationality, " saidLord John Russell, but every year since has disproved the accuracy ofthis jeer. Even our elections disproved it. Candidates for thePresidency are pushed out of sight by a sudden wave of split tickets. Inthe elections of 1883, in Ohio ten candidates were obliterated; inPennsylvania five were buried and fifteen resurrected. In Indiana, therecord of names in United States political quicksands is too long tooconsider, the new candidates that sprang up being still larger innumbers. And yet only six men in any generation become President. Out offive thousand men, who consider themselves competent to be captains, only six are crowned with their ambition. And these six are notgenerally the men who had any prospect of becoming the people's choice. The two political chiefs in convention, failing on the thirtieth ballotto get the nomination, some less conspicuous man is chosen as acompromise. Political ambition seems to me a poor business. There aremen more worthy of national praise than the successful politicians; menlike Isaac Hull; men whose generous gifts and Christian careersperpetuate the magnificent purposes of our lives. Isaac Hull was aQuaker--one of the best in that sect. I lived among quakers for sevenyears in Philadelphia, and I loved them. Mr. Hull illustrated in hislife the principles of his sect, characterised by integrity of financeand of soul. He rose to the front rank of public-spirited men, from thehumble duties of a farmer's boy. He was one of the most importantmembers of the Society of Friends, and I valued the privilege of hisfriendship more than that of any celebrity I ever knew. He lived for theprofit in standards rather than for wealth, and he passed on to a widercircle of friends beyond. 

I have a little list of men who about this time passed away amid manyantagonisms--men who were misunderstood while they lived. I knew theirworth. There was John McKean, the District Attorney of New York, whodied in 1883, when criticism against him, of lawyers and judges, wasmost bitter and cruel. A brilliant lawyer, he was accused ofnon-performance of duty; but he died, knowing nothing of the delayscomplained of. He was blamed for what he could not help. Some stroke ofill-health; some untoward worldly [_Transcriber's Note: original says"wordly"_] circumstances, or something in domestic conditions will oftendisqualify a man for service; and yet he is blamed for idleness, forhaving possessions when the finances are cramped, for temper when thenerves have given out, for misanthropy when he has had enough to disgusthim for ever with the human race. After we have exhausted the vocabularyof our abuse, such men die, and there is no reparation we can make. Inspite of the abuse John McKean received, the courts adjourned in honourof his death--but that was a belated honour. McKean was one of thekindest of men; he was merciful and brave. 

There was Henry Villard, whose bankruptcy of fortune killed him. He wascompelled to resign the presidency of the Northern Pacific RailroadCompany, to resign his fortune, to resign all but his integrity. That hekept, though every dollar had gone. Only two years before his financialcollapse he was worth $30, 000, 000. In putting the great Northern PacificRailroad through he swamped everything he had. All through Minnesota andthe North-west I heard his praises. He was a man of great heart andunbounded generosity, on which fed innumerable human leeches, enough ofthem to drain the life of any fortune that was ever made. On amagnificent train he once took, free of charge, to the Yellowstone Park, a party of men, who denounced him because, while he provided them withevery luxury, they could not each have a separate drawing-room car tothemselves. I don't believe since the world began there went throughthis country so many titled nonentities as travelled then, free of cost, on the generous bounty of Mr. Villard. The most of these people wenthome to the other side of the sea, and wrote magazine articles on theconditions of American society, while Mr. Villard went into bankruptcy. It was the last straw that broke the camel's back. It would not be sobad if riches only had wings with which to fly away; but they have clawswith which they give a parting clutch that sometimes clips a man'sreason, or crushes his heart. It is the claw of riches we must look outfor. 

Then there was Wendell Phillips! Not a man in this country was moreadmired and more hated than he was. Many a time, addressing a bigaudience, he would divide them into two parts--those who got up to leavewith indignation, and those who remained to frown. He was often, duringa lecture, bombarded with bricks and bad eggs. But he liked it. He couldendure anything in an audience but silence, and he always had a securefollowing of admirers. 

He told me once that in some of the back country towns of Pennsylvaniait nearly killed him to lecture. "I go on for an hour, " he told me, "without hearing one response, and I have no way of knowing whether thepeople are instructed, pleased, or outraged. "

He enjoyed the tempestuous life. His other life was home. It wasdominant in his appreciation. He owed much of his courage to that home. Lecturing in Boston once, during most agitated times, he received thisnote from his wife: "No shilly-shallying, Wendell, in the presence ofthis great public outrage. " Many men in public life owe their strengthto this reservoir of power at home. 

The last fifteen years of his life were devoted to the domesticinvalidism of his home. Some men thought this was unjustifiable. Butwhat exhaustion of home life had been given to establish his publiccareer! A popular subscription was started to raise a monument inBoston to Wendell Phillips. I recommended that it should be built withinsight of the monument erected to Daniel Webster. If there were ever twomen who during their life had an appalling antagonism, they were DanielWebster and Wendell Phillips. I hoped at that time their statues wouldbe erected facing each other. Wendell Phillips was fortunate in hisdomestic tower of strength; still, I have known men whose domestic liveswere painful in the extreme, and yet they arose above this deficiency togreat personal prominence. 

What is good for one man is not good for another. It is the same withState rights as it is with private rights. In '83-'84, the whole countrywas agitated about the questions of tariff reform and free trade. Tariffreform for Pennsylvania, free trade for Kentucky. New England and theNorth-west had interests that would always be divergent. It was absurdto try and persuade the American people that what was good for one Statewas good for another State. Common intelligence showed how false thistheory was. Until by some great change the manufacturing interests ofthe country should become national interests, co-operation andcompromise in inter-state commerce was necessary. No one section of thecountry could have its own way. The most successful candidate for thePresidency at this time seemed to be the man who could most bewilder thepublic mind on these questions. Blessed in politics is the politicalfog!

The most significantly hopeful fact to me was that the three prominentcandidates for Speakership at the close of 1883--Mr. Carlisle, Mr. Randall, and Mr. Cox--never had wine on their tables. We were, moreover, getting away from the old order of things, when senators wereconspicuous in gambling houses. The world was advancing in a spiritualtransit of events towards the close. It was time that it gave way tosomething even better. It had treated me gloriously, and I had no faultto find with it, but I had seen so many millions in hunger and pain, andwretchedness and woe that I felt this world needed either to be fixed upor destroyed. 

The world had had a hard time for six thousand years, and, as the newyear of 1884 approached, there were indications that our planet wasgetting restless. There were earthquakes, great storms, great drought. It may last until some of my descendants shall head their letters withJanuary 1, 15, 000, A. D. ; but I doubt it. 

THE EIGHTH MILESTONE

1884-1885

I reached the fiftieth year of my life in December, 1883. In my longresidence in Brooklyn I had found it to be the healthiest city in theworld. It had always been a good place to live in--plenty of fresh airblowing up from the sea--plenty of water rolling down through ourreservoirs--the Sabbaths too quiet to attract ruffianism. 

Of all the men I have seen and heard and known, there were but a fewdeep friendships that I depended upon. In February, 1884, I lost one ofthese by the decease of Thomas Kinsella, a Brooklyn man of publicaffairs, of singular patriotism and local pride. 

Years ago, when I was roughly set upon by ecclesiastical assailants, hegave one wide swing of his editorial scimitar, which helped much intheir ultimate annihilation. My acquaintance with him was slight at thetime, and I did not ask him to help me. I can more easily forget a wrongdone to me than I can forget a kindness. He was charitable to many whonever knew of it. By reason of my profession, there came to me manystories of distress and want, and it was always Mr. Kinsella's hand thatwas open to befriend the suffering. Bitter in his editorialantagonisms, he was wide in his charities. One did not have to knock atmany iron gates to reach his sympathies. 

Mr. Kinsella died of overwork, from the toil of years that taxed hisstrength. None but those who have been behind the scenes can appreciatethe energies that are required in making up a great daily newspaper. Itsdemands for "copy" come with such regularity. Newspaper writers mustproduce just so much, whether they feel like it or not. There is nonewspaper vacation. So the commanders-in-chief of the great dailiesoften die of overwork. Henry J. Raymond died that way, Samuel Bowles, Horace Greeley. Once in a while there are surviving veterans likeThurlow Weed, or Erastus Brooks, or James Watson Webb--but they shiftedthe most of the burden on others as they grew old. Success in anycalling means drudgery, sacrifice, push, and tug, but especially so inthe ranks of the newspaper armies. 

A great many of us, however, about this time, survived a worse fate, though how we did it is still a mystery of the period. We discovered, inthe spring of 1884, that we had been eating and drinking things not tobe mentioned. Honest old-fashioned butter had melted and run out of theworld. Instead of it we had trichinosis in all styles served up morningand evening--all the evils of the food creation set before us in rawshape, or done up in puddings, pies, and gravies. The average hotel hashwas innocent merriment compared to our adulterated butter. The candies, which we bought for our children, under chemical analysis, were found tobe crystallised disease. Lozenges were of red lead. Coffees and teaswere so adulterated that we felt like Charles Lamb, who, in a similarpredicament, said, "If this be coffee, give me tea; and if it be tea, give me coffee. " Even our medicines were so craftily adulterated thatthey were sure to kill. There was alum in our bread, chalk in our milk, glass in our sugar, Venetian red in our cocoa, and heaven knows what inthe syrup. 

Too much politics in our food threatened to demoralise our large cities. The same thing had happened in London, in 1868. We survived it, kept onpreaching against it, and giving money to prosecute the guilty. It wasan age of pursuit; ministers pursuing ministers, lawyers pursuinglawyers, doctors, merchants, even Arctic explorers pursuing one another, the North Pole a jealous centre of interest. Everything is frozen in theArctic region save the jealousies of the Arctic explorers. Even theNorth Pole men were like others. This we discovered in 1884, when, inWashington, the post-mortem trial of DeLong and his men was in progress. There was nothing to be gained by the controversy. There were no laurelsto be awarded by this investigation, because the men whose fame was mostinvolved were dead. It was a quarrel, and the "Jeannette" was thegraveyard in which it took place. It was disgraceful. 

Jealousy is the rage of a man, also of a woman. 

It was evident, in the progress of this one-sided trial, that ourlegislature needed to have their corridors, their stairways, and theirrooms cleaned of lobbyists. 

At the State Capital in Albany, one bright spring morning in the sameyear, the legislature rose and shook itself, and the Sergeant-at-Armswas instructed to drive the squad of lobbyists out of the building. Hedid it so well that he scarcely gave them time to get their canes ortheir hats. Some of the lowest men in New York and Brooklyn were amongthem. That was a spring cleaning worth while. But it was only a littlecorner of the political arena that was unclean. 

I remember how eagerly, when I went to Canada in April, the reporterskept asking me who would be the next President. It would have been suchan easy thing to answer if I had only known who the man was. In thisdilemma I suggested some of our best presidential timber in Brooklyn assuitable candidates. These were General Slocum, General Woodford, General Tracey, Mayor Low, Judge Pratt, Judge Tierney, Mr. Stranahan, and Judge Neilson. Some of these men had been seriously mentioned forthe office. Honourable mention was all they got, however. They were toounpretentious for the role. It was the beginning of a mud-slingingcampaign. New York versus New York--Brooklyn versus Brooklyn. 

I long ago came to the conclusion that the real heroes of the world wereon the sea. The ambitions of men crowded together on land wereincontestably disgusting. On the vast, restless deep men stand alone, inbrave conflict with constant danger. I was always deeply impressed bythe character of men, as revealed in disasters of the sea. There weremany of them during my life-time. The bigger the ships grew, the moredangerous became ocean travel. Our improvements seemed to add to thehumour of grim old Neptune. In 1884 the ocean was becoming a greatturnpike road, and people were required by law to keep to the right orto the left. A population of a million sailors was on the sea at alltimes. Some of the ships were too busy to stop to save human lives, aswas the case in the disaster of the "Florida. " In distress, her captainhailed "The City of Rome, " a monster of the deep. But "The City ofRome" had no time to stop, and passed on by. The lifeboats of the"Florida" were useless shells, utterly unseaworthy. The "Florida" wasunfit for service. John Bayne, the engineer, was the hero who lost hislife to save others. But this was becoming a common story of the sea;for when the "Schiller" went down, Captain Thomas gave his life forothers. When the "Central-America" sank, President Arthur'sfather-in-law perished in the same way. Every shipwreck I have knownseems lighted up with some marvellous deed of heroism in man. 

In 1884 there was a failure in Wall Street for eight or ten milliondollars, and hundreds went down during this shipwreck. By heroism andcourage alone were they able to outlive it. To whom did all this moneybelong? To those who were drowned in the storm of financial sea. But itwas only a Wall Street flurry; it did not affect the national ship as itwould have done twenty years before. The time had passed when WallStreet could jeopardise the commerce of the country. Twenty yearsbefore, such a calamity in three days' time would have left all thebusiness of the nation in the dust. It would have crashed down all thebanks, the insurance companies, the stock-houses. New York, Boston, Philadelphia, San Francisco, New Orleans--from coast to coast, everything would have tumbled down. 

The principal lesson derived from this panic was to keep excitable menout of Wall Street. While the romance of a failure for hundreds ofthousands of dollars is more appealing than a failure for a small sum, the greater the deficit the greater the responsibility. Ferdinand Wardwas in this Wall Street crash of 1883. The roseate glasses of wealththrough which he saw the world had made him also see millions in everydirection. George L. Seney lost his bank and railroad stock in thisfailure, but he had given hundreds of thousands to the cause ofeducation, North and South. Some people regretted that he had not kepthis fortune to help him out of his trouble. I believe there werethousands of good people all over the country who prayed that thisphilanthropist might be restored to wealth. There was one man in WallStreet at this time who I said could not fail. He was Mr. A. S. Hatch, President of the New York Stock Exchange. He had given large sums ofmoney to Christian work, and was personally an active church member. 

That which I hear about men who are unfortunate makes no impression onme. There is always a great jubilee over the downfall of a financier. Ilike to put the best phase possible upon a man's misfortune. No onebegrudged the wealth of the rich men of the past. 

The world was becoming too compressed, it was said; there was not roomenough to get away from your troubles. All the better. It was getting toa compactness that could be easily poked up and divinely appropriated. Anew cable was landed at Rockport, Mass. , that was to bring the worldinto closer reunion of messages. We were to have cheaper cable serviceunder the management of the Commercial Cable Company. Simultaneouslywith this information, the s. S. "America" made the astounding record ofa trip from shore to shore of the Atlantic, in six days fourteen hoursand eighteen minutes. It was a startling symbol of future wonders. Ipromised then to exchange pulpits with any church in England once amonth. It seemed a possibility, as proposed in Mr. Corbin's scheme ofharbours at Montauk Point. There were pauses in the breathless speed wewere just beginning at this time. We paused to say farewell to the goodmen whom we were passing by. They were not spectacular. Some of themwill no doubt be unknown to the reader. 

A gentle old man, his face illumined always by a radiant smile, fellbehind. He was Bishop Simpson. We paused to bid him farewell. In 1863, walking the streets of Philadelphia one night with an army surgeon, wepassed the Academy of Music in that city, where a meeting was being heldon behalf of the Christian Commission, the object of which was to takecare of wounded soldiers. As we stood at the back of the stagelistening, the meeting seemed to be very dull. A speaker was introduced. His voice was thin, his manner unimpressive. My friend said, "Let's go, "but I replied, "Wait until we see what there is in him. " Suddenly, hegrew upon us. The address became adorned with a pathos, a sublimity, andan enthusiasm that overwhelmed the audience. When the speaker sat down, I inquired who he was. 

"That is Bishop Simpson, " said my informant. In later years, I learnedthat the Bishop's address that night was the great hour of his life. Hisreputation became national. He was one of the few old men who knew howto treat young men. He used no gestures on the platform, no climaxes, nodramatic effects of voice, yet he was eloquent beyond description. Hisearnestness broke over and broke through all rules of rhetoric. He madehis audiences think and feel as he did himself. That, I believe, is thebest of a man's inner salvation. 

In the autumn of the same year we paused to close the chapters of JerryMcCauley's life, a man who had risen from the depths of crime andsin--a different sort of man from Bishop Simpson. He was born in thehome of a counterfeiter. He became a thief, an outlaw. By an influencethat many consider obsolete and old-fashioned, he became converted, andwas recognised by the best men and women in New York and Brooklyn. Iknew McCauley. I stood with him on the steps of his mission in WaterStreet. He was a river thief changed into an angel. It was supernatural, a miracle. McCauley gave twelve years to his mission work. Two yearsbefore his death he changed his quarters, converting a dive into a Houseof God. What an imbecile city government refused to touch wassurrendered to hosannas and doxologies. The story of Jerry McCauley'smissionary work in the heart of a wicked section of New York was calledromantic. I attest that I am just as keenly sensitive to the beauty ofromance as any human being, but there was a great deal that was calledromantic in American life in 1884-1885 that was not so. Romance became aroseate mist, through which old and young saw the obligations of lifebut dimly. 

A strange romance of marriage became epidemic in America at this time. European ethics were being imported, and the romance of European libertyswept over us. A parental despotism was responsible. The newspapers ofthe summer of 1884 were full of elopements. They were long excitingchapters of domestic calamity. My sympathies were with the young fellowof seven hundred dollars income, married to a millionaire fool whocontinually informed him how much better her position was before sheleft home; the honeymoon a bliss of six months, and all the rest of hislife a profound wish that he had never been born; his only redress thedivorce court or the almshouse. The poetry of these elopements wasfalse, the prose that came after was the truth. Marriage is anold-fashioned business, and that wedding procession lasts longest thatstarts not down the ladder out of the back window, but from the frontdoor with a benediction. 

But, morally and politically, we were in a riot of opinion against whichI constantly protested. Politically, we were without morals. 

The opposing Presidential candidates in 1884 were Grover Cleveland andJames G. Blaine. It was the wonder of the world that the American peopledid not make Mr. Blaine President. There was a world-wide amazement alsoat the abuse which preceded Mr. Cleveland's election. The whole thingwas a spectacle of the ignorance of men about great men. All sorts ofdefamatory reports were spread abroad about them. Men of mind are alsomen of temperament. There are two men in every one man, and for thisreason Mr. Blaine was the most misunderstood of great men. To the end ofhis brilliant life calumny pursued him. There were all sorts of reportsabout him. 

One series of reports said that Mr. Blaine was almost unable to walk;that he was too sick to be seen; that death was for him close at hand, and his obituaries were in type in many of the printing offices. 

The other series of reports said that Mr. Blaine was vigorous; went upthe front steps of his house at a bound; was doing more work than ever, and was rollicking with mirth. The baleful story was ascribed to hisenemies, who wanted the great man out of the world. The reassuring storywas ascribed to his friends, who wanted to keep him in the ranks ofPresidential possibilities. 

The fact is that both reports were true. There were two Mr. Blaines, asthere are two of every mercurial temperament. Of the phlegmatic, slow-pulsed man there is only one. You see him once and you see him ashe always is. Not so with the nervous organisation. He has as many moodsas the weather, as many changes as the sky. He is bright or dull, sereneor tempestuous, cold or hot, up or down, January or August, day ornight, Arctic or tropical. At Washington, in 1889, I saw the two Blaineswithin two hours. I called with my son to see the great Secretary ofState at his office, and although it was his day for seeing foreigndiplomats, he received us with great cordiality. His face was anillumination; his voice resonant; his manner animated; he was full ofgesticulation. He walked up and down the room describing things underdiscussion; fire in his eye, spring in his step. Although aboutfifty-nine years of age, he looked forty-five, and strong enough towrestle with two or three ordinary men. He had enough vitality for anathlete. 

We parted. My son and I went down the street, made two or three othercalls, and on the way noticed a carriage passing with two or threepeople in it. My attention was startled by the appearance in thatcarriage of what seemed a case of extreme invalidism. The man seemedsomewhat bolstered up. My sympathies were immediately aroused, and Isaid to my son, "Look at that sick man riding yonder. " When the carriagecame nearer to us, my son said, "That is Mr. Blaine. " Looking closely atthe carriage I found that this was so. He had in two hours swung fromvigour to exhaustion, from the look of a man good for twenty years ofsuccessful work to a man who seemed to be taking his last ride. Hesimply looked as he felt on both occasions. We had seen the two Blaines. 

How much more just we would be in our judgment of men if we realisedthat a man may be honestly two different men, and how this theory wouldexplain that which in every man of high organisation seems sometimes tobe contradictory! Aye, within five minutes some of us with mercurialnatures can remember to have been two entirely different men in twoentirely different worlds. Something said to us cheering or depressing;some tidings announced, glad or sad; some great kindness done for us, orsome meanness practised on us have changed the zone, the pulsation, thephysiognomy, the physical, the mental, the spiritual condition, and webecome no more what we were than summer is winter, or midnoon ismidnight, or frosts are flowers. 

The air was full of political clamour and strife in the election of1884. Never in this country was there a greater temptation to politicalfraud, because, after four month's battle, the counting of the ballotsrevealed almost a tie. I urged self-control among men who were angry andmen who were bitter. The enemies of Mr. Blaine were not necessarily thefriends of Mr. Cleveland. The enemies of Mr. Cleveland were bitter, butthey were afraid of Mr. Blaine; for he was a giant intellectually, practically, physically, and he stood in the centre of a national arenaof politics, prepared to meet all challenge. Mr. Cleveland never reallyopposed him. He faced him on party issues, not as an individualantagonist. The excitement was intense during the suspense that followedthe counting of the ballots, and Mr. Cleveland went into the White Houseamidst a roar of public opinion so confused and so vicious that therewas no certainty of ultimate order in the country. In after years Ienjoyed his confidence and friendship, and I learned to appreciate thestability and reserve of his nature. In a Milestone beyond this, I haverecalled a conversation I had with him at the White House, and recordedmy impressions of him. Above the clamour of these troublesome times, Iraised my voice and said that in the distant years to come the electorsof New York, Alabama, and Maine, and California, would march togetherdown Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington for the discharge of the greatduties of the Electoral College. 

The storm passed, and the Democrats were in power. It was the calm thatfollows an electrical disturbance. The paroxysm of filth and moral deathwas over. 

Mr. Vanderbilt, converted into a philanthropist, gave five hundredthousand dollars to a medical institute, and the world began to see newpossibilities in great fortunes. That a railroad king could also be aChristian king was a hopeful tendency of the times. These were the actsthat tended to smother the activities of Communism in America. 

In the previous four years the curious astronomer had discovered theevolution of a new world in the sky, and so while on earth there wereconvulsions, in the skies there were new beauties born. With the risingsun of the year 1885, one of our great and good men of Brooklyn saw itwith failing eyesight. Doctor Noah Hunt Schenck, pastor of St. Ann'sEpiscopal Church, was stricken. For fifteen years he had blessed ourcity with his benediction. The beautiful cathedral which grew to itsproportions of grandeur under Doctor Schenck's pastorate, stood as amonument to him. 

A few weeks later Schuyler Colfax, speaker of the House ofRepresentatives, passed on. In the vortex of political feeling hisintegrity was attacked but I never believed a word of the accusations. Ten millions of people hoped for his election as President. He was mypersonal friend. When the scandal of his life was most violent, heexplained it all away satisfactorily in my own house. This explanationwas a confidence that I cannot break, but it made me ever afterwards aloyal friend to his memory. He was one of those upon whom was placed theburden of living down a calumny, and when he died Congress adjourned inhis honour. Members of the legislature in his own country gathered abouthis obsequies. I have known many men in public life, but a more lovableman than Schuyler Colfax I never knew. The generous words he spoke of meon the last Sabbath of his life I shall never forget. The perpetualsmile on his face was meanly caricatured, and yet it was his benedictionupon a world unworthy of him. 

In 1885, from far away over the sea came muffled thunder tones of warand rebellion. The deadly nightshade was indigenous to our times. Thedynamite outrages at Westminster Hall and the House of Commons wereexplosions we in America heard faintly. Their importance wasexaggerated. A hundred years back, the kings of England, of France, ofRussia who died in their beds were rare. The violent incidents of lifewere less conspicuous as the years went on. What riots Philadelphia hadseen during the old firemen's battle in the streets! And thosetheatrical riots in New York, when the military was called out, and hadto fire into the mob, because the friends of Macready and Forrest couldnot agree as to which was the better actor!

An alarming number of disputes came up at this time over wills. TheOrphan Courts were over-worked with these cases. I suggested a rule forall wills: one-third at least to the wife, and let the children sharealike. When a child receives more than a wife, the family is askew. Aman's wife should be first in every ambition, in every provision. One-third to the wife is none too much. The worst family feuds proceedfrom inequality of inheritance. 

This question of rights under testamentary gifts of the rich was not soimportant, however, as the alarming growth in our big cities of theproblem of the poor. The tenement house became a menace to cleanliness. Never before were there so many people living in unswept, unairedtenements. Stairs below stairs, stairs above stairs, where all the lawsof health were violated. The Sanitary Protective League was organised toalleviate these conditions. Asiatic cholera was striding over Europe, and the tenement house of America was a resting place for it here. 

After a lecturing trip in the spring of 1885 through Ohio, Indiana, Michigan, Illinois, and Wisconsin, I returned to Brooklyn, delightedwith the confidence with which the people looked forward to the firstCleveland administration. On the day that $50, 000, 000 was voted for theRiver and Harbour Bill, both parties sharing in the spoils, Americanpolitics touched bottom. There were symptoms of recuperation in Mr. Cleveland's initiative. Belligerency was abandoned as a hopelesscampaign. 

The graceful courtesy with which President Arthur bowed himself out ofthe White House was unparalleled. Never in my memory was a sceptre sogracefully relinquished. Nothing in his three-and-a-half years of officedid him more credit. I think we never had a better President than Mr. Arthur. He was fortunate in having in his Cabinet as chief adviser Mr. Frederick T. Frelinghuysen. 

My office as a minister compelled me to see, first and foremost, therighteous uplift of the events as I passed along with them. These werenot always the most conspicuous elements of public interest, but theycomprised the things and the people I saw. 

I recall, for instance, chief amongst the incidents of Mr. Cleveland'sadministration, that the oath of office was administered upon hismother's Bible. Many people regarded this as mere sentimentality. To meit meant more than words could express. The best of Bibles is themother's. It meant that the man who chose to be sworn in on such a bookhad a grateful remembrance. It was as though he had said, "If it had notbeen for her, this honour would never have come to me. " For all there isof actual solemnity in the usual form of taking an oath, people mightjust as well be sworn in on a city directory or an old almanac. But, asI said then, I say now--make way for an administration that starts fromthe worn and faded covers of a Bible presented by a mother's hand atparting. 

Mr. Blaine's visit to the White House to congratulate the victor, hiscordial reception there, and his long stay, was another bright side ofthe election contest. There must have been a good deal of lying aboutthese two men when they were wrestling for the honours, for if all thatwas said had been true the scene of hearty salutation between them wouldnot only have been unfit, but impossible. 

All this optimism of outlook helped to defeat the animosity of theprevious campaign. A crowning influence upon the national confusion ofstandards was the final unanimous vote in Congress in favour of puttingGeneral Grant on the retired list, with a suitable provision for hislivelihood, in view of a malady that had come upon him. It had been along, angry, bitter debate, but the generous quality of Americansympathy prevailed. Men who fought on the other side and men who hadopposed his Presidential policy united to alleviate his sickness, thepulsations of which the nation was counting. President Arthur's last actwas to recommend General Grant's relief, and almost the first act of Mr. Cleveland's administration was to ratify it. Republics are notungrateful. The American Republic subscribed about $400, 000 for therelief of Mrs. Garfield; voted pensions for Mrs. Polk and Mrs. Tyler;some years ago subscribed $250, 000 for General Grant, and increased itby vote of Congress in 1885. The Conqueror on the pale horse had alreadytaken many prisoners among the surviving heroes of the war. It wasfitting that he should make his coming upon the great leader of theUnion Army as gentle as the south wind. 

There was a surplus of men fit for official position in America when thehour of our new appointments arrived. There were hundreds of mencompetent to become ministers to England, to France, to Germany, toRussia; as competent as James Russell Lowell or Mr. Phelps. This was alldue to the affluence of American institutions, that spread the benefitsof education broadcast. I remember when Daniel Webster died, peoplesaid, "We shall have no one now to expound the constitution, " but thechief expositions of the constitution have been written and utteredsince then. There were pigmies in the old days, too. I had a friend who, as a stenographer some years ago, made a fortune by knocking bad grammarout of the speeches of Congressmen and Senators, who were illiterate. They said to him haughtily, "Stenographer, here are a couple of hundreddollars; fix up that speech I made this morning, and see that it getsinto the Congressional Record all right. If you can't fix it up, writeanother. "

In 1885, there were plenty of women, too, who understood politics. Therewere mean and silly women, of course, but there was a new race springingup of grand, splendid, competent women, with a knowledge of affairs. Theappointment of Mr. Cox as Minister to Turkey was a compliment toAmerican literature. In consequence of a picturesque description he gaveof some closing day in a foreign country, he was facetiously nicknamed"Sunset Cox. " I rechristened him "Sunrise Cox. " When President Tylerappointed Washington Irving as Minister to Spain, he set an example forall time. Men of letters put their blood into their inkstands, but thesacrifice is poorly recognised. 

Some of us were faintly urging world-wide peace, but around the nightsky of 1885 was the glare of many camp fires. Never were there so manywars on the calendar at the same time. The Soudan war, the threat of aRusso-English war and of a Franco-Chinese war, the South-American war, the Colombian war--all the nations restless and arming. The scarlet rashof international hatred spread over the earth, and there were manypredictions. I said then it was comparatively easy to foretell the issueof these wars--excepting one. I believed that the Revolutionist ofPanama would be beaten; the half-breed overcome by the Canadian; thatFrance would humble China, but that the Central American war would goon, and stop, and go on again, and stop again, until, discovering someWashington or Hamilton or Jefferson of its own, it would establish aUnited States of South America corresponding with the United States ofNorth America. The Soudan war would cease when the English Governmentabandoned the attempt to fix up in Egypt things unfixable. But whatwould be the result of the outbreak between England and Russia was thewar problem of the world. The real question at issue was whether Europeshould be dominated by the lion or the bear. 

In the United States we had no internal frictions which threatened us somuch as rum and gambling. In Brooklyn we never ceased bombarding theserebellious agents of war on the character of young men. Coney Island wasonce a beautiful place, but in the five years since that time, when itwas a garden by the sea, the races at Brighton Beach and Sheepshead Bayhad been established. In New York and Brooklyn pool rooms were open forbetting on these races. In ten years' time I predicted that no decentman or woman would be able to visit Coney Island. The evil wasstupendous, and the subject of Coney Island could no longer be neglectedin the pulpit. 

Betting was a new-fashioned sort of vice in America in 1885; it was justbecoming a licensed relaxation for young boys. As the years went on, ithas grown to great distinction in all forms of American life, but it wasyet only at its starting point in this year. Looking over an address Imade on this subject, I find this statement:

"What a spectacle when, at Saratoga, or at Long Branch, or at BrightonBeach, the horses stop, and in a flash $50, 000 or $100, 000 changehands--multitudes ruined by losses, others, ruined by winnings. " Manyyears afterwards the money involved in racing was in the millions; butin 1885, $100, 000 was still a good bit. There were three kinds ofbetting at the horse races then--by auction pools, by French mutuals, and by what is called bookmaking--all of these methods controlled "for aconsideration. " The pool seller deducted three or five per cent. Fromthe winning bet (incidentally "ringing up" more tickets than were soldon the winning horse), while the bookmaker, for special inducement, would scratch any horse in the race. The jockey also, for aconsideration, would slacken speed to allow a prearranged winner to walkin, while the judges on the stand turned their backs. 

It was just a swindling trust. And yet, these race tracks on a fineafternoon were crowded with intelligent men of good standing in thecommunity, and frequently the parasols of the ladies gave colour andbrilliancy to the scene. Our most beautiful watering places were all butdestroyed by the race tracks. To stop all this was like turning back theocean tides, so regular became the habit of gambling, of betting, ofbeing legally swindled in America. No one was interested in the evils oflife. We were on the frontier of a greater America, a greater waste ofmoney, a greater paradise of pleasure. 

Some notice was taken of General Grant's malady, mysteriously pronouncedincurable. The bulletins informed us that his life might last a week, aday, an hour--and still the famous old warrior kept getting better. Onemoment Grant was dying, the next he was dining heartily at his owndinner table. This was one of the mysteries of the period. Personally, Ibelieve the prayers of the Church kept him alive. 

In April, 1885, the huge pedestal for the wonderful statue of Liberty, presented to us by the citizens of France, was started. That whichCongress had ignored, and the philanthropists of America had neglected, the masses were doing by their modest subscription--a dollar from themen, ten cents from the children. All Europe wrapped in war cloud madethe magnificence and splendour of our enlightened liberty greater thanever. It was time that the gates of the sea, the front door of America, should be made more attractive. Castle Garden was a gloomy corridorthrough which to arrive. I urged that the harbour fortresses should beterraced with flowers, fitting the approach to the forehead of thiscontinent that Bartholdi was to illumine with his Coronet of Flame. 

The Bartholdi statue, as we read and heard, and talked about it, becamean inspired impulse to fine art in America. In the right hand of thestatue was to be a torch; in the left hand, a scroll representing thelaw. What a fine conception of true liberty! It was my hope then thatfifty years after the statue had been placed on its pedestal the foreignships passing Bedloe's Island, by that allegory, should ever understandthat in this country it is liberty according to law. Life, as we shouldlive it, is strong, according to our obedience of its statutes. 

In my boyhood this was impressed upon me by association and example. When in May, 1885, Frederick T. Frelinghuysen, ex-Secretary of State, died, I was forcibly reminded of this fact. I grew up in a neighbourhoodwhere the name of Frelinghuysen was a synonym for purity of characterand integrity. There were Dominie Frelinghuysen, General JohnFrelinghuysen, Senator Theodore Frelinghuysen--and FrederickFrelinghuysen, the father of "Fred, " as he was always called in his homestate. When I was a boy, "Fred" Frelinghuysen practised in the oldSomerville Courthouse in New Jersey, and I used to crowd in and listento his eloquence, and wonder how he could have composure enough to faceso many people. He was the king of the New Jersey bar. Never once in hiswhole lifetime was his name associated with a moral disaster of anykind. Amid the pomp and temptations of Washington he remained aconsistent Christian. All the Feloniousness were alike--grandfather, grandson, and uncle. On one side of the sea was the Prime Minister ofEngland, Gladstone; on the other side was Secretary of StateFrelinghuysen; two men whom I associate in mutual friendship andesteem. 

Towards the end of June, 1885, we were tremendously excited. All one daylong the cheek of New York was flushed with excitement over the arrivalof the Bartholdi statue. Bunting and banners canopied the harbour, fluttered up and down the streets, while minute guns boomed, and bandsof music paraded. We had miraculously escaped the national disgrace ofnot having a place to put it on when it arrived. It was a gift thatmeant European and American fraternity. The $100, 000 contributed by themasses for the pedestal on Bedloe's Island was an estimate of Americangratitude and courtesy to France. The statue itself would stand for agesas the high-water mark of civilisation. From its top we expected to seethe bright tinge of the dawn of universal peace. 

THE NINTH MILESTONE

1885-1886

As time kept whispering its hastening call into my ear I grew more andmore vigorous in my outlook. I was given strength to hurry fastermyself, with a certain energy to climb higher up, where the view waswider, bigger, clearer. As I moved upward I had but one fear, and thatwas of looking backward. A minister, entrusted with the charge of souls, cannot afford to retrace his steps. He must go on, and up, to the top ofhis abilities, of his spiritual purposes. 

In the midst of a glorious summer, I refused to see the long shadows ofdeparting day; in the midst of a snow deep winter, I declined to slipand slide as I went on. So it happened that a great many gathered aboutme in the tabernacle, because they felt that I was passing on, and theywanted to see how fast I could go. I aimed always for a higher place andthe way to get up to it, and I took them along with me, always a littlefurther, week by week. 

The pessimists came to me and said that the world would soon have asurplus of educated men, that the colleges were turning out manynerveless and useless youngsters, that education seemed to be one of thefollies of 1885. The fact was we were getting to be far superior to whatwe had been. The speeches at the commencement classes were much betterthan those we had made in our boyhood. We had dropped the old haranguesabout Greece and Rome. We were talking about the present. The sylphs andnaiads and dryads had already gone out of business. College educationhad been revolutionised. Students were not stuffed to the Adam's applewith Latin and Greek. The graduates were improved in physique. A greatadvance was reached when male and female students were placed in thesame institutions, side by side. God put the two sexes together in Eden, He put them beside each other in the family. Why not in the college?

There were those who seemed to regard woman as a Divine afterthought. Judging by the fashion plates of olden times, in other centuries, thegrand-daughters were far superior to the grand-mothers, and the fussthey used to make a hundred years ago over a very good woman showed methat the feminine excellence, so rare then, was more common than it usedto be. At the beginning of the nineteenth century a woman was consideredwell educated if she could do a sum in rule of three. Look at the booksin all departments that are under the arms of the school miss now. Ibelieve in equal education for men and women to fulfil the destiny ofthis land. 

For all women who were then entering the battle of life, I saw that thetime was coming when they would not only get as much salary as men, butfor certain employments they would receive higher wages. It would notcome to them through a spirit of gallantry, but through the woman'sfiner natural taste, greater grace of manner, and keener perceptions. For these virtues she would be worth ten per cent. More to her employerthan a man. But she would get it by earning it, not by asking for it. 

In the summer of 1885 I made another trip to Europe. The day I reachedCharing Cross station in London the exposures of vice in the _Pall MallGazette_ were just issued. The paper had not been out half an hour. Mr. Stead, the editor, was later put on trial for startling Europe andAmerica in his crusade against crime. There were the same conditions inAmerica, in Upper Broadway, and other big thoroughfares in New York, bynight, as there were in London. I believe the greatest safety againstvice is newspaper chastisement of dishonour and crime. I urged that somepaper in America should attack the social evil, as the _Pall MallGazette_ had done. A hundred thousand people, with banners and music, gathered in Hyde Park in London, to express their approval of thereformation started by Mr. Stead, and there were a million people inAmerica who would have backed up the same moral heroism. If my voicewere loud enough to be heard from Penobscot to the Rio Grande, I wouldcry out "Flirtation is damnation. " The vast majority of those who makeeverlasting shipwreck carry that kind of sail. The pirates of deathattack that kind of craft. 

My mail bag was a mirror that reflected all sides of the world, and muchthat it showed me was pitifully sordid and reckless. Most of the lettersI answered, others I destroyed. 

The following one I saved, for obvious reasons. It was signed, "One ofthe Congregation":

"Dear Sir, --I do not believe much that you preach, but I am certain thatyou believe it all. To be a Christian I must believe the Bible. To betruthful, I do not believe it. I go to hear you preach because youpreach the Bible as I was taught it in my youth, by a father, who, likeyourself, believed what in the capacity of a preacher he proclaimed. Forthirty-five years I have been anxious to walk in the path my mother istreading--a simple faith. I have lived to see my children's children, and the distance that lies between me and my real estate in thegraveyard, cannot be very great. At my age, it would be worse than follyto argue, simply to confound or dispute merely for the love of arguing. My steps are already tottering, and I am lost in the wilderness. I praybecause I am afraid not to pray. What can I do that I have not done, sothat I can see clearly?"

All my sympathies were excited by this letter, because I had been inthat quagmire myself. A student of Doctor Witherspoon once came to himand said, "I believe everything is imaginary! I myself am only animaginary being. " The Doctor said to him, "Go down and hit your headagainst the college door, and if you are imaginary and the doorimaginary, it won't hurt you. "

A celebrated theological professor at Princeton was asked this, by asceptic:--

"You say, train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is oldhe will not depart from it. How do you account for the fact that yourson is such a dissipated fellow?"

The doctor replied, "The promise is, that when he is old, he will notdepart from it. My son is not old enough yet. " He grew old, and hisfaith returned. The Rev. Doctor Hall made the statement that hediscovered in the biographies of one hundred clergymen that they all hadsons who were clergymen, all piously inclined. There is no safe way todiscuss religion, save from the heart; it evaporates when you dare toanalyse its sacred element. 

I received multitudes of letters written by anxious parents about sonswho had just come to the city--letters without end, asking aid forworthy individuals and institutions, which I could not meet even if Ihad an income of $500, 000 per annum--letters from men who told me thatunless I sent them $25 by return mail they would jump into the EastRiver--letters from people a thousand miles away, saying if theycouldn't raise $1, 500 to pay off a mortgage they would be sold out, andwouldn't I send it to them--letters of good advice, telling me how topreach, and the poorer the syntax and the etymology the more insistentthe command. Many encouraging letters were a great help to me. Someletters of a spiritual beauty and power were magnificent tokens of apreacher's work. Most of these letters were lacking in onething--Christian confidence. And yet, what noble examples there were ofthis quality in the world. 

What an example was exhibited to all, when, on October 8, 1885, theorgan at Westminster Abbey uttered its deep notes of mourning, at thefuneral of Lord Shaftesbury, in England. It is well to remember suchnoblemen as he was. The chair at Exeter Hall, where he so oftenpresided, should be always associated with him. His last public act, at84 years of age, was to go forth in great feebleness and make an earnestprotest against the infamies exposed by Mr. Stead in London. In thatdying speech he called upon Parliament to defend the purity of the city. As far back as 1840, his voice in Parliament rang out against theoppression of factory workers, and he succeeded in securing betterlegislation for them. He worked and contributed for the ragged schoolsof England, by which over 200, 000 poor children of London were redeemed. He was President of Bible and Missionary Societies, and was for thirtyyears President of the Young Men's Christian Association. I neverforgave Lord Macaulay for saying he hoped that the "praying of ExeterHall would soon come to an end. " On his 80th birthday, a holiday wasdeclared in honour of Lord Shaftesbury, and vast multitudes kept it. From the Lord Mayor himself to the girls of the Water Cress and FlowerMission, all offered him their congratulations. Alfred Tennyson, thePoet Laureate, wrote him, "Allow me to assure you in plain prose, howcordially I join with those who honour the Earl of Shaftesbury as afriend of the poor. " And, how modest was the Earl's reply. 

He said: "You have heard that which has been said in my honour. Let meremark with the deepest sincerity--ascribe it not, I beseech you, tocant and hypocrisy--that if these statements are partially true, it mustbe because power has been given me from above. It was not in me to dothese things. "

How constantly through my life have I heard the same testimony of thepower that answers prayer. I believed it, and I said it repeatedly, thatthe reason American politics had become the most corrupt element of ournation was because we had ignored the power of prayer. Historyeverywhere confesses its force. The Huguenots took possession of theCarolinas in the name of God. William Penn settled Pennsylvania in thename of God. The Pilgrim Fathers settled New England in the name of God. Preceding the first gun of Bunker Hill, at the voice of prayer, allheads uncovered. In the war of 1812 an officer came to General AndrewJackson and said, "There is an unusual noise in the camp; it ought to bestopped. " The General asked what this noise was. He was told it was thevoice of prayer. 

"God forbid that prayer and praise should be an unusual noise in thecamp, " said General Jackson. "You had better go and join them. "

There was prayer at Valley Forge, at Monmouth, at Atlanta, at SouthMountain, at Gettysburg. But the infamy of politics was broad and wide, and universal. Even the record of Andrew Johnson, our seventeenthPresident, was exhumed. He was charged with conspiracy against theUnited States Government. Because he came from a border State, whereloyalty was more difficult than in the Northern States, he was accusedof making a nefarious attack against our Government. I did not acceptthese charges. They were freighted with political purpose. I said then, in order to prove General Grant a good man, it was not necessary to tryand prove that Johnson was a bad one. The President from Tennessee leftno sons to vindicate his name. I never saw President Johnson but once, but I refused to believe these attacks upon him. They were anunwarranted persecution of the sacred memory of the dead. No man who hasbeen eminently useful has escaped being eminently cursed. 

At our local elections in Brooklyn, in the autumn of 1885, threecandidates for mayor were nominated. They were all exceptionally goodmen. Two of them were personal friends of mine, General Catlin and Dr. Funk. Catlin had twice been brevetted for gallantry in the Civil War, and Dr. Funk was on the prohibition ticket, because he had representedprohibition all his life. Mr. Woodward, the third candidate, I did notknow, but he was a strict Methodist, and that was recommendation enough. But there were pleasanter matters to think about than politics. 

In November of this year, there appeared, at the Horticultural Hall inNew York, a wonderful floral stranger from China--the chrysanthemum. Thousands of people paid to go and see these constellations of beauty. It was a new plant to us then, and we went mad about it in true Americanfashion. To walk among these flowers was like crossing a corner ofheaven. It became a mania of the times, almost like the tulip mania ofHolland in the 17th century. People who had voted that the Chinese mustgo, voted that the Chinese chrysanthemum could stay. The rose wasforgotten for the time being, and the violets, and the carnations, andthe lily of the valley. In America we were still the children of theworld, delighted with everything that was new and beautiful. 

In Europe, the war dance of nations continued. In the twenty-two yearspreceding the year 1820 Christendom had paid ten billions of dollars forbattles. The exorbitant taxes of Great Britain and the United Stateswere results of war. There was a great wave of Gospel effort in Americato counteract the European war fever. It permeated the legislature inAlbany. One morning some members of the New York legislature inaugurateda prayer meeting in the room of the Court of Appeals, and that meeting, which began with six people, at the fifth session overflowed the room. Think of a Gospel Revival in the Albany Legislature! Yet why not justsuch meetings at all State Capitals, in this land of the PilgrimFathers, of the Huguenots, of the Dutch reformers, of the Hungarianexiles?

Occasionally, we were inspired by the record of honest politicalofficials. My friend Thomas A. Hendricks died when he was Vice-presidentof the United States Government. He was an honest official, and yet hewas charged with being a coward, a hypocrite, a traitor. He was a greatsoul. He withstood all the temptations of Washington in which so manymen are lost. I met him first on a lecturing tour in the West. As Istepped on to the platform, I said, "Where is Governor Hendricks?" Witha warmth and cordiality that came from the character of a man who lovedall things that were true, he stood up, and instead of shaking hands, put both his arms around my shoulders, saying heartily, "Here I am. " Iwent on with my lecture with a certain pleasure in the feeling that weunderstood each other. Years after, I met him in his rooms inWashington, at the close of the first session as presiding officer ofthe Senate, and I loved him more and more. Many did not realise hisbrilliancy, because he had such poise of character, such even methods. The trouble has been, with so many men of great talent in Washington, that they stumble in a mire of dissipation. Mr. Hendricks never gotaboard that railroad train so popular with political aspirants. The DeadRiver Grand Trunk Railroad is said to have for its stations Tippleton, Quarrelville, Guzzler's Junction, Debauch Siding, Dismal Swamp, BlackTunnel, Murderer's Gulch, Hangman's Hollow, and the terminal known asPerdition. 

Mr. Hendricks met one as a man ought always to meet men, without anyairs of superiority, or without any appearance of being bored. A coalheaver would get from him as polite a bow as a chief justice. He kepthis patience when he was being lied about. Speeches were put in hismouth which he never made, interviews were written, the language ofwhich he never used. The newspapers that had lied about him, when helived, turned hypocrites, and put their pages in mourning rules when hedied. There were some men appointed to attend his memorial services inIndianapolis on November 30, 1885, whom I advised to stay away, and toemploy their hours in reviewing those old campaign speeches, in whichthey had tried to make a scoundrel out of this man. They were not amongthose who could make a dead saint of him. Mr. Hendricks was a Christian, which made him invulnerable to violent attack. For many years he was aPresbyterian, afterwards he became associated with the Episcopal Church. His life began as a farmer's boy at Shelbyville, his hands on theplough. He was a man who hated show, a man whose counsel in Churchaffairs was often sought. Men go through life, usually, with so manyunconsidered ideals in its course, so many big moments in their livesthat the world has never understood. 

I remember I was in one of the western cities when the telegramannouncing the death of Cornelius Vanderbilt came, and the appallinganxiety on all sides, for two days, was something unique in our nationalhistory. It was an event that proved more than anything in my lifetimethe financial convalescence of the nation. When it was found that nofinancial crash followed the departure of the wealthiest man in America, all sensible people agreed that our recuperating prosperity as a nationwas built on a rock. It had been a fictitious state of things beforethis. It was an event, which, years before, would have closed one halfof the banks, and suspended hundreds of business firms. The passing of$200, 000, 000 from one hand to another, at an earlier period in ourhistory would have shaken the continent with panic and disaster. 

In watching where this $200, 000, 000 went to, we lost sight of themillion dollars bequeathed by Mr. Vanderbilt to charity. Its destiny isworth recalling. $100, 000 went to the Home and Foreign MissionarySociety; $100, 000 to a hospital; $100, 000 to the Young Men's ChristianAssociation; $50, 000 to the General Theological Seminary; $50, 000 forBibles and Prayer-Books; $50, 000 to the Home for Incurables; $50, 000 tothe missionary societies for seamen; $50, 000 to the Home forIntemperates; $50, 000 to the Missionary Society of New York; $50, 000 tothe Museum of Art; $50, 000 to the Museum of Natural History; and$100, 000 to the Moravian Church. While the world at large was curiousabout the money Mr. Vanderbilt did not give to charity, I celebrate hismemory for this one consecrated million. 

He was a railroad king, and they were not popular with the masses in1885-6. And yet, the Grand Central Depot in New York and the Union Depotin Philadelphia, were the palaces where railroad enterprise admitted thepublic to the crowning luxury of the age. Men of ordinary means, ofordinary ability, could not have achieved these things. And yet it wasnecessary to keep armed men in the cemetery to protect Mr. Vanderbilt'sremains. This sort of thing had happened before. Winter quarters werebuilt near his tomb, for the shelter of a special constabulary. SinceA. T. Stewart's death, there had been no certainty as to where hisremains were. Abraham Lincoln's sepulchre was violated. Only a weekbefore Mr. Vanderbilt's death, the Phelps family vault at Binghamton, New York, was broken into. Pinkerton detectives surrounded Mr. Vanderbilt's body on Staten Island. Wickedness was abroad in alldirections, and there were but fifteen years of the nineteenth centuryleft in which to redeem the past. 

In the summer of 1886, Doctor Pasteur's inoculations againsthydrophobia, and Doctor Ferron's experiments with cholera, followingmany years after Doctor Jenner's inoculations against small-pox, wereonly segments of the circle which promised an ultimate cure for all thediseases flesh is heir to. Miracles were amongst us again. I had muchmore interest in these medical discoveries than I had in inventions, locomotive or bellicose. We required no inventions to take us fasterthan the limited express trains. We needed no brighter light thanEdison's. A new realm was opening for the doctors. Simultaneously, withthe gleam of hope for a longer life, there appeared in Brooklyn animpudent demand, made by a combination of men known as the Brewers'Association. They wanted more room for their beer. The mayor was askedto appoint a certain excise commissioner who was in favour of more beergardens than we already had. They wanted to rule the city from theirbeer kegs. In my opinion, a beer garden is worse than a liquor saloon, because there were thousands of men and women who would enter a beergarden who would not enter a saloon. The beer gardens merely prepare newvictims for the eventual sacrifice of alcoholism. Brooklyn was in dangerof becoming a city of beer gardens, rather than a city of churches. 

On January 24, 1886, the seventeenth year of my pastorate of theBrooklyn Tabernacle was celebrated. It was an hour for practical proofto my church that the people of Brooklyn approved of our work. By thenumber of pews taken, and by the amount of premiums paid in, I told themthey would decide whether we were to stand still, to go backward, or togo ahead. We were, at this time, unable to accommodate the audiencesthat attended both Sabbath services. The lighting, the warming, theartistic equipment, all the immense expenses of the church, required asmall fortune to maintain them. We had more friends than the Tabernaclehad ever had before. At no time during my seventeen years' residence inBrooklyn had there been so much religious prosperity there. Thememberships of all churches were advancing. It was a gratifying year inthe progress of the Gospel in Brooklyn. It had been achieved by constantfighting, under the spur of sound yet inspired convictions. How closethe events of secular prominence were to the religious spirit, some ofthe ministers in Brooklyn had managed to impress upon the people. It wasa course that I pursued almost from my first pastoral call, for I firmlybelieved that no event in the world was ever conceived that did not insome degree symbolise the purpose of human salvation. 

When Mr. Parnell returned to England, I expected, from what I had seenand what I knew of him, that his indomitable force would accomplish acrisis for the cause of Ireland. My opinion always was that England andIreland would each be better without the other. Mr. Parnell's triumph onhis return in January, 1886, seemed complete. He discharged the Cabinetin England, as he had discharged a previous Cabinet, and he had much todo with the appointment of their successors. I did not expect that hewould hold the sceptre, but it was clear that he was holding it thenlike a true king of Ireland. 

There was a storm came upon the giant cedars of American life about thistime, which spread disaster upon our national strength. It was a stormthat prostrated the Cedars of Lebanon. 

Secretary Frelinghuysen, Vice-president Hendricks, ex-Governor Seymour, General Hancock, and John B. Gough were the victims. It was a cataclysmof fatality that impressed its sadness on the nation. The threemightiest agencies for public benefit are the printing press, thepulpit, and the platform. The decease of John B. Gough left theplatforms of America without any orator as great as he had been. Forthirty-five years his theme was temperance, and he died when the fightagainst liquor was hottest. He had a rare gift as a speaker. Hisinfluence with an audience was unlike that of any other of hiscontemporaries. He shortened the distance between a smile and a tear inoratory. He was one of the first, if not the first, American speaker whointroduced dramatic skill in his speeches. He ransacked and taxed allthe realm of wit and drama for his work. His was a magic from the heart. Dramatic power had so often been used for the degradation of societythat speakers heretofore had assumed a strict reserve toward it. Thetheatre had claimed the drama, and the platform had ignored it. But Mr. Gough, in his great work of reform and relief, encouraged thedisheartened, lifted the fallen, adopting the elements of drama in hisappeals. He called for laughter from an audience, and it came; or, if hecalled for tears, they came as gently as the dew upon a meadow's grassat dawn. Mr. Gough was the pioneer in platform effectiveness, the firstorator to study the alchemy of human emotions, that he might stir themfirst, and mix them as he judged wisely. So many people spoke of thedrama as though it was something built up outside of ourselves, as if itwere necessary for us to attune our hearts to correspond with the humaninventions of the dramatists. The drama, if it be true drama, is an echofrom something divinely implanted. While some conscienceless peopletake this dramatic element and prostitute it in low play-houses, John B. Gough raised it to the glorious uses of setting forth the hideousness ofvice and the splendour of virtue in the salvation of multitudes ofinebriates. The dramatic poets of Europe have merely dramatised what wasin the world's heart; Mr. Gough interpreted the more sacred dramaticelements of the human heart. He abolished the old way of doing things onthe platform, the didactic and the humdrum. He harnessed the dramaticelement to religion. He lighted new fires of divine passion in ourpulpits. 

The new confidence that this wonderful Cedar of Lebanon put into thework of contemporary Christian labourers in the vineyard of sacredmeaning is our eternal inheritance of his spirit. He left us hisconfidence. 

When you destroy the confidence of man in man, you destroy society. Theprevailing idea in American life was of a different character. Nationaland civic affairs were full of plans to pull down, to make room for newbuilders. That was the trouble. There were more builders than there wasspace or need to build. A little repairing of old standards would havebeen better than tearing those we still remembered to pieces, merely togive others something to do. 

All this led to the betrayal of man by man--to bribery. It was not ofmuch use for the pulpit to point it out. Men adopted bribery as a meansto business activity. It was of no use to recall the brilliant momentsof character in history, men would not read them. Their ancestry was aback number, the deeds of their ancestors mere old-fashioned narrownessof business. What if a member of the American Congress, Joseph Reed, during the American Revolution did refuse the 10, 000 guineas offered bythe foreign commissioners to betray the colonies? What if he did say"Gentlemen, I am a very poor man, but tell your King he is not richenough to buy me"? The more fool he, not to appreciate hisopportunities, not to take advantage of the momentary enterprise of hisbetters! A bribe offered became a compliment, and a bribe negotiated wasa good day's work. I had not much faith in the people who went aboutbragging how much they could get if they sold out. I refused to believethe sentiment of men who declared that every man had his price. 

Old-fashioned honesty was not the cure either, because old-fashionedhonesty, according to history, was not wholly disinterested. There neverwas a monopoly of righteousness in the world, though there was a coin offair exchange between men who were intelligent enough to perceive itsvalues, in which there was no alloy of bribery. Bribery was written, however, all over the first chapters of English, Irish, French, German, and American politics; but it was high time that, in America, we had aCourt House or a City Hall, or a jail, or a post office, or a railroad, that did not involve a political job. At some time in their lives, everyman and woman may be tempted to do wrong for compensation. It may be abribe of position that is offered instead of money; but it was easy toforesee, in 1886, that there was a time coming when the most secrettransaction of private and public life would come up for publicscrutiny. Those of us who gave this warning were under suspicion ofbeing harmless lunatics. 

Necessarily, the dishonest transactions of the bosses led to discontentamong the labouring classes, and a railroad strike came, and went, inthe winter of 1886. Its successful adjustment was a credit to capitaland labour, to our police competency, and to general municipalcommon-sense. In Chicago and St. Louis, this strike lasted several days;in Brooklyn, it was settled in a few hours. The deliverance left usfacing the problem whether the differences between capital and labour inAmerica would ever be settled. I was convinced that it could never beaccomplished by the law of supply and demand, although we wereconstantly told so. It was a law that had done nothing to settle thefeuds of past ages. The fact was that supply and demand had gone intopartnership, proposing to swindle the earth. It is a diabolic law whichwill have to stand aside for a greater law of love, of co-operation, andof kindness. The establishment of a labour exchange, in Brooklyn in1886, where labourers and capitalists could meet and prepare theirplans, was a step in that direction. 

I said to a very wealthy man, who employed thousands of men in hisestablishments in different cities:

"Have you had many strikes?"

"Never had a strike; I never will have one, " he said. 

"How do you avoid them?" I asked. 

"When prices go up or down, I call my men together in all myestablishments. In ease of increased prosperity I range them around mein the warehouses at the noon hour, and I say, 'Boys, I am making money, more than usual, and I feel that you ought to share my success; I shalladd five, or ten, or twenty per cent. To your wages. ' Times change. Imust sell my goods at a low price, or not sell them at all. Then I sayto them, 'Boys, I am losing money, and I must either stop altogether orrun on half-time, or do with less hands. I thought I would call youtogether and ask your advice. ' There may be a halt for a minute or two, and then one of the men will step up and say, 'Boss, you have been goodto us; we have got to sympathise with you. I don't know how the othersfeel, but I propose we take off 20 per cent. From our wages, and whentimes get better, you can raise us, ' and the rest agree. "

That was the law of kindness. 

Many of the best friends I had were American capitalists, and I said tothem always, "You share with your employees in your prosperity, and theywill share with you in your adversity. "

The rich man of America was not in need of conversion, for, in 1886, hehad not become a monopolist as yet. He had accumulated fortunes byindustry and hard work, and he was an energetic builder of nationalenterprise and civic pride, but his coffers were being drained by anincreasing social extravagance that was beyond the requirements ofhappiness of home. 

THE TENTH MILESTONE

1886

Society life in the big cities of America in 1886 had become a strangenightmare of extravagance and late hours. It was developing a queer raceof people. Temporarily, the Lenten season stopped the rustle and flashof toilettes, chained the dancers, and put away the tempting chalice ofsocial excitement. When Lent came in the society of the big cities ofAmerica was an exhausted multitude. It seemed to me as though two orthree winters of germans and cotillions would be enough to ruin the bestof health. The victims of these strange exhaustions were countless. Noman or woman could endure the wear and tear of social life in Americawithout sickness and depletion of health. The demands were at war withthe natural laws of the human race. 

Even the hour set for the average assembling of a "society event" in1886 was an outrage. Once it was eight o'clock at night, soon it wasadjourned to nine-thirty, and then to ten, and there were threats thatit would soon be eleven. A gentleman wrote me this way for advice abouthis social burden:

"What shall I do? We have many friends, and I am invited outperpetually. I am on a salary in a large business house in New York. Iam obliged to arise in the morning at seven o'clock, but I cannot gethome from those parties till one in the morning. The late supper and theexcitement leave me sleepless. I must either give up society or give upbusiness, which is my living. My wife is not willing that I should giveup society, because she is very popular. My health is breaking down. What shall I do?"

It was not the idle class that wasted their nights at these parties; itwas the business men dragged into the fashions and foibles of the idle, which made that strange and unique thing we call society in America. 

I should have replied to that man that his wife was a fool. If she werewilling to sacrifice his health, and with it her support, for thegreeting and applause of these midnight functions, I pitied him. Let himlose his health, his business, and his home, and no one would want toinvite him anywhere. All the diamond-backed terrapins at fifty dollars adozen which he might be invited to enjoy after that would do him noharm. Society would drop him so suddenly that it would knock the breathout of him. The recipe for a man in this predicament, a man tired oflife, and who desired to get out of it without the reputation of asuicide, was very simple. He only had to take chicken salad regularly atmidnight, in large quantities, and to wash it down with bumpers of wine, reaching his pillow about 2 a. M. If the third winter of this did notbring his obituary, it would be because that man was proof against thatwhich had slain a host larger than any other that fell on anybattle-field of the ages. The Scandinavian warriors believed that in thenext world they would sit in the Hall of Odin, and drink wine from theskulls of their enemies. But society, by its requirements of late hoursand conviviality, demanded that a man should drink out of his own skull, having rendered it brainless first. I had great admiration for thesuavities and graces of life, but it is beyond any human capacity toendure what society imposes upon many in America. Drinking otherpeople's health to the disadvantage of one's own health is a poorcourtesy at best. Our entertainments grew more and more extravagant, more and more demoralising. I wondered if our society was not swingingaround to become akin to the worst days of Roman society. The princelybanquet-rooms of the Romans had revolving ceilings representing thefirmament; fictitious clouds rained perfumed essences upon the guests, who were seated on gold benches, at tables made of ivory andtortoise-shell. Each course of food, as it was brought into the banquetroom, was preceded by flutes and trumpets. There was no wise man orwoman to stand up from the elaborate banquet tables of American societyat this time and cry "Halt!" It might have been done in Washington, orin New York, or in Brooklyn, but it was not. 

The way American society was moving in 1886 was the way to death. Thegreat majority, the major key in the weird symphony of American life, was not of society. 

We had no masses really, although we borrowed the term from Europe andused it busily to describe our working people, who were massive enoughas a body of men, but they were not the masses. Neither were they themob, which was a term some were fond of using in describing thedestruction of property on railroads in the spring of 1886. Thelabouring men had nothing to do with these injuries. They were done bythe desperadoes who lurked in all big cities. I made a Western tripduring this strike, and I found the labouring men quiet, peaceful, butidle. The depôts were filled with them, the streets were filled withthem, but they were in suspense, and it lasted twenty-five days. Thenfollowed the darkness and squalor--less bread, less comfort, lesscivilisation of heart and mind. It was hard on the women and children. Senator Manderson, the son of my old friend in Philadelphia, introduceda bill into the United States Senate for the arbitration of strikes. Itproposed a national board of mediation between capital and labour. 

Jay Gould was the most abused of men just then. He was denounced by bothcontestants in this American conflict most uselessly. The knights ofLabour came in for an equal amount of abuse. We were excited and couldnot reason. The men had just as much right to band together for mutualbenefit as Jay Gould had a right to get rich. It was believed by manythat Mr. Gould made his fortune out of the labouring classes. Mr. Gouldmade it out of the capitalists. His regular diet was a capitalist perdiem, not a poor man--capitalist stewed, broiled, roasted, panned, fricaseed, devilled, on the half shell. He was personally, as I knewhim, a man of such kindness that he would not hurt a fly, but he playedten pins on Wall Street. A great many adventurers went there to playwith him, and if their ball rolled down the side of the financial alleywhile he made a ten strike or two or three spares, the fellows who werebeaten howled. That was about all there really was in the denunciationof Jay Gould. 

I couldn't help thinking sometimes, when the United States seemed tochange its smile of prosperity to a sudden smile of anger or petulance, that we were a spoiled nation, too much pampered by divine blessings. If we had not been our own rulers, but had been ruled--what wouldAmerica have been then? We were like Ireland crying for liberty andabusing liberty the more we got of it. 

Mr. Gladstone's policy of Home Rule for Ireland, announced in April, 1886, proposed an Irish Parliament and the Viceroy. It should remain, however, a part of England. I fully believed then that Ireland wouldhave Home Rule some day, and in another century I believed that Irelandwould stand to England as the United States stands to England, afriendly and neighbouring power. I believed that Ireland would some daywrite her own Declaration of Independence. Liberty, the fundamentalinstinct of the most primitive living thing, would be the world'severlasting conflict. 

Our exclusion of the Chinese, which came up in the spring of 1886, whenan Ambassador from China was roughly handled in San Francisco, was adisgrace to our own instincts of liberty. A great many people did notwant them because they did not like the way they dressed. They objectedto the Chinaman's queue. George Washington wore one, so did BenjaminFranklin and John Hancock. The Chinese dress was not worse than someAmerican clothes I have seen. Some may remember the crinolinemonstrosities of '65, as I do--the coal-scuttle bonnets, the silverknee-buckles! The headgear of the fair sex has never ceased to be amystery and a shock during all my lifetime. I remember being asked by alady-reporter in Brooklyn if I thought ladies should remove their hatsin the theatre, and I told her to tell them to keep them on, because inobstructing the stage they were accomplishing something worth while. Anyfine afternoon the spring fashions of 1886, displayed in Madison Squarebetween two and four o'clock, were absurdities of costume that eclipsedanything then worn by the Chinese. 

The Joss House of the Chinese was entitled to as much respect in theUnited States, under the constitution, as the Roman Catholic church, orthe Quaker Meeting house, or any other religious temple. A new path wasmade for the Chinese into America via Mexico, when 600, 000 were to beimported for work on Mexican territory. In the discussion it aroused itwas urged that Mexico ought to be blocked because the Chinese would notspend their money in America. In one year, in San Francisco, the Chinesepaid $2, 400, 000 in rent for residences and warehouses. Our highercivilisation was already threatened with that style of man who spendsthree times more money than he makes, and yet we did not want thethrifty unassuming religious Chinaman to counteract our mania forextravagance. This entire agitation emanated from corrupt politics. TheRepublican and Democratic parties both wanted the electoral votes ofCalifornia in the forthcoming Presidential election, and, in order toget that vote, it was necessary to oppose the Chinese. Whenever theseAsiatic men obtain equal suffrage in America the Republican party willfondle them, and the Democrats will try to prove that they always had adeep affection for them, and some of the political bosses will go aroundwith an opium pipe sticking out of their pockets and their hair coiledinto a suggestion of a queue. 

The ship of state was in an awful mess. No sooner was the good man inpower than politics struggled to pull him down to make room for theknaves. When Thomas Jefferson was inaugurated, the _Sentinel_ of Bostonwrote the obituary of the American nation. I quote it as a literaryscrap of the past:

"MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION--expired yesterday, regretted by all good men, THE FEDERAL ADMINISTRATION OF THE GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES, aged12 years. This Monumental Inscription to the virtues and the services ofthe deceased is raised by the Sentinel of Boston. "

It might have been a recent editorial. Van Buren was always cartooned asa fox or a rat. Horace Greeley told me once that he had not had a soundsleep for fifteen years, and he was finally put to death by Americanpolitics. The cartoons of Mr. Blaine and Mr. Cleveland during theirelection battle, as compared to those of fifty years before, wereseraphic as the themes of Raphael. It was not necessary to go so farback for precedent. The game had not changed. The building of our newRaymond Street jail in Brooklyn, in 1886, was a game which thepoliticians played, called "money, money, who has got the money?"Suddenly there was an arraignment in the courts. Mr. Jaehne wasincarcerated in Sing Sing for bribery. Twenty-five New York aldermenwere accused. Nineteen of them were saloon keepers. There was a fearfulindifference to the illiteracy of our leaders in 1886. It threatened thenational intelligence of the future. 

In the rhapsody of May, however, in the resurrection of the superlativebeauties of spring, we forgot our human deficiencies. In the first weekof lilacs, the Americanised flower of Persia, we aspired to the breadthand height and the heaven of our gardens. The generous lilac, like agreat purple sea of loveliness, swept over us in the full tide ofspring. It was the forerunner of joy; joy of fish in the brooks, ofinsects in the air, of cattle in the fields, of wings to the sky. Sunshine, shaken from the sacred robes of God! Spring, the spiritualessence of heaven and physical beauty come to earth in many forms--inthe rose, in the hawthorn white and scarlet, in the passion flower. Inthis season of transition we hear the murmurings of heaven. There werespring poets in 1886, as there had been in all ages. 

Love and marriage came over the country like a divine opiate, inspired, I believe, by that love story in the White House, which culminated onJune 2, 1886, in the wedding of Mr. And Mrs. Cleveland. Never in myknowledge were there so many weddings all over the United States asduring the week when this official wedding took place in the WhiteHouse. The representatives of the foreign Governments in Washington werenot invited to Mr. Cleveland's wedding. We all hoped that they would notmake such fools of themselves as to protest--but they did. They weredispleased at the President's omission to invite them. It was always awish of Mr. Cleveland's to separate the happiness of his private lifefrom that of his public career, so as to protect Mrs. Cleveland from theglare to which he himself was exposed. His wedding was an intimate, private matter to him, and if there is any time in a man's life when heought to do as he pleases it is when he gets married. It was aremarkable wedding in some respects, remarkable for its love story, forits distinguished character, its American privacy, its independentspirit. The whole country was rapturously happy over it. The foreignministers who growled might have benefited by the example of Americanismin the affair. Even the reporters, none of whom were invited, were happyover it, and gave a more vivid account of the joyous scene than theycould have given had they been present. 

The difference in the ages of the President and his beautiful bride waswidely discussed. Into the garland of bridal roses let no one ever twista sprig of night-shade. If 49 would marry 22, if summer is fascinatedwith spring, whose business is it but their own? Both May and August areold enough to take care of themselves, and their marriage is the mostnoteworthy moment of their too short season of life. Some day her voiceis silenced, and the end of the world has come for him--the morningdead, the night dead, the air dead, the world dead. For his sake, forher sake, do not spoil their radiance with an impious regret. They willendure the thorns of life when they are stronger in each other's love. 

That June wedding at the White House was the nucleus of happiness, fromwhich grew a great wave of matrimony. The speed of God's will wasincreasing in America. Most of the things managed by divine instinct arecharacterised by speed--rapid currents, swift lightnings, swift comingand going of lives. In the old-fashioned days a man got a notion thatthere was sanctity in tardiness. It was a great mistake. In America wehad arrived at that state of mind when we wanted everything fast--firstand fast. Fast horses, fast boats, fast runners are all good things forthe human race. 

The great yacht races of September 7, 1886, in which the "May Flower"distanced the "Galatea" by two miles and a half, was a spanking race. Our sporting blood was roused to fighting pitch, and we became moreactive in every way of outdoor sports. Lawn tennis tournaments wereepidemic all over the country. There were good and bad effects from allof them. Those romping sports developed a much finer physical conditionin our American women. Lawn tennis and croquet were hardening andbeautifying the race. From the English and German women we adoptedathletics for our own women. Our girls began to travel more frequentlyin Europe. It looked as though many of the young ladies who pridedthemselves upon their bewitching languors and fashionable dreaminess, would be neglected by young men in favour of the more athletic types. Ithad been decided, in the social channels of our life, that doll babieswere not of much use in the struggle, that women must have the capacityand the strength to sweep out a room without fainting; that to make aneatable loaf of bread was more important than the satin cheek or thecolour of hair that one strong fever could uproot. I was accused ofbeing ambitious that Americans should have a race of Amazons. I was not. I did want them to have bodies to fit their great souls. What I did wishto avoid, in this natural transition, was a misdirected use of itsadvantages. There is dissipation in outdoor life, as well as indoors, and this was to be deplored. I wanted everything American to come outahead. 

In science we were still far behind. The Charleston earthquake inSeptember, 1886, proved this. Our philosophers were disgusted that theministers and churches down there devoted their time to praying andmoralising about the earthquake, when only natural phenomena were thecause. Science had no information or comfort to give, however. The onlything the scientist did was to predict a great tidal wave which wouldcome and destroy all that was left of the previous calamity. Sciencelied again. The tidal wave did not come; the September rains stopped, and Charleston began to rebuild. That is one of the wonderful thingsabout America; we are not only able to restore our damages, but we havea mania for rebuilding. Our chief fault lies in the fact that werebuild for profit rather than for beauty of character or moralstrength. 

There had been a time during my pastorate when Brooklyn promised to bethe greatest watering place in America. We were in a fair way ofbecoming the summer capital of the United States. It was destroyed bythe loafers and the dissoluteness of Coney Island. In the autumn of1886, Brooklyn was more indignant than I had ever seen it before, and Iknew it intimately for a quarter of a century. Our trade was damaged, our residences were depreciated, because the gamblers and liquor dealerswere in power. Part of the summer people were too busy looking for a seaserpent reported to be in the East River or up the Hudson to observethat a Dragon of Evil was twining about the neck and waist and body ofthe two great cities by the sea. 

In contrast to all this political treachery in the North there developeda peculiar symbol of political sincerity in Tennesee. Two brothers, Robert and Alfred Taylor, were running for Governor of that State--oneon the Republican and the other on the Democratic ticket. At night theyoccupied the same room together. On the same platform they utteredsentiments directly opposite in meaning. And yet, Robert said to a crowdabout to hoot his brother Alfred, "When you insult my brother you insultme. " This was a symbol of political decency that we needed. One of thegreat wants of the world, however, was a better example in "high life. "We were shocked by the moral downfall of Sir Charles Dilke in England, by the dissolute conduct of an American official in Mexico, by thedissipations of a Senator who attempted to address the United StatesSenate in a state of intoxication. 

Mr. Cleveland's frequent exercise of the President's right of veto wasa hopeful policy in national affairs. The habit of voting away thousandsof dollars of other people's money in Congress needed a check. Thepopular means of accomplishing this out of the national treasury was inbills introduced by Congressmen for public buildings. Each Congressmanwanted to favour the other. The President's veto was the only cure. Thisprodigality of the National Legislature grew out of an enormous surplusin the Treasury. It was too great a temptation to the law-makers. $70, 000, 000 in a pile added to a reserve of $100, 000, 000 was an infamouslure. I urged that this money should be turned back to the people towhom it belonged. The Government had no more right to it than I had tofive dollars of overpay, and yet, by over-taxation, the Government haddone the same sort of thing. This money did not belong to theGovernment, but to the people from whom they had taken it. From privatesources in Washington I learned that officials were overwhelmed withdemands for pensions from first-class loafers who had never been of anyservice to their country before or since the war. They were too lazy orcranky to work for themselves. Grover Cleveland vetoed them by thehundred. We needed the veto power in America as much as the RomanGovernment had required it in their tribunes. Poland had recognised it. The Kings of Norway, Sweden, and the Netherlands had used it. With theexception of two states in the Union, all the American Governors had theprivilege. Because a railroad company buys up a majority of thelegislature there is no reason why a Governor should sign the charter. There was no reason why the President should make appointments uponindiscriminate claims because the ante-room of the White House wasfilled with applicants, as they were in Cleveland's firstadministration. My sympathies were with the grand army men against thesepretenders. 

What a waste of money it seemed to me there was in keeping up uselessAmerican embassies abroad. They had been established when it took sixweeks to go to Liverpool and six months to China, so that it wasnecessary to have representation at the foreign courts. As far back as1866 it was only half an hour from Washington to London, to Berlin, toMadrid. I have seen no crisis in any of these foreign cities which madeour ambassadors a necessity there. International business could bemanaged by the State Department. The foreign embassy was merely a goodexcuse to get rid of some competent rival for the Presidency. The cablewas enough Minister Plenipotentiary for the United States, and alwaysshould be. I regarded it as humiliating to the constitution of theUnited States that we should be complimenting foreign despotism in thisway. 

The war rage of Europe was destined to make a market for our bread stuffin 1886, but at the cost of further suffering and disaster. I have nosentimentality about the conflicts of life, because the Bible is ahistory of battles and hand to hand struggles, but war is no longerneeded in the world. War is a system of political greed where men arehired at starvation wages to kill each other. Could there be anythingmore savage? It is the inoffensive who are killed, while the principalsin the quarrel sit snugly at home on throne chairs. 

A private letter, I think it was, written during the Crimean war by asailor to his wife, describing his sensations after having killed a manfor the first time, is a unique demonstration of the psychology of thesoldier's fate. 

The letter said:--

"We were ordered to fire, and I took steady aim and fired on my man at adistance of sixty yards. He dropped like a stone, at the same instant abroadside from the ship scattered among the trees, and the enemyvanished, we could scarcely tell how. I felt as though I must go up tothe man I had fired upon to see if he were dead or alive. I found himquite still, and I was more afraid of him when I saw him lying so thanwhen he stood facing me a few minutes before. It is a strange feelingthat comes over you all at once when you have killed a man. He hadunfastened his jacket, and was pressing his hand against his chest wherethe wound was. He breathed hard, and the blood poured from the wound andhis mouth at every breath. His face was white as death, and his eyeslooked big and bright as he turned them staring up at me. I shall neverforget it. He was a fine young fellow, not over five and twenty. I kneltbeside him and I felt as though my heart would burst. He had an Englishface and did not look like my enemy. If my life could have saved his Iwould have given it. I held his head on my knee and he tried to speak, but his voice was gone. I could not understand a word that he said. I amnot ashamed to say that I was worse than he, for he never shed a tearand I did. I was wondering how I could bear to leave him to die alone, when he had some sort of convulsions, then his head rolled over and witha sigh he was gone. I laid his head gently on the grass and left him. Itseemed so strange when I looked at him for the last time. I somehowthought of everything I had ever read about the Turks and the Russians, and the rest of them, but all that seemed so far off, and the dead manso near. "

This was the secret tragedy of the common fraternity of manhood drivenby custom into a sham battle of death. The European war of 1886 was aconflict of Slav and Teuton. France will never forgive Germany fortaking Alsace and Lorraine. It was a surrender to Germany of what in theUnited States would be equal to the surrender of Philadelphia andBoston, with vast harvest fields in addition. France wanted to blot outSedan. England desired to keep out of the fight upon a naval report thatshe was unprepared for war. The Danes were ready for insurrectionagainst their own Government. Only 3, 000 miles of Atlantic Ocean andgreat wisdom of Washington kept us out of the fight. The world'sstatesmanship at this time was the greatest it had ever known. There wasenough of it in St. Petersburg, Berlin, Rome, Paris, and London to haveachieved a great progress for peace by arbitration and treaty, but therewas no precedent by which to judge the effect of such a plan. Thenations had never before had such vast populations to change intoarmies. The temptations of war were irresistible. 

In America, remotely luxurious in our own prosperity from the rest ofthe world, we became self-absorbed. The fashions, designed and inspiredin Europe, became the chief element of attraction among the ladies. Itwas particularly noticeable in the autumn of 1886 for the brilliancy andgrandeur of bird feathers. The taxidermist's art was adapted to women'sgowns and hats to a degree that amazed the country. A precious group ofFrench actresses, some of them divorced two or three times, with asystem of morals entirely independent of the ten commandments, wereresponsible for this outbreak of bird millinery in America. From onevillage alone 70, 000 birds were sent to New York for feminine adornment. 

The whole sky full of birds was swept into the millinery shops. A threemonths foraging trip in South Carolina furnished 11, 000 birds for themarket of feathers. One sportsman supplied 10, 000 aigrettes. The musicof the heavens was being destroyed. Paris was supplied by contracts madein New York. In one month a million bobolinks were killed nearPhiladelphia. Species of birds became extinct. In February of this yearI saw in one establishment 2, 000, 000 bird skins. One auction room alone, in three months, sold 3, 000, 000 East India bird skins, and 1, 000, 000West India and Brazilian feathers. 

A newspaper description of a lady's hat in 1886 was to me savage in theextreme. I quote one of many:

"She had a whole nest of sparkling, scintillating birds in her hat, which would have puzzled an ornithologist to classify. "

Here is another one I quote:

"Her gown of unrelieved black was looped up with blackbirds and a wingedcreature so dusky that it could have been intended for nothing but acrow reposed among the strands of her hair. "

Public sentiment in American womanhood eventually rescued the songstersof the world--in part, at any rate. The heavenly orchestra, with itsexquisite prelude of dawn and its tremulous evensong, was spared. 

Many years ago Thomas Carlyle described us as "forty million Americans, mostly fools. " He declared we would flounder on the ballot-box, and thatthe right of suffrage would be the ruin of this Government. The "fortymillion of fools" had done tolerably well for the small amount of brainCarlyle permitted them. 

Better and better did America become to me as the years went by. I neverwanted to live anywhere else. Many believed that Christ was about toreturn to His reign on earth, and I felt confident that if such a divinedescent could be, it would come from American skies. I did not believethat Christ would descend from European skies, amidst alien thrones. Iforesaw the time when the Democracy of Americans would be lifted so thatthe President's chair could be set aside as a relic; when penitentiarieswould be broken-down ruins; almshouses forsaken, because all would berich, and hospitals abandoned, because all would be well. 

If Christ were really coming, as many believed, the moment of earthlyparadise was at hand. 

THE ELEVENTH MILESTONE

1886-1887

The balance of power in Brooklyn and New York during my lifetime hadalways been with the pulpit. I was in my fifty-fourth year, and hadshared honours with the most devout and fearless ministers of the Gospelso long that when two monster receptions were proposed, in celebrationof the services of Rev. Henry Ward Beecher and Rev. R. S. Storrs, D. D. , Ibecame almost wickedly proud of the privileges of my associations. Thesetwo eminent men were in the seventies. Dr. Storrs had been installedpastor of the Church of Pilgrims in 1846; Mr. Beecher pastor of PlymouthChurch in 1847. They were both stalwart in body then, both NewEnglanders, both Congregationalists, mighty men, genial as a morning inJune. Both world-renowned, but different. Different in stature, intemperament, in theology. They had reached the fortieth year of pastoralservice. No movement for the welfare of Brooklyn in all these years waswithout the benediction of their names. 

The pulpit had accomplished wonders. In Brooklyn alone look at thepulpit-builders. There were Rev. George W. Bethune of the Dutch ReformedChurch, Rev. Dr. Samuel H. Cox, Rev. W. Ichabod Spencer, Rev. Dr. SamuelThayer Speer of the Presbyterian Church, Dr. John Summerfield and Dr. Kennedy of the Methodist Church, Rev. Dr. Stone and Rev. Dr. Vinton ofthe Episcopal Church--all denominations pouring their elements of divinesplendour upon the community. Who can estimate the power which emanatedfrom the pulpits of Dr. McElroy, or Dr. DeWitt, or Dr. Spring, or Dr. Krebs? Their work will go on in New York though their churches bedemolished. Large-hearted men were these pulpit apostles, apart from theclerical obligations of their denominations. No proverb in the world isso abused as the one which declares that the children of ministers neverturn out well. They hold the highest places in the nation. GroverCleveland was the son of a Presbyterian clergyman, Governor Pattison ofPennsylvania, Governor Taylor of Tennessee, were sons of Methodistpreachers. In congressional and legislative halls they are scatteredeverywhere. 

Of all the metaphysical discourses that Mr. Beecher delivered, none areso well remembered as those giving his illustrations of life, hisanecdotes. Much of his pulpit utterance was devoted to telling whatthings were like. So the Sermon on the Mount was written, full ofsimilitudes. Like a man who built his house on a rock, like a candle ina candle-stick, like a hen gathering her chickens under her wing, like anet, like salt, like a city on a hill. And you hear the song birds, andyou smell the flowers. Mr. Beecher's grandest effects were wrought byhis illustrations, and he ransacked the universe for them. We need inour pulpits just such irresistible illustrations, just such holyvivacity. His was a victory of similitudes. 

Towards the end of November, 1886, one of the most distinguished sons ofa Baptist preacher, Chester A. Arthur, died. He had arisen to thehighest point of national honour, and preserved the simplicities of truecharacter. When I was lecturing in Lexington, Kentucky, one summer, Iremember with what cordiality he accosted me in a crowd. 

"Are you here?" he said; "why, it makes me feel very much at home. "

Mr. Arthur aged fifteen years in the brief span of his administration. He was very tired. Almost his last words were, "Life is not worthliving. " Our public men need sympathy, not criticism. Macaulay, afterall his brilliant career in Parliament, after being world-renowned amongall who could admire fine writing, wrote this:

"Every friendship which a man may have becomes precarious as soon as heengages in politics. "

Political life is a graveyard of broken hearts. Daniel Webster died of abroken heart at Marshfield. Under the highest monument in Kentucky liesHenry Clay, dead of a broken heart. So died Henry Wilson, at Natick, Mass. ; William H. Seward at Auburn, N. Y. ; Salmon P. Chase, inCincinnati. So died Chester A. Arthur, honoured, but worried. 

The election of Abram S. Hewitt as mayor of New York in 1886 restoredthe confidence of the best people. Behind him was a record absolutelybeyond criticism, before him a great Christian opportunity. We made themistake, however, of ignoring the great influence upon our civicprosperity of the business impulse of the West. We in New York andBrooklyn were a self-satisfied community, unmindful of our dependenceupon the rest of the American continent. My Western trips were myrecreation. An occasional lecture tour accomplished for me whatyachting or baseball does for others. My congregation understood this, and never complained of my absence. They realised that all things for meturned into sermons. No man sufficiently appreciates his home unlesssometimes he goes away from it. It made me realise what a number ofsplendid men and women there were in the world Man as a whole is a greatsuccess; woman, taking her all in all, is a great achievement, and thereason children die is because they are too lovely to stay out ofparadise. 

Three weeks in the West brought me back to Brooklyn supremelyoptimistic. There was more business in the markets than men could attendto. Times had changed. In Cincinnati once I was perplexed by thedifference in clock time. They have city time and railroad time there. Iasked a gentleman about it. 

"Tell me, how many kinds of time have you here?" I asked. "Three kinds, "he replied, "city time, railroad time, and hard time. "

There was no "hard time" at the close of 1886. The small rate ofinterest we had been compelled to take for money had been a good thing. It had enlivened investments in building factories and starting greatenterprises. The 2 per cent. Per month interest was dead. The fact thata few small fish dared to swim through Wall Street, only to be gobbledup, did not stop the rising tide of national welfare. We were goingahead, gaining, profiting even by the lives of those who were leaving usbehind. 

The loss of the Rev. J. Hyatt Smith restored the symbol and triumph ofself-sacrifice. In the most exact sense of the word he was a genius. Hewasted no time in his study that he could devote to others, he wasalways busy raising money to pay house rent for some poor woman, exhausting his energies in trying to keep people out of trouble, answering the call of every school, of every reformatory, everyphilanthropic institution. Had he given more time to study, he wouldhardly have had an equal in the American pulpit. He depended always uponthe inspiration of the moment. Sometimes he failed on this account. Ihave heard him when he had the pathos of a Summerfield, the wit of aSidney Smith, and the wondrous thundering phraseology of a ThomasCarlyle. He had been everywhere, seen everything, experienced greatvariety of gladness, grief, and betrayal. If you had lost a child, hewas the first man at your side to console you. If you had a great joy, his was the first telegram to congratulate you. For two years he was inCongress. His Sundays in Washington were spent preaching in pulpits ofall denominations. The first time I ever saw him was when he came to myhouse in Philadelphia, ringing the door bell, that he might assuage agreat sorrow that had come to me. He was always in the shadowed home. How much the world owes to such a nature is beyond the world's gift toreturn. His wit was of the kind that, like the dew, refreshes. He neverlaughed at anything but that which ought to be laughed at. He neverdealt in innuendoes that tipped both ways. We were old friends of manyvicissitudes. Together we wept and laughed and planned. He had suchsubtle ways of encouragement--as when he told me that he had read alecture of mine to his dying daughter, and described how it hadcomforted her. His was a life of profound self-sacrifice, but "weepingmay endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. "

The new year of 1887 began with a controversy that filled the air withunpleasant confusion. A small river of ink was poured upon it, a vastamount of talk was made about it. A priest in the Roman Catholic Church, Father McGlynn, was arraigned by Archbishop Corrigan for putting hishand in the hot water of politics. In various ways I was asked myopinion of it all. My most decided opinion was that outsiders had betterkeep their hands out of the trouble. The interference of people outsideof a church with its internal affairs only makes things worse. Thepolicy of any church is best known by its own members. The controversywas not a matter into which I could consistently enter. 

The earth began its new year in hard luck. The earthquake inConstantinople, in February, was only one of a series of similar shakeselsewhere. The scientists were always giving us a lot of trouble. Electric showers in the sun disturbed our climate. Comets had beenshooting about the sky with enough fire in their tails to obliterate us. Caracas was shaken, Lisbon buried, Java very badly cracked. It is ashaky, rheumatic, epileptic old world, and in one of its stupendousconvulsions it will die. It's a poor place in which to make permanentinvestments. It was quite as insecure in its human standards as in itsscientific incompetence. 

Our laws were moral earthquakes that destroyed our standards. We wereopposed to sneak thieves, but we admired the two million dollar rascals. Why not a tax of five or ten thousand dollars to license the business oftheft, so that we might put an end to the small scoundrels who hadgenius enough only to steal door mats, or postage stamps, or chocolatedrops, and confine the business to genteel robbery? A robber paying aprivilege of ten thousand dollars would then be able legally to abscondwith fifty thousand dollars from a bank; or, by watering the stock of arailroad, he would be entitled to steal two hundred thousand dollars ata clip. The thief's licence ought to be high, because he would so soonmake it up. 

A licence on blasphemy might have been equally advantageous. It could bemade high enough so that we could sweep aside all those who swear on asmall scale, those who never get beyond "By George!" "My stars!" or"Darn it!" Then, again, the only way to put an end to murder in Americais by high licenced murderers. Put a few men in to manage the businessof murder. The common assassins who do their work with car hooks, dullknives or Paris green, should be abolished by law. Let the few expertsdo it who can accomplish murder without pain: by chloroform or bulldogrevolvers. Give these men all the business. The licence in these casesshould be twenty thousand dollars, because the perquisites in goldwatches, money safes, and plethoric pocket-books would soon offset thelicence. 

High licences in rum-selling had always been urged, and always resultedin dead failures; therefore the whole method of legal restraint in crimecan be dismissed with irony. The overcrowding in the East was crushingour ethical and practical ambition. That is why the trains goingwestward were so crowded that there was hardly room enough to stand inthem. We were restoring ourselves in Kansas and Missouri. Afterlecturing, in the spring of 1887, in fifteen Western cities, includingChicago, St. Louis, and westward to the extreme boundaries of Kansas, Ireturned a Westerner to convert the Easterner. In the West they calledthis prosperity a boom, but I never liked the word, for a boom havingswung one way is sure to swing the other. It was a revival ofenterprise which, starting in Birmingham, Ala. , advanced throughTennessee, and spread to Kansas, Nebraska, Missouri. My forecast at thistime was that the men who went West then would be the successes in thenext twenty years. The centre of American population, which two yearsbefore had been a little west of Cincinnati, had moved to Kansas, theheart of the continent. The national Capital should have been midwaybetween the Atlantic and the Pacific, in which case the great whitebuildings in Washington could have been turned into art academies, andmuseums and libraries. 

Prohibition in Kansas and Iowa was making honest men. I did not see anintoxicated man in either of these States. All the young men in Kansasand Iowa were either prohibitionists or loafers. The West had lost thesong plaintive and adopted the song jubilant. 

In the spring of this year, 1887, Brooklyn was examined by aninvestigating committee. Even when Mayor Low was in power, three yearsbefore, the city was denounced by Democratic critics, so Mayor Whitney, of course, was the victim of Republican critics. The whole thing wasmere partisan hypocrisy. If anyone asked me whether I was a Republicanor a Democrat, I told them that I had tried both, and got out of themboth. I hope always to vote, but the title of the ticket at the top willnot influence me. Outside of heaven Brooklyn was the quietest place onSunday. The Packer and the Polytechnic institutes took care of our boysand girls. Our judiciary at this time included remarkable men: JudgeNeilson, Judge Gilbert, and Judge Reynolds. We had enough surplusdoctors to endow a medical college for fifty other cities. 

It looked as though our grandchildren would be very happy. We were onlyin the early morning of development. The cities would be multiplied ahundredfold, and yet we were groaning because a few politicians wereconducting an investigation for lack of something better to do. Fromtime immemorial we had prayed for the President and Congress, but Inever heard of any prayers for the State Legislatures, and they neededthem most of all. They brought about the groans of the nation, and wewere constantly in complaint of them. I remember a great mass meeting inthe Academy of Music in Brooklyn, at which I was present, to protestagainst the passage of the Gambling Pool Bill, as it was called. I wasaccused of being over-confident because I said the State Senate wouldnot pass it without a public hearing. A public hearing was given, however, and my faith in the legislators of the State increased. Weministers of Brooklyn had to do a good deal of work outside of ourpulpits, outside of our churches, on the street and in the crowds. 

When the Ives Gambling Pool Bill was passed I urged that the Legislatureshould adjourn. The race track men went to Albany and triumphed. Brooklyn was disgraced before the world by our race tracks at ConeyIsland, which were a public shame!

All the money in the world, however, was not abused. Philanthropistswere helping the Church. Miss Wolfe bequeathed a million dollars toevangelisation in New York; Mr. Depau, of Illinois, bequeathed fivemillion dollars to religion, and the remaining three million of hisfortune only to his family. There were others--Cyrus McCormick, JamesLenox, Mr. Slater, Asa D. Packer. They, with others, were men of greatdeeds. We were just about ready to appreciate these progressive events. 

In the summer of 1887 I urged a great World's Fair, because I thoughtit was due in our country, to the inventors, the artists, the industriesof America. How to set the idea of a World's Fair agoing? It only neededenthusiasm among the prominent merchants and the rich men. All greatthings first start in one brain, in one heart. I proposed that a World'sFair should be held in the great acreage between Prospect Park and thesea. 

In 1853 there was a World's Fair in New York. In the same year thedismemberment of the Republic was expected, and a book of severalvolumes was advertised in London, entitled "History of the FederalGovernment from the Foundation to the Dissipation of the United States. "Only one volume was ever published. The other volumes were neverprinted. What a difference in New York city then, when it opened itsCrystal Palace, and thirty-four years later--in 1887! That CrystalPalace was the beginning of World's Fairs in this country. 

In the presence of the epauleted representatives of foreign nations, before a vast multitude, Franklin Pierce, President of the UnitedStates, declared it open, and as he did so Julien, the inspired musicalleader of his day, raised his baton for an orchestra of three thousandinstruments, while thousands of trained voices sang "God Save theQueen, " "The Marseillaise, " "Bonnie Doon, " "The Harp that once throughTara's Halls, " and "Hail Columbia. " What that Crystal Palace, opened inNew York in 1853, did for art, for science, for civilisation, is beyondrecord. The generation that built it has for the most part vanished butfuture generations will be inspired by them. 

The summer of 1887 opened the baseball season of America, and Ideplored an element of roughness and loaferism that attached itself tothe greatest game of our country. One of the national events of thisseason of that year was a proposal to remove the battle-flag of the latewar. Good sense prevailed, and the controversy was satisfactorilysettled; otherwise the whole country would have been aflame. It was notmerely an agitation over a few bits of bunting. The most arousing, thrilling, blood-stirring thing on earth is a battle-flag. Better letthe old battle-flags of our three wars hang where they are. Only onecircumstance could disturb them, and that would be the invasion of aforeign power and the downfall of the Republic. The strongest passionsof men are those of patriotism. 

The best things that a man does in the world usually take a lifetime tomake. A career is a life job, and no one is sure whether it was worthyor not till it is over. I except doctors from this rule, of whom Homersays:--

 A wise physician skilled our wounds to heal Is more than armies to the public weal. 

Some may remember the stalwart figure of Dr. Joseph Hutchinson, one ofthe best American surgeons. For some years, in the streets of Brooklyn, he was a familiar and impressive figure on horseback. He rode superbly, and it was his custom to make his calls in that way. He died in thisyear. Daniel Curry was another significant, superior man of a differentsort, who also died in the summer of 1887. He was an editor and writerof the Methodist Church. At his death he told one thing that will gointo the classics of the Church; and five hundred years beyond, whenevangelists quote the last words of this inspired man, they will recallthe dying vision that came to Daniel Curry. He saw himself in the finaljudgment before the throne, and knew not what to do on account of hissins. He felt that he was lost, when suddenly Christ saw him and said, "I will answer for Daniel Curry. " In this world of vast population it iswonderful to find only a few men who have helped to carry the burden ofothers with distinction for themselves. Most of us are driven. 

In the two years and a half that our Democratic party had been in power, our taxes had paid in a surplus to the United States treasury of$125, 000, 000. The whole country was groaning under an infamous taxation. Most of it was spent by the Republican party, three or four yearsbefore, to improve navigation on rivers with about two feet of water inthem in the winter, and dry in summer. In the State of Virginia I sawone of these dry creeks that was to be improved. Taxation caused the warof the Revolution. It had become a grinding wheel of government thatrolled over all our public interests. Politicians were afraid to touchthe subject for fear they might offend their party. I touch upon it herebecause those who live after me may understand, by their own experience, the infamy of political piracy practised in the name of governmenttaxation. 

We had our school for scandal in America over-developed. A certainamount of exposure is good for the soul, but our newspaper headlinesover-reached this ideal purpose. They cultivated liars and encouragedtheir lies. The peculiarity of lies is their great longevity. They are aproductive species and would have overwhelmed the country and destroyedGeorge Washington except for his hatchet. Once born, the lie may livetwenty, thirty, or forty years. At the end of a man's life sometimes itis healthier than he ever was. Lies have attacked every occupant of theWhite House, have irritated every man since Adam, and every good womansince Eve. Today the lie is after your neighbour; to-morrow it is afteryou. It travels so fast that a million people can see it the nextmorning. It listens at keyholes, it can hear whispers: it has one ear tothe East, the other to the West. An old-fashioned tea-table is itsjubilee, and a political campaign is its heaven. Avoid it you may not, but meet it with calmness and without fear. It is always an outrage, apersecution. 

Nothing more offensive to public sentiment could have occurred than theattempt made in New York in the autumn of 1887 to hinder the appointmentof a new pastor of Trinity Church, on the plea that he came from aforeign country, and therefore was an ally to foreign labour. It was anoutrage on religion, on the Church, on common sense. As a nation, however, we were safe. There was not another place in the world whereits chief ruler could travel five thousand miles, for three weeks, unprotected by bayonets, as Mr. Cleveland did on his Presidential tourof the country. It was a universal huzzah, from Mugwumps, Republicans, and Democrats. We were a safe nation because we destroyed Communism. 

The execution of the anarchists in Chicago, in November, 1887, was adisgusting exhibition of the gallows. It took ten minutes for some ofthem to die by strangulation. Nothing could have been more barbaric thanthis method of hanging human life. I was among the first to publiclypropose execution by electricity. Mr. Edison, upon a request from thegovernment, could easily have arranged it. I was particularly horrifiedwith the blunders of the hangman's methods, because I was in a friend'soffice in New York, when the telegraph wires gave instantaneous reportsof the executions in Chicago. I made notes of these flashes of death. 

"Now the prisoners leave the cells, " said the wire; "now they areascending the stairs"; "now the rope is being adjusted"; "now the cap isbeing drawn"; "now they fall. " Had I been there I would probably havefelt thankful that I was brought up to obey the law, and couldunderstand the majesty of restraining powers. One of these men wasnaturally kind and generous, I was told, but was embittered by one whohad robbed him of everything; and so he became an enemy to all mankind. One of them got his antipathy for all prosperous people from the factthat his father was a profligate nobleman, and his mother a poor, maltreated, peasant woman. The impulse of anarchy starts high up insociety. Chief among our blessings was an American instinct forlawfulness in the midst of lawless temptation. We were often reminded ofthis supreme advantage as we saw passing into shadowland the robedfigure of an upright man. 

The death of Judge Greenwood of Brooklyn, in November, 1887, was areminder of such matters. He had seen the nineteenth century in itsyouth and in its old age. From first to last, he had been on the rightside of all its questions of public welfare. We could, appropriately, hang his portrait in our court rooms and city halls. The artist's brushwould be tame indeed compared with the living, glowing, beaming face ofdear old Judge Greenwood in the portrait gallery of my recollections. 

The national event of this autumn was President Cleveland's message toCongress, which put squarely before us the matter of our having aprotective tariff. It was the great question of our national problem, and called for oratory and statesmanship to answer it. The whole ofEurope was interested in the subject. I advocated free trade as the bestunderstanding of international trading, because I had talked with theleaders of political thought in Europe, and I understood both sides, asfar as my capacity could compass them. In America we were frequentlycompared to the citizens of the French Republic because of our nervousforce, our restlessness, but we were more patient. In 1887, theresignation of President Grévy in France re-established this fact. Though an American President becomes offensive to the people, we waitpatiently till his four years are out, even if we are not very quietabout it. We are safest when we keep our hands off the Constitution. Thedemonstration in Paris emphasised our Republican wisdom. Public serviceis an altar of sacrifice for all who worship there. 

The death of Daniel Manning, ex-Secretary of the Treasury, in December, 1887, was another proof of this. He fell prostrate on the steps of hisoffice, in a sickness that no medical aid could relieve. Four yearsbefore no one realised the strength that was in him. He threw body andsoul into the whirlpool of his work, and was left in the rapids ofcelebrity. In the closing notes of 1887, I find recorded the death ofMrs. William Astor. What a sublime lifetime of charity and kindness washers! Mrs. Astor's will read like a poem. It had a beauty and a pathos, and a power entirely independent of rhythmical cadence. The document waspublished to the world on a cold December morning, with its bequests ofhundreds of thousands of dollars to the poor and needy, the invalids andthe churches. It put a warm glow over the tired and grizzled face of theold year. It was a benediction upon the coming years. 

THE TWELFTH MILESTONE

1888

It seems to me that the constructive age of man begins when he haspassed fifty. Not until then can he be a master builder. As I sped pastthe fifty-fifth milestone life itself became better, broader, fuller. Myplans were wider, the distances I wanted to go stretched before me, beyond the normal strength of an average lifetime. This I knew, butstill I pressed on, indifferent of the speed or strain. There wereindications that my strength had not been dissipated, that the yearswere merely notches that had not cut deep, that had scarcely scarred thesurface of the trunk. The soul, the mind, the zest of doing--all werekeen and eager. 

The conservation of the soul is not so profound a matter as it isdescribed. It consists in a guardianship of the gateways through whichimpressions enter, or pass by; it consists in protecting one's innerself from wasteful associations. 

The influence of what we read is of chief importance to character. Atthe beginning of 1888 I received innumerable requests from people allover New York and Brooklyn for advice on the subject of reading. In thedeluge of books that were beginning to sweep over us many readers weredrowned. The question of what to read was being discussed everywhere. 

I opposed the majority of novels because they were made chiefly to setforth desperate love scrapes. Much reading of love stories makes onesoft, insipid, absent-minded, and useless. Affections in life usuallywork out very differently. The lady does not always break into tears, nor faint, nor do the parents always oppose the situation, so that aromantic elopement is possible. Excessive reading of these stories makesfools of men and women. Neither is it advisable to read a book becausesomeone else likes it. It is not necessary to waste time on Shakespeareif you have no taste for poetry or drama merely because so many otherslike them; nor to pass a long time with Sir William Hamilton whenmetaphysics are not to your taste. When you read a book by the page, every few minutes looking ahead to see how many chapters there arebefore the book will be finished, you had better stop reading it. Therewas even a fashion in books that was absurd. People were bored to deathby literature in the fashion. 

For a while we had a Tupper epidemic, and everyone grew busy writingblank verse--very blank. Then came an epidemic of Carlyle, and everyonewrote turgid, involved, twisted and breakneck sentences, each noun withas many verbs as Brigham Young had wives. Then followed a romanticcraze, and everyone struggled to combine religion and romance, withfrequent punches at religion, and we prided ourselves on being scepticaland independent in our literary tastes. My advice was simply to make upone's mind what to read, and then read it. Life is short, and books aremany. Instead of making your mind a garret crowded with rubbish, makeit a parlour, substantially furnished, beautifully arranged, in whichyou would not be ashamed to have the whole world enter. 

There was so much in the world to provoke the soul, and yet allpersecution is a blessing in some way. The so-called modern literature, towards the close of the nineteenth century, was becoming more and morethe illegitimate offspring of immaturity in thought and feeling. We werethe slaves of our newspapers; each morning a library was thrown on ourdoorstep. But what a jumbled, inconsequent, muddled-up library! It wasthe best that could be made in such a hurry, and it satisfied most ofus, though I believe there were conservative people who opened it onlyto read the marriage and the death notices. The latter came along fastenough. 

In January, 1888, that well-known American jurist and illustriousBrooklynite, Judge Joseph Neilson, died. He was an old friend of mine, of everyone who came upon his horizon. For a long while he was aninvalid, but he kept this knowledge from the world, because he wanted nopublic demonstration. The last four years of his life he was confined tohis room, where he sat all the while calm, uncomplaining, interested inall the affairs of the world, after a life of active work in it. Hebelonged to that breed which has developed the brain and brawn ofAmerican character--the Scotch-Irish. If Christianity had been afallacy, Judge Neilson would have been just the man to expose it. He whoon the judicial bench sat in solemn poise of spirit, while the ablestjurists and advocates of the century were before him to be prompted, corrected, or denied, was not the man to be overcome by a religion ofsophistry or mere pretence. Chief Justice Salmon P. Chase said that hehad studied the Christian religion as he had studied a law case, andconcluded that it was divine. Judge Neilson's decisions will be quotedin court rooms as long as Justice holds its balance. The supremacy of auseful life never leaves the earth--its influence remains behind. 

The whole world, it seemed to me, was being spiritualised by theinfluences of those whose great moments on earth had planted tangibleand material benefits, years after they themselves were invisible. Itwas an elemental fact in the death chamber of Mr. Roswell, the greatbotanist, in England; in the relieved anxieties in Berlin; in thejubilation in Dublin; by the gathering of noblemen in St. Petersburg;and in the dawn of this new year. I could see a tendency in Europeanaffairs to the unification of nations. 

The German and the French languages had been struggling for thesupremacy of Europe. As I foresaw events then, the two would firstconquer Europe, and the stronger of the two would swallow the other. Then the English language would devour that, and the world would havebut one language. Over a million people had already began the study ofVolapük, a new language composed of all languages. This was anindication of world nationalisation. Congresses of nations, meeting forvarious purposes, were establishing brotherhood. It looked as thoughthose who were telling us again in 1888 that the second coming of Christwas at hand were right. The divine significance of things was greaterthan it had ever been. 

There was some bigotry in religious affairs, of course. In our religionwe were as far from unity of feeling then as we had ever been. ThePresbyterian bigot could be recognised by his armful of Westminstercatechisms. The Methodist bigot could be easily identified by hisdeclaration that unless a man had been converted by sitting on theanxious seat he was not eligible. The way to the church militant, according to this bigot, was from the anxious seat, one of which healways carried with him. The Episcopal bigot struggled under a greatload of liturgies. Without this man's prayer-books no one could besaved, he said. The Baptist bigot was bent double with the burden of hisbaptistry. 

"It does not seem as if some of you had been properly washed, " he said, "and I shall proceed to put under the water all those who have neglectedtheir ablutions. " Religion was being served in a kind of ecclesiasticalhash that, naturally enough, created controversy, as very properly itshould. In spite of these things, however, some creed of religiousfaith, whichever it might be, was universally needed. I hope for achurch unity in the future. When all the branches in each denominationhave united, then the great denominations nearest akin will unite, andthis absorption will go on until there will be one great millennialChurch, divided only for geographical convenience into sections as ofold, when it was the Church of Laodicea, the Church of Philadelphia, theChurch of Thyatira. In the event of this religious evolution then therewill be the Church of America, the Church of Europe, the Church of Asia, the Church of Africa, and the Church of Australia. 

We are all builders, bigots, or master mechanics of the divine will. 

The number of men who built Brooklyn, and who have gone into eternalindustry, were increasing. One day I paused a moment on the BrooklynBridge to read on a stone the names of those who had influenced thebuilding of that span of steel, the wonder of the century. They werethe absent ones: The president, Mr. Murphy, absent; the vice-president, Mr. Kingsley, absent; the treasurer, Mr. Prentice, absent; the engineer, Mr. Roebling, absent. Our useful citizens were going or gone. A few daysafter this Alfred S. Barnes departed. He has not disappeared, nor willuntil our Historical Hall, our Academy of Music, and Mercantile Library, our great asylums of mercy, and churches of all denominations shall havecrumbled. His name has been a bulwark of credit in the financial affairsover which he presided. He was a director of many universities. Whatreinforcement to the benevolence of the day his patronage was! I enjoyeda warm personal friendship with him for many years, and my gratitude andadmiration were unbounded. He was a man of strict integrity in businesscircles, the highest type of a practical Christian gentleman. Unlike somany successful business men, he maintained an unusual simplicity ofcharacter. He declined the Mayoralty and Congressional honours that hemight pursue the ways of peace. 

The great black-winged angel was being desperately beaten back, however, by the rising generation of doctors, young, hearty, industrious, ambitious graduates of the American universities. How bitterlyvaccination was fought even by ministers of the Gospel. Small witscaricatured it, but what a world-wide human benediction it proved. Iremember being in Edinburgh a few weeks after the death of Sir James Y. Simpson, and his photograph was in every shop window, in honour of theman who first used chloroform as an anæsthetic. In former days theytried to dull pain by using the hasheesh of the Arabs. Dr. Simpson's wetsponge was a blessing put into the hands of the surgeon. The millenniumfor the souls of men will be when the doctors have discovered themillennium for their bodies. 

Dr. Bush used to say in his valedictory address to the students of themedical college, "Young gentlemen, you have two pockets: a large pocketand a small pocket. The large pocket is for your annoyances and yourinsults, the small pocket for your fees. "

In March, 1888, we lost a man who bestowed a new dispensation upon thedumb animals that bear our burdens--Henry Bergh. Abused and ridiculedmost of his life, he established a great work for the good men and womenof the ensuing centuries to carry out. Long may his name live in ourconsecrated memory. In the same month, from Washington to Toledo, thelong funeral train of Chief Justice White steamed across country, passing multitudes of uncovered heads bowed in sorrowing respect, whileacross the sea men honoured his distinguished memory. 

What a splendid inheritance for those of us who must pass out of themultitude without much ado, if we are not remembered among the bores oflife. There were bores in the pulpit who made their congregations dreadSundays; made them wish that Sunday would come only once a month. At onetime an original Frenchman actually tried having a Sunday only onceevery ten days. A minister should have a conference with his peoplebefore he preaches, otherwise how can he tell what medicine to givethem? He must feel the spiritual pulse. Every man is a walking eternityin himself, but he will never qualify if he insists on being a bore, even if he have to face sensational newspaper stories about himself. 

I never replied to any such tales except once, and that once came aboutin the spring of 1888. I regarded it as a joke. Some one reported thatone evening, at a little gathering in my house, there were four kinds ofwine served. I was much interviewed on the subject. I announced in mychurch that the report was false, that we had no wine. I did not takethe matter as one of offence. If I had been as great a master ofinvective and satire as Roscoe Conkling I might have said more. In thespring of this year he died. The whole country watched anxiously thenews bulletins of his death. He died a lawyer. About Conkling as apolitician I have nothing to say. There is no need to enter that fieldof enraged controversy. As a lawyer he was brilliant, severely logical, if he chose to be, uproarious with mirth if he thought it appropriate. He was an optimist. He was on board the "Bothnia" when she broke hershaft at sea, and much anxiety was felt for him. I sailed a week lateron the "Umbria, " and overtaking the "Bothnia, " the two ships went intoharbour together. Meeting Mr. Conkling the next morning, in theNorth-Western Hotel, at Liverpool, I asked him if he had not beenworried. 

"Oh, no, " he said; "I was sure that good fortune would bring us throughall right. "

He was the only lawyer I ever knew who could afford to turn away from aseat on the bench of the Supreme Court of the United States. He hadnever known misfortune. Had he ever been compelled to pass throughhardships he would have been President in 1878. Because of certainpeculiarities, known to himself, as well as to others, he turned asidefrom politics. Although neither Mr. Conkling nor Mr. Blaine could havebeen President while both lived, good people of all parties hoped forMr. Conkling's recovery. 

The national respect shown at the death-bed of the lawyer revealed theprogress of our times. Lawyers, for many years in the past, had beenostracised. They were once forbidden entrance to Parliament. Dr. Johnsonwrote the following epitaph, which is obvious enough:--

 God works wonders now and then; Here lies a lawyer an honest man. 

THE THIRTEENTH MILESTONE

1888-1889

The longer I live the more I think of mercy. Fifty-six years of age andI had not the slightest suspicion that I was getting old. It was like acrisp, exquisitely still autumn day. I felt the strength and buoyancy ofall the days I had lived merging themselves into a joyous anticipationof years and years to come. For a long while I had cherished the dreamthat I might some day visit the Holy Land, to see with my own eyes thesky, the fields, the rocks, and the sacred background of the DivineTragedy. The tangible plans were made, and I was preparing to sail inOctober, 1889. I felt like a man on the eve of a new career. Thefruition of the years past was about to be a great harvest of successfulwork. I speak of it without reserve, as we offer prayers of gratitudefor great mercies. 

Everything before me seemed finer than anything I had ever known. Fewmen at my age were so blessed with the vigour of health, with the elixirof youth. To the world at large I was indebted for its appreciation, itspraise sometimes, its interest always. My study in Brooklyn was a roomthat had become a picturesque starting point for the imagination ofkindly newspaper men. They were leading me into a new element ofcelebrity. 

One morning, in my house in Brooklyn, I was asked by a newspaper in NewYork if it might send a reporter to spend the day with me there. I hadno objection. The reporter came after breakfast. Breakfast was anawkward meal for the newspaper profession, otherwise we should have hadit together. I made no preparation, set no scene, gave the incident nothought, but spent the day in the usual routine of a pastor's duty. Itis an incident that puts a side-light on my official duties as aminister in his home, and for that reason I refer to it in detail. Someof the descriptions made by the reporter were accurate, and illustrativeof my home life. 

My mail was heavy, and my first duty was always to take it under my armto my workshop on the second floor of my home in South Oxford Street. Indoing this I was closely followed by the reporter. My study was a placeof many windows, and on this morning in the first week of 1888 it wasflooded with sunshine, or as the reporter, with technical skill, described it, "A mellow light. " The sun is always "mellow" in a roomwhenever I have read about it in a newspaper. The reporter found mystudy "an unattractive room, " because it lacked the signs of "luxury" oreven "comfort. " As I was erroneously regarded as a clerical Croesus atthis time the reporter's disappointment was excusable. The Gobelintapestries, the Raphael paintings, the Turkish divans, and the gold andsilver trappings of a throne room were missing in my study. The reporterfound the floor distressingly "hard, but polished wood. " The walls werepainfully plain--"all white. " My table, which the reporter kindlysignified as a "big one, " was drawn up to a large window. Of course, like all tables of the kind, it was "littered. " I never read of alibrary table in a newspaper that was not "littered. " The reporterspied everything upon it at once, "letters, newspapers, books, pens, inkbottles, pencils, and writing-paper. " All of which, of course, indicatedintellectual supremacy to the reporter. The chair at my table was "stiffbacked, " and, amazing fact, it was "without a cushion. " In front of thechair, but on the table, the reporter discovered an "open book, " whichhe concluded "showed that the great preacher had been hurriedly calledaway. " In every respect it was a "typical literary man's den. " Glancingshrewdly around, the reporter discovered "bookshelves around the walls, books piled in corners, and even in the middle of the room. " Also anewspaper file was noticed, and--careless creature that I am--"therewere even bundles of old letters tied with strings thrown carelesslyabout. " The reporter then said:--

"He told me this was his workshop, and looked me in the face with amerry twinkle in his eye to see whether I was surprised or pleased. "

Then I asked the reporter to "sit down, " which he promptly did. I wasclosely watched to see how I opened my mail. Nothing startling happened. I just opened "letter after letter. " Some I laid aside for my secretary, others I actually attended to myself. 

A letter from a young lady in Georgia, asking me to send her what Iconsider the most important word in my vocabulary, I answeredimmediately. The ever-watchful reporter observes that to do this "I pickup a pen and write on the margin of the girl's letter the word'helpfulness. '" Then I sign it and stick it in an envelope. Then I "dashoff the address. " Obviously I am not at all original at home. I repliedto a letter from the president of a theological seminary, asking me tospeak to his young men. I like young men so I agree to do so if I can. I"startle" the reporter finally, by a sudden burst of unexpected hilarityover a letter from a man in Pennsylvania who wants me to send him acheque by return mail for one hundred thousand dollars, on a sure thinginvestment. The reporter says:--

"I am startled by a shrill peal of laughter, and the great preacherleans back in his chair and shakes his sides. "

The reporter looks over my shoulder and sees other letters. 

"A young minister writes to say that his congregation is leaving him. How shall he get his people back? An old sailor scrawls on a piece ofyellow paper that he is bound for the China seas and he wants a copy ofeach of Dr. Talmage's sermons sent to his old wife in New Bedford, Mass. , while he is gone. Here is a letter in a schoolgirl's hand. Shehas had a quarrel with her first lover and he has left her in a huff. How can she get him back? Another letter is from the senior member ofone of the biggest commercial houses in Brooklyn. It is brief, but itgives the good doctor pleasure. The writer tells him how thoroughly heenjoyed the sermon last Sunday. The next letter is from the driver of ahorse car. He has been discharged. His children go to Dr. Talmage'sSunday School. Is that not enough to show that the father is reliableand steady, and will not the preacher go at once to the superintendentof the car line and have him reinstated. Here is a perfumed note from ayoung mother who wants her child baptised. There are invitations to gohere and there, and to speak in various cities. Young men write foradvice: One with the commercial instinct strongly developed, wants toknow if the ministry pays? Still another letter is from a patentmedicine house, asking if the preacher will not write an endorsement ofa new cure for rheumatism. Other writers take the preacher to task forsome utterance in the pulpit that did not please them. Either he was toolenient or too severe. A young man wants to get married and writes toknow what it will cost to tie the knot. A New York actress, who has beenan attendant for several Sundays at the Tabernacle, writes to say thatshe is so well pleased with the sermons that she would be glad if shecould come earlier on Sunday morning, but she is so tired when Saturdaynight comes that she can't get up early. Would it be asking too much tohave a seat reserved for her until she arrived!"

A maid in a "white cap" comes to the door and informs me that a "roomfulof people" are waiting to see me downstairs. It is the usual routine ofmy morning's work, when I receive all who come to me for advice andconsolation. The reporter regards it, however, as an event, and writesabout it in this way:--

"Visitors to the Talmage mansion are ushered through a broad hall intothe great preacher's back parlour. They begin to arrive frequentlybefore breakfast, and the bell rings till long after the house is closedfor the night. There are men and women of all races, some richlydressed, some fashionably, some very poorly. Many of them had neverspoken a word to Dr. Talmage before. They think that Talmage has only tostrike the rock to bring forth a stream of shining coins. He steps intotheir midst pleasantly. 

"'Well, young man, ' he says to a youth of seventeen, who stands beforehim. He offers the boy his hand and shakes it heartily. 

"'I don't suppose you know me, ' says the lad, 'but I'm in your SundaySchool. Mother thinks I should go to work and I have come to you foradvice. '

"Then follows in whispers a brief conversation about the boy himself, his parents, his education and mode of life. 

"'Now, ' says the preacher, leading him by the hand to the door, 'get aletter from your mother, and also one from your Sunday School teacher, and one from your Day School teacher, and bring them to me. If they aresatisfactory I will give you a letter to a warm friend of mine who isone of the largest dry goods merchants in New York. If you are able, bright, and honest he will employ you. If you are faithful you may someday be a member of the firm. All the world is before you, lad. Behonest, have courage. Roll up your sleeves and go to work and you willsucceed. Goodbye!' and the door closes. 

"The next caller is an old woman who wants the popular pastor to get herhusband work in the Navy Yard. No sooner is she disposed of, with a wordof comfort, than a spruce-looking young man steps forward. He is a bookagent, and his glib tongue runs so fast that the preacher subscribes forhis book without looking at it. As the agent retires a shy young girlcomes forward and asks for the preacher's autograph. It is givencheerfully. Two old ladies of bustling activity have come to ask foradvice about opening a soup kitchen for the poor. A middle-aged manpours out a sad story of woe. He is a hard-working carpenter. His onlydaughter is inclined to be wayward. Would Dr. Talmage come round andtalk to her?

"Finally, all the callers have been heard except one young man who sitsin a corner of the room toying with his hat. He has waited patiently sothat he might have the preacher all alone. He rises as Dr. Talmage walksover to him. 

"'I am in no hurry, ' he says. 'I'll wait if you want to speak to--to--tothat man over there, ' pointing to me. 

"'No, ' is the reply. 'We are going out together soon. What can I do foryou?'

"'Well I can call again if you are too busy to talk to me now?'

"'No, I am not too busy. Speak up. I can give you ten minutes. '

"'But I want a long talk, ' persists the visitor. 

"'I'd like to oblige you, ' says the preacher, 'but I'm very busyto-day. '

"'I'll come to-morrow. '

"'No; I shall be busy to-morrow also. '

"'And to-night, too?'

"'Yes; my time is engaged for the entire week. '

"'Well, then, ' says the young man, in a stammering way; 'I want youradvice. I'm employed in a big house in New York and I am getting a fairsalary. I have been offered a position in a rival house. Would it beright and honourable for me to leave? I am to get a little more salary. I must give my answer by to-morrow. I must make some excuse for leaving. I've thought it all over and don't know what to say. My presentemployers have treated me well. I want your advice. '

"The good preacher protests that it is a delicate question to put to astranger, even if that stranger happens to be a minister. 

"'Is the firm a good one? Are you treated well? Haven't you a fairchance? Aren't they honourable men?'

"The answer to all these questions was in the affirmative. 

"'But you could tell me whether it would be right for me to do it, and--and--if I could get a letter of recommendation from you it wouldhelp me. '

"'Why don't you ask your mother or father for advice?'

"'They are dead. '

"'Was your mother a Christian?'

"'Yes. '

"'Then get down on your knees here and lift your face to heaven. Askyour angel mother if you would be doing right. '

"The young man's eyes fall to the floor. He toys nervously with his hatand backs out of the hall to the door. As he turns the knob he holds outhis right-hand to the preacher and whispers:

"'I thank you for your advice. I'll not leave my present employer. '

"Now the great preacher hastily puts on a thick overcoat and, taking aheavy walking-stick in hand, says: 'We'll go now. ' He calls a cheery'goodbye' to Mrs. Talmage and closes the big door behind him. The air iscrispy and invigorating. Once in the street the preacher throws back hisshoulders until his form is as straight as that of an Indian. His blueeyes look out from behind a pair of shaggy eyebrows. They snap andsparkle like a schoolboy's. The face denotes health and strength. Thepreacher is fond of walking and strides along with giant steps. Thecolour quickly mounts to his cheeks and reveals a face free from linesand full of health and manly vigour. He has noted the direction that heis to take carefully. As he walks along the street he is noticed byeverybody. His figure is a familiar one in the streets of Brooklyn. Nearly everybody bows to him. He has a hearty 'How are you to-day?' forall. 

"Our direction lies in a thickly-populated section, not many blocksfrom the water front. It is in the tenement district where dozens offamilies are huddled together in one house. We pause in front of arickety building and stop an urchin in the hallway, who replies to thequestion that we are in the right house. Then the good Doctor pulls outof his pocket the letter he received some hours ago from thegrief-stricken young mother whose baby was ill and who asked for aid. 

"Up flight after flight of stairs we go; two storeys, three, four, five. As we reach the landing, a tidy young woman appears. She is holding herface in her hands and sobbing to break her heart. 

"'Oh, I knew you would come, ' she says, as the tears roll down hercheeks; 'I used to go to your church, and I know how deeply your sermonstouched me. Oh! That was long ago. It was before I knew John, and beforeour baby came. '

"Here the speaker broke down completely. 

"'But it's all over now, ' she began again. 

"'John has ill-used me, and beaten me, and forced me to support him indrunkenness. I could stand all that for my baby's sake. '

"She had sunk to the floor on her knees. She was pouring out her soul inagony of grief. 

"'Oh! my baby, my baby!' she cried piteously. 'Why were you taken? Oh, the blow is too much! I can't stand it. Merciful Father, have I notsuffered enough?'

"She fell in a heap on the floor. The heavy breathing and sobbingcontinued. We looked into the little room. It was scrupulously clean, but barren of furniture and even the rudest comforts of a home. Thewindow curtains are pulled down, but a ray of bright sunlight shoots inand lying on the apology for a bed is a babe. Its eyes are closed. Itsface is as white as alabaster. The little thin hands are folded acrossits tiny breast. Its sufferings are over. 

"The Angel of Death had touched its forehead with its icy finger and itsspirit had flown to the clouds. 

"The end had come before the preacher could offer aid. 

"What a scene it was!

"Here, in one of the biggest cities in the world, an innocent child haddied of hunger, and because its mother was too poor to pay for medicalattendance. 

"A word or two was whispered in the mother's ear and we pass down thecreaking stairs to the street. The sun is shining brightly. A half-dozenromping children are on their way home to lunch. The business of thegreat city is moving briskly. It is Christmas week and the air isredolent with the suggestions of good things to come and visions ofKriss Kringle. Truck drivers are whipping their horses and swearing atothers in their way. An organ-grinder is playing 'Sweet violets' on aneighbouring corner. Everyone in the streets is of smiling face andhappy. "

The picture is not mine, nor could I have drawn one of myself, but it isa sketch illustrating the almost daily experiences of a "popular"minister, as I was called. It was estimated that my weekly sermons, inall parts of the world, reached 180, 000, 000 people every Mondaymorning--the year 1888. This was gratifying to a man who, in his studentdays, had been told that he would never be fit to preach the Gospel inany American pulpit. I thanked God for the great opportunity of Hisblessings. 

[Illustration: DR. TALMAGE AS CHAPLAIN OF THE THIRTEENTH REGIMENT. ]

In the spring of 1888 I received the honour of being made chaplain ofthe "Old Thirteenth" Regiment of the National Guard, with a commissionas captain, to succeed my old friend and fellow-worker, Henry WardBeecher, who had died. Although I was a very busy man I accepted it, because I had always felt it my duty to be a part of any public-spiritedenterprise. On March 7th, 1888, before a vast assembly, the oath wasadministered by Colonel Austen, and I received my commission. Memoriesof my actual, though brief, sight of war, at Sharpsburg and Hagerstown, where the hospitals were filled with wounded soldiers, mingled faintlywith the actual scene of peace and plenty around me at that moment. Weneeded no epaulet then but the shoulder that is muscular, and we neededno commanding officer but the steadiness of our own nerves. TheThirteenth Regiment was at the height of its prosperity then; our band, under the leadership of Fred Inness, was the best in the city. Iremembered it well because, in the parade on Decoration Day, I was onhorseback riding a somewhat unmusical horse. It was comforting, if notstrictly true, to read in the newspaper the following day that "DoctorTalmage rides his horse with dash and skill. "

The association of ideas in American life is a wonderful mixture of theappropriate and the inappropriate. Because my church was crowded, because I lived in a comfortable house, because I could become, onoccasions, a preacher on horseback, I was rated as a millionaireclergyman. It was amusing to read about, but difficult to live up to. There were many calculations in the newspapers as to my income. Some ofthe more moderate figures were correct. My salary was $12, 000 as pastorof the Tabernacle, I have made over $20, 000 a year from my lectures. From the publication of my sermons my income was equal to my salary. Ireceived $5, 000 a year as editor of a popular monthly; I sometimes wrotean article that paid me $150 or more, and a single marriage fee wasoften as high as $250. There were some royalties on my books. 

We lived well, dressed comfortably; but there were many demands on methen, as on all public men, and I needed all I could earn. I carried alife insurance of $75, 000. All this was a long way from being a Croesusof the clergy, however. I mention these figures and facts because theystimulate to me, as I hope they will to others, the possibilities oftemporal welfare in a minister's life, provided he works hard and isfaithful to the tremendous trusts of his calling. 

A man's industry is the whole of that man, just as his laziness is theend of him. I always believed heartily, profoundly, in the equality of aman's salvation with a man's self-respect in temporal affairs. I am surethat whoever keeps the books in Heaven credits the account of a newarrival with the exact amount of salvation he or she has achieved, making a due allowance for the amounts earned and paid over to thecauses of charity, kindliness, and mercy. 

I always believed in the business and the religious method of theSalvation Army, because it was an effort to discipline salvation on aworking basis. When the Salvation Army first began its meetings inBrooklyn its members were hooted and insulted in the streets to anextent that rendered their meetings almost impossible. I was requestedto present a petition to Mayor Whitney asking protection for them in thestreets of the city. People residing near the Salvation headquarterswere in constant danger of annoyance from the mobs that gathered aboutthem. It was the fault of the Brooklyn ruffianism. I demanded that theSalvation Army be permitted to hold meetings and march in processionsunmolested. No one was ever killed by a street hosannah, no one was everhurt by hearing a hallelujah. The more inspiring the music the morevirile the optimism we can show, the more good we can do each other inthe climb to Paradise. A minister's duty in his own community, and inall other communities in which he may find himself, is to make the greatmen of his time understand him and like him. 

A minister who could adapt himself to the lights and shadows of humancharacter in men of prominence enjoyed many opportunities that wereenlightening. One met them, these men of many talents, at their best atdinners and banquets. It was then they were in their splendour. 

Those dinners at the Press Club in 1888, what treat they were! In thedays of John A. Cockerill, the handsome, dashing "Colonel, " as he wascalled, of Mayor Grant the suave, Chauncey M. Depew the wit, of CharlesEmory Smith the conservative journalist, of Henry George the Socialist, Moses P. Handy the "Major, " of Roswell P. Flower, of Judge Henry Hilton, of General Felix Agnus--and of Hermann, the original, the great, themagic wonder-maker of the times. They were the leading spirits of anarmy of bright men who pushed the world upside down, or rolled it overand over, or made it stand still, according to how they felt. Minglingwith these arbiters of our fate were all sorts and conditions of men. Atone of these dinners I remember seeing Inspector Byrnes, the SherlockHolmes of American crime, Colonel Ochiltree, the red savage, StevenFiske, Samuel Carpenter, Judge David McAdam, John W. Keller, JudgeGedney, "Pat" Gilmore, Rufus Hatch, General Horatio C. King, Frank B. Thurber, J. Amory Knox, E. B. Harper, W. J. Arkell, Dr. Nagle, the poetGeogheghan, Doc White, and Joseph Howard, jun. They were the old guardof the land of Bohemia, where a minister's voice sounded good to them ifit was a voice without cant or religious hypocrisy. I remember a lettersent by President Harrison to one of these dinners, in which, afteracknowledging the receipt of an invitation to attend, he regretted beingunable to be present at "so attractive an event. "

Among the men whom I first met at this time, and who made an impressionof lasting respect upon me, was Henry Cabot Lodge. He was the guest ofGeneral Stewart L. Woodford, at a breakfast given in his honour in thespring of 1888 at the Hamilton Club. General Woodford invited me, amongothers, to meet him. We all came--Mr. Benjamin A. Stillman, Mr. J. S. T. Stranahan, Mr. Theodore Roosevelt, Judge C. R. Pratt, ex-Mayor Schroeder, Mr. John Winslow, president of the New England Society, Mr. George M. Olcott, Mr. William Copeland Wallace, Colonel Albert P. Lamb, Mr. Charles A. Moore, Mr. William B. Williams, Mr. Ethan Allen Doty, Mr. James S. Case, Mr. T. L. Woodruff. It was a social innovation then toarrange a gathering of this sort at 11 a. M. And call it a breakfast. Itcame from England. Mr. Lodge was only in town on a visit for a few days, chiefly, I think, to attend the annual dinner of the "Sunrise Sons, " asthe members of the New England society were called. As I read thesenames again, how big some of them look now, in the world's note-book ofcelebrities. Some of them were just beginning to learn the pleasanttaste of ambitious careers. Most of them had discovered that ambitionwas the gift of hard work. There is more health in work than in anymedicine I ever heard of. 

Work is the only thing that keeps people alive. Whatever posterity mayproclaim for me, I always had the reputation of being a worker. Perhapsfor this reason I became the object of a microscopic investigationbefore the people in 1888. It was the first time in my life that anynotable attention had been taken of me in my own country, that was not apersonal notoriety over some conflict of the hour. Whenever the Americannewspaper begins to describe your home life with an air of analysis thatis not libellous you are among the famous. It took me a little while tounderstand this. A man's private life is of such indifferent characterto himself, unless he be an official representative of the people, thatI never quite appreciated the importance given to mine, at this time, inBrooklyn. Chiefly because I had made money as a writer, myfellow-citizens were curious to know how, in the clerical profession, itcould be made. Articles appeared constantly in the newspapers withheadlines like these--"Dr. Talmage at Home, " "In a Clergyman's Study, ""Dr. Talmage's Wealth, " "Talmage Interviewed. " Nearly all of them beganwith the American view point uppermost, in this fashion:

"The American preacher lives in a luxurious home. "

"His income, from all sources, exceeds that of the President of theUnited States. "

"The impression is everywhere that Dr. Talmage is very rich. "

I regretted this because there is a notion that a minister of the Gospelcannot accumulate money for himself, that he should not do so if hecould, that his duty consists in collecting money for his church, hisparish, his mission--for anything and everyone but his own temporalprosperity. I had done this all my life. I can solemnly say that I neversought the financial success which in some measure came to me. Iregarded the money which I received for my work as pastor of theTabernacle, or from other sources as an earning capacity that is due toevery working man. I was able to do more work than some, because themotives of my whole life have insisted that I work hard. The impetus ofmy strength was not abnormal, it was merely the daily requirement of myhealth that I work as hard as I knew how as long as I could. Restlessness was an element of life with me. I could not keep still anylength of time. My mind had acquired the habit of ideas, and my handswere always full of unfinished labours. 

I remember trying once to sit still at a concert of Gilmore's band, atManhattan Beach. After hearing one selection I found myself unable tolisten any farther--I could not sit quiet for longer. I rarely allowedmyself more than five minutes for shaving, no matter whether the razorwere sharp or blunt. They used to tell me that I wore a black bow tietill it was not fit to wear. On the trains I slept a great deal. Sleepis the great storage battery of life. Four days of the week I was on thetrain. I rose every morning at six. The first thing I did was to glanceover the morning newspaper, to catch in this whispering gallery of theworld the life of a new day. First the cable news, then the editorials, then the news about ourselves. I received the principal newspapers ofalmost every big city in the morning mail I enjoyed the caricatures ofmyself, they made me laugh. If a man poked fun at me with true wit I washis friend. They were clever fellows those newspaper humorists. Iconsider walking a very important exercise--not merely a stroll, but agood long walk. Often I used to go from the Grand Central Depot in NewYork to my home in Brooklyn. There and back was my usual promenade. Seven miles should be an average walk for a man past fifty every day. Ihave made fifteen and twenty miles without fatigue. I always dined inthe middle of the day. Contrary to "Combes' Physiology, " I always took anap after dinner. In my boyhood days this was a book that opposed thehabit. Combes said that he thought it very injurious to sleep afterdinner, but I saw the cow lie down after eating, and the horse, and itseemed to me that Combes was wrong. A morning bath is absolutelyindispensable. When I was in college there were no luxurious hot andcold bath rooms. I often had to break the ice in my pitcher to get atthe water. 

These were the habits of my life, formed in my youth, and as they grewupon me they were the sinews that kept me young in the heart and brainand muscle. My voice rarely, if ever, failed me entirely. In 1888, to mysurprise and delight, my western trips had become ovations that no humanbeing could fail to enjoy. In St. Paul, Duluth, Minneapolis, the crowdsin and about the churches where I preached were estimated to be overtwenty thousand. It was a joy to live realising the service one could beto others. This year of 1888 was to be a climax to so many aspirationsof my life that I am forced to record it as one of the most important ofall my working years. No event of any consequence in the country, socialor political, or disastrous, happened, that my name was not available tothe ethical phase of its development. Newspaper squibs of all sortsreflect this fact in some way. Here is one that illustrates my meaning:

 "ONLY TALMAGE!

 "The weary husband was lounging in the old armchair reading before the fire after the day's work. Suddenly he brought down his hand vigorously upon his knee, exclaiming, 'That's so! That's so!' A minute after, he cried again, 'Well, I should say. ' Then later, 'Good for you; hit them right and left. ' Soon he stretched himself out at full length in the chair, let his right hand, holding the paper, drop nearly to the floor, threw up his left and laughed aloud until the rafters rang. His anxious wife inquired, 'What is it so funny, John?'

 "He made no reply, but lifted the paper again, straightened himself up, and went on reading. Very quiet he now grew by degrees. Then slyly he slipped his left hand around and drew out his handkerchief, wiped his brow and lips by way of excuse and gave his eyelids a passing dash. The very next moment he pressed the handkerchief to his eyes and let the paper drop to the floor, saying, 'Well, that's wonderful. ' 'What is it, John?' his good wife inquired again. 'Oh! It's only Talmage!'"

My contemporaries in Brooklyn celebrity at this time were unusual men. Some of them were dear friends, some of them close friends, some of themadvisers or champions, guardians of my peace--all of them friends. 

About this time I visited Johnstown, shortly after the flood. My heartwas weary with the scenes of desolation about me. It did not seempossible that the hospitable city of Johnstown I had known in other dayscould be so tumbled down by disaster. Where I had once seen the street, equal in style to Euclid Avenue in Cleveland, I found a long ridge ofsand strewn with planks and driftwood. By a wave from twelve to twentyfeet high, 800 houses were crushed, twenty-eight huge locomotives fromthe round house were destroyed, hundreds of people dead and dying in itsanger. Two thousand dead were found, 2, 000 missing, was the record theday I was there. The place became used to death. It was not a sensationto the survivors to see it about them. I saw a human body taken out ofthe ruins as if it had been a stick of wood. No crowd gathered about it. Some workmen a hundred feet away did not stop their work to see. Thedevastation was far worse than was ever told. The worst part of it couldnot even be seen. The heart-wreck was the unseen tragedy of thisunfortunate American city. From Brooklyn I helped to send temporaryrelief. With a wooden box in my hand I, with others, collected from thebounty of that vast meeting in the Academy of Music. The exact amountpaid over by our relief committee in all was $95, 905. There was no endto the demand upon one's energy in all directions. 

I was called upon in September, 1888, to lay the corner stone of theFirst Presbyterian Church at Far-Rockaway, and amid the imposingceremonies I predicted the great future of Long Island. It seemed to methat Long Island would some day be the London of America, filled withthe most prominent churches of the country. 

While in the plans of others I was an impulse at least towards success, in my own plans, how often I have been scourged and beaten to earth. Asit had been before, so it was in this zenith of my personal progress. Tomy amazement, chagrin and despair, on the morning of October 13, 1889, our beautiful church was again burned to the ground. 

THE FOURTEENTH MILESTONE

1889-1891

For fifteen years, to a large part of the public, I had been anexperiment in church affairs. In 1889 I had caught up with the world andthe things I had been doing and thinking and hoping became suitable forthe world. In the retrospect of those things I had left behind whatgratitude I felt for their strife and struggle! A minister of the Gospelis not only a sentinel of divine orders, he must also have deepconvictions of his authority to resist attack in his own way, by his ownforce, with his own strength and faith. When, on June 3, 1873, I laidthe corner-stone of the new tabernacle, I dedicated the sacred buildingas a stronghold against rationalism and humanitarianism. I knew thenthat this statement was regarded as questionable orthodoxy, and I myselfhad become the curious symbol of a new religion. Still I pursued mycourse, an independent sentry on the outskirts of the old religiouscamping-ground, but inspired with the converting grace I had received inmy boyhood, my duty was clearly not so much a duty of regulations as itwas a conception, a sympathy, a command to the Christian needs of thehuman race. 

When the first Tabernacle was consumed by fire my utterances werecriticised and my enthusiasm to rebuild it was misconstrued. Myconvictions then were the same, they have always been the same. To me itseemed that God's most vehement utterances had been in flames of fire. The most tremendous lesson He ever gave to New York was in theconflagration of 1835; to Chicago in the conflagration of 1871; toBoston in the conflagration of 1872; to my own congregation in the fierydownfall of the Tabernacle. Some saw in the flames that roared throughits organ pipes a requiem, nothing but unmitigated disaster, whileothers of us heard the voice of God, as from Heaven, sounding throughthe crackling thunder of that awful day, saying, "He shall baptise youwith the Holy Ghost and with Fire!"

It was a very different state of public feeling which met the disasterthat came to the Tabernacle on that early Sabbath morning of October 18, 1889. I had a congregation of millions all over the world to appeal to. I stood before them, accredited in the religious course I had pursued, approved as a minister of the Gospel, upheld as a man and a preacher. The hand of Providence is always a mysterious grasp of life thatconfuses and dismays, but it always rebuilds, restores, and prophesies. 

The second Tabernacle was destroyed during a terrific thunderstorm. Itwas crumpled and torn by the winds and the flames of heaven. I watchedthe fire from the cupola of my house in silent abnegation. The historyof the Brooklyn Tabernacle had been strange and peculiar all the waythrough. Things that seemed to be against us always turned out finallyfor us. Our brightest and best days always follow disaster. Ourenlargements of the building had never met our needs. Our plans hadpleased the people, but we needed improvements. In this spirit Iaccepted the situation, and the Board of Trustees sustained me. Ourinsurance on the church building was over $120, 000. I made an appeal tothe people of Brooklyn and to the thousands of readers my sermons hadgained, for the sum of $100, 000. It would be much easier to accomplish, I felt, than it had been before. 

At my house in Brooklyn, on the evening of the day of the fire, thefollowing resolutions were passed by the Board of Trustees:--

"Resolved--that we bow in humble submission to the Providence which thismorning removed our beloved Church, and while we cannot fully understandthe meaning of that Providence we have faith that there is kindness aswell as severity in the stroke. 

"Resolved:--That if God and the people help us we will proceed at onceto rebuild, and that we rear a larger structure to meet the demands ofour congregation, the locality and style of the building to be indicatedby the amount of contributions made. "

A committee was immediately formed to select a temporary place ofworship, and the Academy of Music was selected, because of its size andlocation. 

I was asked for a statement to the people through the press. From ascrap-book I copy this statement:--

 "To the People--

 "By sudden calamity we are without a church. The building associated with so much that is dear to us is in ashes. In behalf of my stricken congregation I make appeal for help. Our church has never confined its work to this locality. Our church has never been sufficient either in size or appointments for the people who came. We want to build something worthy of our city and worthy of the cause of God. 

 "We want $100, 000, which, added to the insurance, will build what is needed. I make appeal to all our friends throughout Christendom, to all denominations, to all creeds and to those of no creed at all, to come to our rescue. I ask all readers of my sermons the world over to contribute as far as their means will allow. What we do as a Church depends upon the immediate response made to this call. I was on the eve of departure for a brief visit to the Holy Land that I might be better prepared for my work here, but that visit must be postponed. I cannot leave until something is done to decide our future. 

 "May the God who has our destiny as individuals and as churches in His hand appear for our deliverance!

 "Responses to this appeal to the people may be sent to me in Brooklyn, and I will with my own hand acknowledge the receipt thereof. 

 "T. DEWITT TALMAGE. "

I had planned to sail for the Holy Land on October 30, but the disasterthat had come upon us seemed to make it impossible. I had almost givenit up. There followed such an universal response to my appeal, such aremarkable current of sympathy, however, that completely overwhelmed me, so that by the grace of God I was able to sail. To the trustees of theTabernacle much of this was due. They were the men who stood by me, myfriends, my advisers. I record their names as the Christian guardians ofmy destiny through danger and through safety. They were Dr. Harrison A. Tucker, John Wood, Alexander McLean, E. H. Lawrence, and Charles Darling. In a note-book I find recorded also the names of some of the firstsubscribers to the new Tabernacle. They were the real builders. Wechslerand Abraham were among the first to contribute $100, "Texas Siftings"through J. Amory Knox sent $25, and "Judge" forwarded a cheque for thesame amount, with the declaration that all other periodicals in theUnited States ought to go and do likewise. A. E. Coates sent $200, E. M. Knox $200, A. J. Nutting $100, Benjamin L. Fairchild $100, Joseph E. Carson $100, Haviland and Sons $25, Francis H. Stuart, M. D. , $25, GilesF. Bushnell $25, and Pauline E. Martin $25. 

Even the small children, the poor, the aged, sent in their dollars. About one thousand dollars was contributed the first day. Everything wasdone by the trustees and the people, to expedite the plans of the NewTabernacle so that in two weeks from the date of the fire I broke groundfor what was to be the largest church in the world of a Protestantdenomination, on the corner of Clinton and Greene Avenues. Thatafternoon of October 28, 1889, when I stood in the enclosure arrangedfor me, and consecrated the ground to the word of God, was anothermoment of supreme joy to me. It was said that those who witnessed theceremony were impressed with the importance of it in the course of myown life and in the history of Christianity. To me it was akin to thosepregnant hours of my life through which I had passed in great exaltationof spiritual fervour. 

My words of consecration were brief, as follows:

"May the Lord God of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and Joshua, andPaul, and John Knox, and John Wesley, and Hugh Latimer, and BishopMcIlvaine take possession of this ground and all that shall be builtupon it. "

Before me was a vision of that church, its Gothic arches, its splendourof stained-glass windows, its spires and gables, and, as I saw this ourthird Tabernacle rise up before me, I prayed that its windows might lookout into the next world as well as this. I was glad that I had waited toturn that bit of God-like earth on the old Marshall homestead inBrooklyn, for it filled my heart with a spiritual promise and potencythat was an invisible cord binding me during my pilgrimage to Jordanwith my congregation which I had left behind. 

With Mrs. Talmage and my daughter, May Talmage, I sailed on the "City ofParis, " on October 30, 1889, to complete the plan I had dreamed of foryears. I had been reverently anxious to actually see the placesassociated with our Lord's life and death. I wanted to see Bethlehem andNazareth, and Jerusalem and Calvary, so intimately connected with theministry of our Saviour. I had arranged to write a Life of Christ, andthis trip was imperative. In that book is the complete record of thisjourney, therefore I feel that other things that have not been tolddeserve the space here that would otherwise belong to my recollectionsof the Holy Land. It was reported that while in Jerusalem I made aneffort to purchase Calvary and the tomb of our Saviour, so as to presentit to the Christian Church at large. I was so impressed with the factthat part of this sacred ground was being used as a Mohammedan cemeterythat I was inspired to buy it in token of respect to all Christendom. Ofcourse this led to much criticism, but that has never stopped myconvictions. I was away for two months, returning in February, 1890. 

During my absence our Sunday services were conducted by the mosttalented preachers we could secure. With the exception of a few days'influenza while I was in Paris, in January, just prior to my return, thetrip was a glorious success. According to the editorial opinion of onenewspaper I had "discovered a new Adam that was to prove a puissant allyin his future struggles with the old Adam. " This was not meant to befriendly, but I prefer to believe that it was so after all. In England Iwas promised, if I would take up a month's preaching tour there, thatthe English people would subscribe five thousand pounds to the newTabernacle. These and other invitations were tempting, but I could notalter my itinerary. 

While in England I received an invitation from Mr. Gladstone to visithim at Hawarden. He wired me, "pray come to Hawarden to-morrow, " and onJanuary 24, 1890, I paid my visit. I was staying at the Grand Hotel inLondon when the telegram was handed to me. With the rest of the world, at that time, I regarded Mr. Gladstone as the most wonderful man of thecentury. 

He came into the room at Hawarden where I was waiting for him, an alert, eager, kindly man. He was not the grand old man in spirit, whatever hemay have been in age. He was lithe of body, his step was elastic. Heheld out both his hands in a cordial welcome. He spoke first of the widepublication of my sermons in England, and questioned me about them. In afew minutes he proposed a walk, and calling his dog we started out forwhat was in fact a run over his estate. Gladstone was the only man Iever met who walked fast enough for me. Over the hills, through hismagnificent park, everywhere he pointed out the stumps of trees which hehad cut down. Once a guest of his, an English lord, had died emulatingGladstone's strenuous custom. He showed me the place. 

"No man who has heart disease ought to use the axe, " he said; "that verystump is the place where my friend used it, and died. "

He rallied the American tendency to exaggerate things in a story he toldwith great glee, about a fabulous tree in California, where two mencutting at it on opposite sides for many days were entirely oblivious ofeach other's presence. Each one believed himself to be a lone woodsmanin the forest until, after a long time, they met with surprise at theheart of the tree. American stories seemed to tickle him immensely. Hetold another kindred one of a fish in American lakes, so large that whenit was taken out of the water the lake was perceptibly lowered. He grewbuoyant, breezy, fanciful in the brisk winter air. Like his dog, he wastingling with life. He liked to throw sticks for him, to see him jumpand run. 

"Look at that dog's eyes, isn't he a fine fellow?" he kept asking. Hisknowledge of the trees on his estate was historical. He knew theirlineage and characteristics from the date of their sapling age, four orfive hundred years before. The old and decrepit aristocrats of hisforest were tenderly bandaged, their arms in splints. 

"Look at that sycamore, " he said; "did you find in the Holy Land anymore thrifty than that? You know sometimes I am described as destroyingmy trees. I only destroy the bad to help the good. Since I have thrownmy park open to visitors the privilege has never been abused. "

We drifted upon all subjects, rational, political, religious, ethical. 

"Divorce in your country, is it not a menace?" he asked. 

"The great danger is re-marriage. It should be forbidden for divorcedpersons. I understand that in your State of South Carolina there is nodivorce. I believe that is the right idea. If re-marriage wereimpossible then divorce would be impossible, " he replied to his ownquestion. 

Gladstone's religious instinct was prophetic in its grasp. Hisintellectual approval of religious intention was the test of his faith. He applied to the exaltations of Christianity the reason of human fact. I was forcibly impressed with this when he told me of an incident in hisboyhood. 

"I read something in 'Augustine' when I was a boy, " he said, "whichstruck me then with great force. I still feel it to-day. It was thepassage which says, 'When the human race rebelled against God, the lowernature of man as a consequence rebelled against the higher nature. '"

I asked him then if the years had strengthened or weakened his Christianfaith. We were racing up hill. He stopped suddenly on the hillside andregarded me with a searching earnestness, a solemnity that made mequake. Then he spoke slowly, more seriously:

"Dr. Talmage, my only hope for the world is in the bringing of the humanmind into contact with divine revelation. Nearly all the men at the topin our country are believers in the Christian religion. The four leadingphysicians of England are devout Christian men. I, myself, have been inthe Cabinet forty-seven years, and during all that time I have beenassociated with sixty of the chief intellects of the century. I canthink of but five of those sixty who did not profess the Christianreligion, but those five men respected it. We may talk about questionsof the day here and there, but there is only one question, and that ishow to apply the Gospel to all circumstances and conditions. It can andwill correct all that is wrong. Have you, in America, any of theterrible agnosticism that we have in Europe? I am glad none of mychildren are afflicted with it. "

I asked him if he did not believe that many people had no religion intheir heads, but a good religion in their hearts. 

"I have no doubt of it, and I can give you an illustration, " he said. 

"Yesterday, Lord Napier was buried in St. Paul's Cathedral. After thewar in Africa Lord Napier was here for a few days, at the invitation ofMrs. Gladstone and myself, and we walked as we are walking now. He toldme this story. I cannot remember his exact words. He said that just whenthe troops were about to leave Africa there was a soldier with a brokenleg. He was too sick to take along, but to leave him behind seemedbarbaric. Lord Napier ordered him to be carried, but he soon became tooill to go any further. Lord Napier went to a native woman well known inthat country for her kindness, and asked her to take care of thesoldier. To ensure his care she was offered a good sum of money. Iremember her reply as Lord Napier repeated it to me. 'No, I will nottake care of this wounded soldier for the money you offer me, ' she said;'I have no need of the money. My father and mother have a comfortabletent, and I have a good tent; why should I take the money? If you willleave him here I will take care of him for the sake of the love ofGod. '"

Gladstone was in the thick of political scrimmage over Home Rule, and hetalked about it with me. 

"It seems the dispensation of God that I should be in the battle, " hesaid; "but it is not to my taste. I never had any option in the matter. I dislike contests, but I could not decline this controversy withoutdisgrace. When Ireland showed herself ready to adopt a righteousconstitution, and do her full duty, I hesitated not an hour. "

Two nights before, at a speech in Chester, Mr. Gladstone had declaredthat the increase of the American navy would necessitate the increase ofthe British navy. I rallied him about this statement, and he said, "Oh!Americans like to hear the plain truth. The fact is, the tie between thetwo nations is growing closer every year. "

It was a bitter cold day and yet Mr. Gladstone wore only a very lightcape, reaching scarcely to his knees. 

"I need nothing more on me, " he said; "I must have my legs free. "

After luncheon he took me into his library, a wonderful place, atreasure-house in itself, a bookman's palace. The books had beenarranged and catalogued according to a system of his own invention. Heshowed many presents of American books and pictures sent to him. 

"Outside of America there is no one who is bound to love it more than Ido, " he said, "you see, I am almost surrounded by the evidences ofAmerican kindnesses. " He gave me some books and pamphlets about himself, and his own Greek translation of "Jesus, Lover of my Soul. " Mrs. Gladstone had been obliged to leave before we returned from our walk. Mr. Gladstone took me into a room, however, and showed me a beautifulsculptured portrait of her, made when she was twenty-two. 

"She is only two years younger than I am, but in complete health andvigour, " he said proudly. 

He came out upon the steps to bid me good-bye. Bareheaded, his whitehair flowing in the wind, he stood in the cold and I begged him to goin. I expressed a wish that he might come to America. 

"I am too old now, " he said, wistfully, I thought. 

"Is it the Atlantic you object to?" I asked. 

"Oh! I am not afraid of the ocean, " he said, as though there wereperhaps some other reason. 

"Tell your country I watch every turn of its history with a heart ofinnermost admiration, " he called after me. I carried Gladstone's messageat once, going straight from Hawarden to America, as I had intended whenleaving London. 

I was prepared for a reception in Brooklyn on my return, but I neverdreamed it would be the ovation it was. It becomes difficult to write ofthese personal courtesies, as I find them increasing in the progress ofmy life from now on. I trust the casual reader will not construeanything in these pages into a boastful desire to spread myself in toolarge letters in print. 

When I entered the Thirteenth Regiment Armoury on the evening ofFebruary 7, 1890, it was packed from top to floor. It was a largebuilding with its three acres of drill floor and its half mile ofgalleries. There were over seven thousand people there, so thenewspapers estimated. Against the east wall was the speaker's platform, and over it in big letters of fire burned the word "Welcome. "

On the stage, when I arrived at eight o'clock, were Mayor Chapin, Colonel Austen, General Alfred C. Barnes, the Rev. J. Benson Hamilton, Judge Clement, Mr. Andrew McLean, the Rev. Leon Harrison, ex-MayorWhitney, the Hon. David A. Boody, U. S. Marshal Stafford, Judge Courtney, Postmaster Hendrix, John Y. Culver, Mark D. Wilber, Commissioner GeorgeV. Brower, the Rev. E. P. Terhune, General Horatio C. King, William E. Robinson and several others. 

The Trustees of the Tabernacle, like a guard of honour, came in withme, and as we made our way through the crowds to the stage, thelong-continued cheering and applause were deafening. The band, assistedby the cornetist, Peter Ali, played "Home, Sweet Home. " For a fewminutes I was very busy shaking hands. 

The most inspiring moment of these preliminaries was the approach of themost distinguished man in that vast assembly, General William T. Sherman. He marched to the platform under military escort, while theband played "Marching through Georgia. " Everyone stood up in deferenceto the old warrior, handkerchiefs were waved, hats flew up in the air, everyone was so proud of him, so pleased to see him! Mayor Chapinintroduced the General, and as he stood patiently waiting for theaudience to regain its self-control, the band played "Auld Lang Syne. "Then in the presence of that great crowd he gave me a soldier's welcome. I remember one sentence uttered by Sherman that night that revealed thecharacter of the great fighter when he said, "The same God that appearedat Nazareth is here to-night. "

But nothing on that auspicious evening was so great to me as whenSherman spoke what he described as the soldier's welcome:

"How are you, old fellow, glad to see you!" he said. 

The building of the new Tabernacle, my third effort to establish anindependent church in Brooklyn, went on rapidly. We were planning thento open it in September, 1891. The church building alone was to cost$150, 000. Its architectural beauty was in accord with the elegance ofits fashionable neighbourhood on "The Hill, " as that residential part ofBrooklyn was always described. 

"The Hill" was unique. When people in Brooklyn became tired of the rushand bustle of life they returned to Clinton Avenue. It was an idyllicvillage in the heart of the city. The front yards were as large asfarms. New Yorkers described this locality as "Sleepy Hollow. " On thisaccount, during my absence, there had developed in the neighbourhoodsome opposition to the building of the new Tabernacle there. Some of theresidents were afraid it would disturb the quiet of the neighbourhood. They opposed it as they would a base ball park, or a circus. They wereafraid the organ would annoy the sparrows. The opposition went so farthat a subscription paper was passed around to induce us to go away. Asmuch as $15, 000 was raised to persuade us. These objections, however, were confined to a few people, the majority realising the adornment thenew church would be to the neighbourhood. When I returned I found thatthis opposing sentiment had described us as "the Tabernacle Rabble. " Iwas in splendid health and spirits however, and refused to be downcast. 

During my absence our pews had been rented, realising $18, 000. Thelargest portion of these pews were rented by letter, and the balance ata public meeting held in Temple Israel. The second gallery of the churchwas free. The highest price paid in the rental for one pew for a yearwas $75, the lowest was $20. In the interval, pending the completion ofthe church, pew holders were given tickets for reserved seats in theAcademy of Music, where our Sunday services were held. There were 1, 500free seats in the second gallery of the new Tabernacle. 

It was a great joy to find that the enterprise I had inaugurated beforesailing for the Holy Land had made such good progress. But we werealways fortunate. 

I recall that my congregation was surprised one morning to learn thatEmma Abbott, the beautiful American singer, had left a bequest of $5, 000to the Brooklyn Tabernacle. I was not surprised. I had received aprivate note from her once expressing her kindly feeling toward ourChurch and promising, in the event of her decease, to leave someremembrance to us. She always had a presentiment that her life was to beshort, and this always had a very depressing effect upon her. Her grieffor her husband's death hastened her own. She loved him with all herheart. She was a good woman. Mr. Beecher was a kind and loyal friend toher in her obscurer days. In those days Mr. Beecher brought her overfrom New York and put her in care of a Mrs. Bird in Brooklyn. Until shewent abroad she was helped in her musical education by these friends. She attended Mr. Beecher's prayer meetings regularly. Everyone who mether felt that she was a noble-hearted woman of pure character and sweetsoul. 

On February 9, 1890, I preached my first sermon since my return from theHoly Land in the Academy of Music. It was expected that I would preachabout the country of sacred memories that I had visited, but I wasimpressed with what I had found on my return in religious history of amore modern purpose. They had been fixing up the creeds while I wasabroad, tracing the footsteps of divine law, and I felt the importanceof this fact. So I chose the text in Joshua vi. 23, "And the young menthat were spies went in and brought out Rahab, and her father and hermother, and her brethren, and all that she had. "

I did not read the newspapers while I was away so I was not familiarwith all the discussion. I understood, however, that they were revisingthe creed. You might as well try to patch up your grandfather'sovercoat. It will be much better to get a new one. The recent sessionsof the Presbytery had been divided into two parties. One was in favourof patching up the old overcoat, the other in favour of a new one. Dr. Briggs had pointed out the torn places--at least five of them. He hadrevealed it, shabby and somewhat threadbare. Presbyterians hadpractically discarded the garment. Why should they want to flaunt any ofits shreds? So I agreed with Dr. Briggs, that we had better get a newone. 

The laying of the corner stone of the new Tabernacle took place on theafternoon of February 11, 1890. It was a modest ceremony because it wasconsidered wise to defer the festivities for the dedication servicesthat were to occur in the church itself in the spring. The two tin boxesplaced in the corner stone contained the records of the churchorganisation from 1854 to 1873, a copy of the Bible, coins of 1873, newspaper accounts of the dedication of the old Tabernacle, copies ofthe Brooklyn and New York newspapers, photographs of the trustees, a25-cent gold piece from the Philadelphia mint with the Lord's Prayerengraved on one side, drawing and plans of the new Tabernacle, and someColonial money dated 1759, 1771, 1773, 1774. During my trip in the HolyLand I had secured two stones, one from Mount Calvary and one from MountSinai, which were to be placed in the Tabernacle later. 

The "Tabernacle Rabble, " as the Philistines of Clinton Avenue called us, continued to meet in the Academy of Music with renewed vigour. My ownduties became more exacting because of the additional work I hadundertaken, of an editorial nature, on two periodicals. 

Of course my critics were always with me. What man or thing on earth iswithout these stimulants of one's energy. They were fair and unfair. Idid not care so much for my serious critics as my humorous ones. Solemnity when sustained by malice or bigotry is a bore. Some call ithypocrisy, but that is too clever for the tiresome critic. Frequently, in my scrap book, I kept the funny comments about myself. 

Here is one from the "Chicago American, " published in 1890:--

 When Talmage the terrible shouts his "God-speed" To illit'rate (and worse) immigration, Who knows but his far-seeing mind feels a need Of recruits for his mix'd congregation? And when he, self-made gateman of Heaven, says he's glad To rake in, on his free invitation, The fit and the unfit, the good and the bad, Put it down to his tall-'mag-ination. --_Pan. _

My critics were particularly wrought up again on my return fromPalestine over my finances. What a crime it was, they said, for aminister to be a millionaire! Had I really been one how much more Icould have helped some of them along. Finally the subject became mostwearisome, and I gave out some actual facts. From this data it wasrevealed that I was worth about $200, 000, considerably short of onemillion. In actual cash it was finally declared that I was only worth$100, 000. My house in Brooklyn, which I bought shortly after mypastorate began there, cost $35, 000. I paid $5, 000 cash, and obtainedeasy terms on a mortgage for the balance. It was worth $60, 000 in 1890. My country residence at East Hampton was estimated to be worth $20, 000. I owned a few lots on the old Coney Island road. My investments of anysurplus funds I had were in 5 per cent. Mortgages. I had as much as$80, 000 invested in this way since I had begun these operations in1882. Most of the mortgages were on private residences. I mention thesefacts that there may be no jealous feeling against me among othermillionaires. Because of my reputation for wealth I was sometimesincluded among New York's fashionable clergymen. I deny that I was everany such thing, and I almost believe such a thing never was, but I find, in my scrapbook, a contemporaneous list of them. 

Dr. Morgan Dix, of Trinity Church, with a salary of $15, 000, heads thelist, Dr. Brown of St. Thomas' Church, received the same amount; so didDr. Huntington of Grace Church, and Dr. Greer of St. Bartholomew's. TheBishop of the diocese received no more. Dr. Rainsford of St. George'sChurch received $10, 000, and like Dr. Greer, possessing a privatefortune, he turned his salary over to the church. The clergymen of theMethodist Episcopal churches were not so rich. The Bishop of New Yorkreceived only $5, 000. The pastor of St. Paul's, on Fourth Avenue, received the same amount, so did the pastor of the Madison AvenueChurch. 

The Presbyterian pulpits were filled with some of the ablest preachersin New York. Dr. John Hall of the Fifth Avenue Church received thesalary of $30, 000, Dr. Paxton $10, 000, Dr. Parkhurst and Dr. C. C. Thompson $8, 000 respectively. Dr. Robert Collyer of the Park AvenueUnitarian Church, received $10, 000, and Dr. William M. Taylor of theBroadway Tabernacle the same amount. 

I was included among these "men of fashion, " much to my surprise. Thisfact, forced upon me by contemporary opinion, did not have anything todo with what happened in the spring of 1891, though it was applied inthat way. My congregation were not told about it until it was too lateto interfere. This I thought wise because there might have been someopposition to my course. I kept it a secret because it was not a matterI could discuss with any dignity. Then, too, I realised that it wasgoing to affect the entire brotherhood of newspaper artists, especiallythe cartoonists. I shuddered when I thought of the embarrassment thisact of mine would cause the country editor with only one Talmage woodcutof many years in his art department. So I did it quietly, withoutconsultation. 

In the spring of 1891 I shaved my whiskers. 

THE FIFTEENTH MILESTONE

1891-1892

On April 26, 1891, the new Tabernacle was opened. There were threededication services and thousands of people came. I was fifty-nine yearsof age. Up to this time everything had been extraordinary in itsconflict, its warnings. I found myself, after over thirty years ofservice to the Gospel, pastor of the biggest Protestant church in theworld. It seems to me there were more men of indomitable success duringmy career in America than at any other time. There were so manyself-made men, so many who compelled the world to listen, and feel anddo as they believed--men of remarkable energy, of prophetic genius. 

Everywhere in England I had been asked about Cyrus W. Field. He was thehero of the nineteenth century. In his days of sickness and trouble theworld remembered him. Of all the population of the earth he was the oneman who believed that a wire could be strung across the Atlantic. Ittook him twelve years of incessant toil and fifty voyages across theAtlantic. I remember well, in 1857, when the cable broke, how everyonejoined in the great chorus of "I told you so. " There was a great jubileein that choral society of wise know-nothings. Thirty times the grapnelsearched the bottom of the sea and finally caught the broken cable, andthe pluck and ingenuity of Cyrus W. Field was celebrated. Oceancablegrams had ceased to be a curiosity, but some of us remember the daywhen they were. I kept a memorandum of the two first messages across theAtlantic that passed between Queen Victoria and President Buchanan inthe summer of 1858. 

From England, in the Queen's name, came this:

 "To the President of the United States, Washington--

 "The Queen desires to congratulate the President upon the successful completion of this great international work, in which the Queen has taken the deepest interest. The Queen is convinced that the President will join with her in fervently hoping that the electric cable which now connects Great Britain with the United States will prove an additional link between the nations whose friendship is founded upon their common interest and reciprocal esteem. The Queen has much pleasure in thus communicating with the President and renewing to him her wishes for the prosperity of the United States. "

The President's answering cable was as follows:

 "To Her Majesty Victoria, Queen of Great Britain--

 "The President cordially reciprocates the congratulations of Her Majesty the Queen on the success of the great international enterprise accomplished by the science, skill, and indomitable energy of the two countries. It is a triumph more glorious than was ever won by any conquest on the field of battle. May the Atlantic telegraph, under the blessing of Heaven, prove to be a bond of perpetual peace and friendship between the kindred nations and an instrument designed by Divine Providence to diffuse religion, civilisation, liberty and law throughout the world. In this view will not all nations of Christendom spontaneously unite in the declaration that it shall be forever neutral, and that its communications shall be held sacred in passing to their destination, even in the midst of hostilities. 

 "JAMES BUCHANAN. "

It is interesting to compare the elemental quality, the inner characterof these national flashes of feeling, that came so comparatively soonafter the days of the revolution in America. It was a sort of prosepoetry of the new century. This recollection came back to me, on myreturn from Europe, upon the opening of the new Tabernacle, a symbol ofthe eternal human progress of the world. Materially and spiritually wewere striving ahead, men of affairs, men of religion, philosophers, scientists, and poets. 

I was present in 1891 at the celebration of Whittier's eighty-fourthbirthday. He was on the bright side of eighty then. The schoolscelebrated the day, so should the churches have done, for he was aChristian poet. 

John Greenleaf Whittier was a Quaker. That means that he was a genial, kind, good man--a simple man. I spent an afternoon with him once in abarn. We were summering in the mountains near by. We found ourselves inthe barn, where we stretched out on the hay. The world had not spoiledthe simplicity of his nature. It was an afternoon of pastoral peace, with one who had written himself into the heart of a nation. How much Ilearned from that man's childlikeness and simplicity!

If he had lived to be a hundred he would still have remained young. Thelong flight of years had not tired his spirit, for wherever the Englishlanguage is spoken he will always live. He was born in Christmas week, aspirit in human shape, come to earth to keep it forever young. He wasthe bell-ringer of all youthful ages. And yet he remembered also thosewho for any reason could not join in the merriment of the holidays. Tothose I recommend Whittier's poem, in which he celebrates the rescue oftwo Quakers who had been fined £10 for attending church instead of goingto a Quaker Meeting House, and not being able to pay the fine were firstimprisoned and then sold as slaves, but no ship master consenting tocarry them into slavery they were liberated. The closing stanza of thispoem is worth remembering:--

 "Now, let the humble ones arise, The poor in heart be glad, And let the mourning ones again With robes of praise be clad; For He who cooled the furnace, And smoothed the stormy wave, And turned the Chaldean lions, Is mighty still to save. "

The new Tabernacle more than met our expectations. From the day weopened it, it was a great blessing. It seated 6, 000 persons, and whencrowded held 7, 000. There was still some debt on the building, for theentire enterprise had cost us about $400, 000. There were regretsexpressed that we did not follow the elaborate custom of somefashionable churches in these days and introduce into our servicesoperatic music. I preferred the simple form of sacred music--a cornetand organ. Everybody should get his call from God, and do his work inhis own way. I never had any sympathy with dogmatics. There is no churchon earth in which there is more freedom of utterance than in thePresbyterian church. 

[Illustration: THE THIRD BROOKLYN TABERNACLE. ]

We were in the midst of a religious conflict on many sacred questions in1892. There came upon us a plague called Higher Criticism. My idea of itwas that Higher Criticism meant lower religion. The Bible seemed to meentirely satisfactory. The chief hindrance to the Gospel was thiseverlasting picking at the Bible by people who pretended to be itsfriends, but who themselves had never been converted. The HigherCriticism was only a flurry. The world started as a garden and it willclose as a garden. That there may be no false impression of the sublimedestiny of the world as I see it, let me add that it is not a garden ofidleness and pleasure, but a vineyard in which all must labour fromearly morning till the glory of sundown wraps us in its revival robes ofgolden splendour. 

What a changing, hurrying world of desperate means it is. What a mirageof towering ambition is the whole of life! I have so often wondered whymen, great men of heart and brain, should ever die out, though they passon to live forever under brighter skies. 

In January, 1892, Congressman William E. Robinson was buried from ourchurch, and in February of the same month Spurgeon died in England. Though men may live at swords' points with each other they die in peace. This last forgetfulness is some of the beautiful moss that grows on theruins of poor human nature. 

Congressman Robinson was among the gifted men of his time. His friendswere giants, his work was constructive, his pen an instrument ofliterary force. He landed in America with less than a sovereign in hispocket, and achieved prominence in national and State affairs. I knewhim well and respected him. 

There is an affinity of souls on earth and doubtless in heaven. We seekthose who are our kindred souls when we reach there. In this respect Ialways feel a sense of gratitude, of cheerfulness for those who havepassed on. My old friend, Charles H. Spurgeon, in February, 1892, madehis last journey; and I am sure that the first whom he picked out inheaven were the souls of Jonathan Edwards and John Calvin--two men oftremendous evangelism. I first met Spurgeon in London in 1872. 

"I read your sermons, " I said to him first. 

"Everybody reads yours, " he replied. 

Spurgeon made a long battle against disease; the last few months inagony. His name is on the honour roll of the world's history, but formany years he was caricatured and assailed. He kept a scrap-book of theprinted blasphemy against him. The first picture I ever saw of himrepresented him as sliding down the railing of his pulpit in thepresence of his congregation, to show how easy it was to go to hell, andthen climbing up on the opposite railing to show how difficult it was toget to heaven. Most people at the time actually believed that he haddone this. 

In this same month Dr. Mackenzie, the famous physician, died, and my oldfriend, the Rev. Dr. Hanna of Belfast, the leading Protestant ministerof Ireland. Out of the darkness into the light; out of the struggle intovictory; out of earth into Heaven!

There was always mercy on earth, however, for those who remained. Mercy!The biggest word in the human language! I remember how it impressed me, when, at the invitation of Dr. Leslie Keeley, the inventor of the "GoldCure" for drunkenness, I visited his institution at Dwight, Ill. It wasa new thing then and a most merciful miracle of the age. It settled noquestion, perhaps, but intensified the blessings of reformed thought. 

There were questions that could not be solved, however, questions ofindustrial moment that we almost despaired of. The tariff was one ofthem. I felt convinced that the tariff question would never be settled. The grandchildren of every generation will always be discussing it, andthresh out the same old straw which the Democrats and Republicans werediscussing before them. When I was a boy only eight years old the tariffwas discussed just as warmly as it will ever be. Like my friend HenryWatterson, of Kentucky, I was a Free Trader. Politics were so mixed upit was difficult to see ahead. Cleveland was after Hill and Hill wasafter Cleveland; that alone was clear to everybody. 

For my own satisfaction, in the spring of 1892, I went to see whatWashington was really doing, thinking, living. It had improved morallyand politically, its streets were still the trail of the mighty. A greatchange had taken place there. 

A higher type of men had taken possession of our national halls. Duelling, once common, was entirely abolished, and a Senator who wouldchallenge a fellow-member to fight would make himself a laughing-stock. No more clubbing of Senators on account of opposite opinions! Mr. Covodeof Pennsylvania, no longer brandished a weapon over the head of Mr. Barksdale of Mississippi. Grow and Keitt no more took each other by thethroat. Griswold no more pounded Lyon, Lyon snatching the tongs andstriking back until the two members in a scuffle rolled on the floor ofthe great American Congress. One of the Senators of twenty-five yearsago died in Flatbush Hospital, idiotic from his dissipations. One memberof Congress I saw years ago seated drunk on the curbstone inPhiladelphia, his wife trying to coax him home. A Senator from New Yorkmany years ago on a cold day was picked out of the Potomac, into whichhe had dropped through his intoxication, the only time that he ever cameso near losing his life by too much cold water. Talk not about the goodold days, for the new days in Washington were far better. There was JohnSherman of the Senate, a moral, high-minded, patriotic and talented man. I said to him as I looked up into his face: "How tall are you?" and hisanswer was, "Six feet one inch and a half;" and I thought to myself "Youare a tall man every way, with mental stature over-towering like thephysical. " There was Senator Daniel of Virginia, magnetic to the lastdegree, and when he spoke all were thrilled while they listened. Fifteenyears ago, at Lynchburg, Va. , I said to him: "The next time I see you, Iwill see you in the United States Senate. " "No, no, " he replied, "I amnot on the winning side. I am too positive in my opinions. " I greetedhim amid the marble walls of the Senate with the words "Didn't I tellyou so?" "Yes, " he said, "I remember your prophecy. " There also wereSenators Colquitt and Gordon of Georgia, at home whether in secular orreligious assemblages, pronounced Christian gentlemen, and both of themtremendous in utterance. There was Senator Carey of Wyoming, who was aboy in my church debating society at Philadelphia, his speech ateighteen years demonstrating that nothing in the way of grandachievement would be impossible. There was Senator Manderson ofNebraska, his father and mother among my chief supporters inPhiladelphia, the Senator walking about as though he cared nothing aboutthe bullets which he had carried ever since the war, of which he was oneof the heroes. Brooklyn was proud of her Congressmen. I heard ourrepresentative, Mr. Coombs, speak, and whether his hearers agreed ordisagreed with his sentiments on the tariff question, all realised thathe knew what he was talking about, and his easy delivery and point-blankmanner of statement were impressive. So, also, at the White House, whether people liked the Administration or disliked it, all reasonablepersons agreed that good morals presided over the nation, and thatwell-worn jest about the big hat of the grandfather, President WilliamHenry Harrison, being too ample for the grandson, President BenjaminHarrison, was a witticism that would soon be folded up and put out ofsight. Anybody who had carefully read the 120 addresses delivered byPresident Benjamin Harrison on his tour across the continent knew thathe had three times the brain ever shown by his grandfather. Great men, Inoticed at Washington, were great only a little while. The men I sawthere in high places fifteen years ago had nearly all gone. Onevenerable man, seated in the Senate near the Vice-President's chair, hadbeen there since he was introduced as a page at 10 years of age byDaniel Webster. But a few years change the most of the occupants of highpositions. How rapidly the wheel turns. Call the roll of Jefferson'sCabinet? Dead! Call the roll of Madison's Cabinet? Dead! Call the rollof Monroe's Cabinet? Dead! Call the roll of Pierce's Cabinet? Dead! Callthe roll of Abraham Lincoln's Cabinet? Dead! The Congressional buryingground in the city of Washington had then 170 cenotaphs raised in honourof members. 

While I was in Chicago, in the spring of 1892, there came about analmost national discussion as to whether the World's Fair should be keptopen on Sunday. Nearly all the ministers foresaw empty churches if thefair were kept open. 

In spite of the personal malice against me of one of the great editorsof New York, the people did not seem to lose their confidence in theChristian spirit. Both Dr. Parkhurst and myself were the targets of thisbrilliant man's sarcasm and satire at this time, but neither of us weredemoralised or injured in the course of our separate ways of duty. 

In the summer of 1892 the working plans of what the newspapersgenerously called my vacation took me to Europe on a tour of GreatBritain and Ireland, including a visit to Russia, to await the arrivalof a ship-load of food sent by the religious weekly of which I waseditor. Some criticism was made of the way I worked instead of rested invacation time. 

Someone asked me if I believed in dreams. I said, no; I believed insleep, but not in dreams. The Lord, in olden times, revealed Himself indreams, but I do not think He does so often now. When I was at school weparsed from "Young's Night Thoughts, " but I had no very pleasantmemories of that book. I had noticed that dreamers are often the prey ofconsumption. It seems to have a fondness for exquisite natures--dreamy, spiritual, a foe of the finest part of the human family. There was HenryKirke White, the author of that famous hymn, "When Marshalled on theNightly Plains, " who, dying of consumption, wrote it with two feet inthe grave, and recited it with power when he could not move from hischair. 

We sailed on the "New York, " June 15, 1892, for Europe. This preachingtour in England was urged upon me by ties of friendship, made yearsbefore, by the increased audiences I had already gained through mypublic sermons, and of my own hearty desire to see them all face toface. My first sermon in London was given on June 25, 1892, in the CityTemple, by invitation of that great English preacher, Dr. Joseph Parker. When my sermon was over, Dr. Parker said to his congregation:--

"I thank God for Dr. Talmage's life and ministry, and I despise the manwho cannot appreciate his services to Christianity. May he preach inthis pulpit again!"

On leaving his church I was obliged to address the crowd outside from mycarriage. Nothing can be so gratifying to a preacher as the faith of thepeople he addresses in his faith. In England the religious spirit isdeeply rooted. I could not help feeling, as I saw that surging mass ofmen and women outside the City Temple in London after the service, howearnest they all were in their exertions to hear the Gospel. In my owncountry I had been used to crowds that were more curious in theirattitude, less reverent of the occasion. Dr. Parker's description of thesermon after it was over expressed the effect of my Gospel message uponthat crowd in England. 

He said: "That is the most sublime, pathetic and impressive appeal weever listened to. It has kindled the fire of enthusiasm in our soulsthat will burn on for ever. It has unfolded possibilities of the pulpitnever before reached. It has stirred all hearts with the holiestambition. "

So should every sermon, preached in every place in the world on everySunday in the world, be a message from God and His angels!

The sustaining enthusiasm of my friend, Dr. Parker, and his people atthe City Temple, preceded me everywhere in England, and established aseries of experiences in my evangelical work that surprised andenthralled me. 

In Nottingham I was told that Albert Hall, where I preached, could nothold over 3, 000 people. That number of tickets for my sermon weredistributed from the different pulpits in the city, but hundreds weredisappointed and waited for me outside afterwards. This was no personaltribute to me, but to the English people, to whom my Gospel message wasof serious import. The text I used most during this preaching tour wasfrom Daniel xi. 2: "The people that do know their God shall be strongand do exploits. " It applied to the people of Great Britain and theyresponded and understood. 

In a more concrete fashion I was privileged to witness also thetremendous influence of religious feeling in England at the banquettendered by the Lord Mayor at the Mansion House on July 3, 1892, to theArchbishops and Bishops of England. The Archbishop of Canterbury, theBishop of London, and the diocesan bishops were present. The Lord Mayor, in his address, said that the association between the Church and theCorporation of London had been close, long, and continuous. In thatyear, he said, the Church had spent on buildings and restorationsthirty-five million pounds; on home missions, seven and a half millions;on foreign missions, ten millions; on elementary education, twenty-onemillions; and in charity, six millions. What a stupendous evidence ofthe religious spirit in England! A toast was proposed to the "Ministersof other Denominations, " which included the Rev. Dr. Newman Hall andmyself of America, among other foreign guests. To this I responded. 

Before leaving for Russia I met a part of the American colony in Londonat a reception given by Mr. Lincoln, our Minister to England. Wegathered to celebrate the Fourth of July. Mrs. Mackey, Mrs. ParanStevens, Mrs. Bradley Martin, and Mrs. Bonynge received among others. Phillips Brooks and myself were among the clerical contingent, with suchAmericans abroad as Colonel Tom Ochiltree, Buffalo Bill, General andMrs. Williams, A. M. Palmer, Mrs. New, the Consul-General's wife, Mr. AndMrs. John Collins, Senators Farwell and McDonald. 

While travelling in England I saw John Ruskin. This fact contains morehappiness to me than I can easily make people understand. I wanted tosee him more than any other man, crowned or uncrowned. When I was inEngland at other times Mr. Ruskin was always absent or sick, but thistime I found him. I was visiting the Lake district of England, and oneafternoon I took a drive that will be for ever memorable. I said, "Driveout to Mr. Ruskin's place, " which was some eight miles away. Thelandlord from whom I got the conveyance said, "You will not be able tosee Mr. Ruskin. No one sees him or has seen him for years. " Well, I havea way of keeping on when I start. After an hour and a half of adelightful ride we entered the gates of Mr. Ruskin's home. The door ofthe vine-covered, picturesque house was open, and I stood in thehall-way. Handing my card to a servant I said, "I wish to see Mr. Ruskin. " The reply was, "Mr. Ruskin is not in, and he never seesanyone. " Disappointed, I turned back, took the carriage and went downthe road. I said to the driver, "Do you know Mr. Ruskin when you seehim?" "Yes, " said he; "but I have not seen him for years. " We rode on afew moments, then the driver cried out to me, "There he comes now. " In aminute we had arrived at where Mr. Ruskin was walking toward us. Ialighted, and he greeted me with a quiet manner and a genial smile. Helooked like a great man worn out; beard full and tangled; soft hat drawndown over his forehead; signs of physical weakness with determinationnot to show it. His valet walked beside him ready to help or direct hissteps. He deprecated any remarks appreciatory of his wonderful services. He had the appearance of one whose work is completely done, and iswaiting for the time to start homeward. He was in appearance more likemyself than any person I ever saw, and if I should live to be his agethe likeness will be complete. 

I did not think then that Mr. Ruskin would ever write another paragraph. He would continue to saunter along the English lane very slowly, hisvalet by his side, for a year or two, and then fold his hands for hislast sleep. Then the whole world would speak words of gratitude andpraise which it had denied him all through the years in which he waslaboriously writing "Modern Painters, " "The Seven Lamps ofArchitecture, " "The Stones of Venice, " and "Ethics of the Dust. " Wecannot imagine what the world's literature would have been if ThomasCarlyle and John Ruskin had never entered it. I shall never forget howin the early years of my ministry I picked up in Wynkoop's store, inSyracuse, for the first time, one of Ruskin's works. I read that bookunder the trees, because it was the best place to read it. Ruskin wasthe first great interpreter of the language of leaves, of clouds, ofrivers, of lakes, of seas. 

In July, 1892, 1 went to Russia. It was summer in the land of snow andice, so that we saw it in the glow of sunny days, in the longgold-tipped twilights of balmy air. In America we still regarded Russiaas a land of cruel mystery and imperial oppression. There was as muchignorance about the Russians, their Government, their country, as therewas about the Fiji Islands. Americans had been taught that Siberia wasRussia, that Russia and Siberia were the same, one vast infinite wasteof misery and cruelty. Granted that I went to Russia on an errand ofmercy, and as a representative of the most powerful nation in the world, nevertheless I contend that the Russian people and their Government werehugely misrepresented. There was no need for the Emperor of Russia togive audience to so humble a representative as a minister of the Gospelunless he had been sincerely touched by the evidence of Americangenerosity and mercy for his starving peasants in Central Russia. Hiscourtesy and reception of me was a complete contradiction of hisreported arrogance and hard-heartedness. There was no need for the TownCouncil of St. Petersburg to honour myself and my party with receptionsand dinners, and there was no reason for the enthusiasm and cheers ofthe Russian people in the streets unless they were intensely kind andenthusiastic in nature. When the famine conditions occurred in the tenprovinces of Russia a relief committee was formed in St. Petersburg, with the Grand Duke himself at the head of it, and such men as CountTolstoi and Count Bobrinsky in active assistance. America answered theappeal for food, but their was sincere sympathy and compassion fortheir compatriots in the imperial circles of Russia. 

In the famine districts, which were vast enough to hold several nations, a drought that had lasted for six consecutive years had devastated thecountry. According to the estimate of the Russian Famine ReliefCommittee we saved the lives of 125, 000 Russians. 

As at the hunger relief stations the bread was handed out--for it wasmade into loaves and distributed--many people would halt before takingit and religiously cross themselves and utter a prayer for the donors. Some of them would come staggering back and say:--

"Please tell us who sent this bread to us?" And when told it came fromAmerica, they would say: "What part of America? Please give us the namesof those who sent it. "

My visit to the Czar of Russia, Alexander III. , was made at the ImperialPalace. I was ushered into a small, very plain apartment, in which Ifound the Emperor seated alone, quietly engaged with his official cares. He immediately arose, extended his hand with hearty cordiality, and saidin the purest English, as he himself placed a chair for me beside histable, "Doctor Talmage, I am very happy to meet you. "

This was the beginning of a long conversation during which the Emperormanifested both the liveliest interest and thorough familiarity withAmerican politics, and, after a lengthy discussion of everythingAmerican, the Emperor said, "Dr. Talmage, you must see my eldest son, Nicholas, " with which he touched a bell, calling his aide-de-camp, whopromptly summoned the Grand Duke Nicholas, who appeared with theyoungest daughter of the Emperor skipping along behind him--a plump, bright little girl of probably eight or nine years. She jumped upon theEmperor's lap and threw her arms about his neck. When she had beenintroduced to me she gave "The American gentleman" the keenest scrutinyof which her sparkling eyes were capable. The Grand Duke was a fineyoung man, of about twenty-five years of age, tall, of athletic build, graceful carriage, and noticeably amiable features. On being introducedto me the Grand Duke extended his hand and said, "Dr. Talmage, I am alsoglad to meet you, for we all feel that we have become acquainted withyou through your sermons, in which we have found much interest andreligious edification. "

Noticing the magnificent physique of both father and son, I asked theEmperor, when the conversation turned incidentally upon matters ofhealth, what he did to maintain such fine strength in the midst of allthe cares of State. He replied, "Doctor, the secret of my strength is inmy physical exercise. This I never fail to take regularly and freelyevery day before I enter upon any of the work of my official duties, andto it I attribute the excellent health which I enjoy. "

The Emperor insisted that I should see the Empress and the rest of theImperial Family, and we proceeded to another equally plain, unpretentious apartment where, with her daughters, we found the Empress. After a long conversation, and just as I was leaving, I asked theEmperor whether there was much discontent among the nobility as a resultof the emancipation among the serfs, and he replied, "Yes, all thetrouble with my empire arises from the turbulence and discontent of thenobility. The people are perfectly quiet and contented. "

A reference was made to the possibility of war, and I remember the fearwith which the Empress entered into the talk just then, saying "We alldread war. With our modern equipments it could be nothing short ofmassacre, and from that we hope we may be preserved. "

My presentation at Peterhoff Palace to Alexander III. And the royalfamily of Russia was entirely an unexpected event in my itinerary. Itwas in the nature of a compliment to my mission, to the American peoplewho have contributed so much to the distress in Russia, and to theChristian Church for which this "hardhearted, cruel Czar" had so muchrespect and so much interest. It was said that in common with allAmericans I expected to find the Emperor attired in some bomb-proofregalia. Perhaps I was impressed with the Czar's indifference andfearlessness. Someone said to me that no doubt he was quite used to thethought of assassination. I discovered, in a long conversation that Ihad with him, that he was ready to die, and when a man is ready whyshould he be afraid?

The most significant and important outcome of this presentation to theCzar was his pledge to my countrymen that Russia would always rememberthe generosity of the American people in their future relations. Everywhere in St. Petersburg and Moscow, the Russian and American flagswere displayed together on the public buildings, so that I look backupon this occasion with a pardonable impression of its internationalimportance. There was a suggestion of this feeling in an addresspresented to us by the City Council of St. Petersburg, in which agraceful remembrance was made of that occasion in 1868, when a specialembassy from the United States, with Mr. G. V. Fox, a Cabinet officer, atits head, visited St. Petersburg and expressed sympathy for Russia andits Sovereign. 

Returning from Russia, I continued my preaching tour in England, preaching to immense crowds, estimated in the English newspapers to befrom fifteen to twenty thousand people, in the large cities. InBirmingham the crowd followed me into the hotel, where it was necessaryto lock the doors to keep them out. What incalculable kindness Ireceived in England! I remember a farewell banquet given me at theCrystal Palace by twenty Nonconformists, at which I was presented with agold watch from my English friends; and a scene in Swansea, when, aftermy sermon, they sang Welsh hymns to me in their native language. 

Some people wonder how I have kept in such good humour with the worldwhen I have been at times violently assailed or grossly misrepresented. It was because the kindnesses towards me have predominated. For the pastthirty or forty years the mercies have carried the day. If I went to thedepot there was a carriage to meet me. If I tarried at the hotel someone mysteriously paid the bill. If I were attacked in newspaper orchurch court there were always those willing to take up for me thecudgels. If I were falsified the lie somehow turned out to my advantage. My enemies have helped me quite as much as my friends. If I preached orlectured I always had a crowd. If I had a boil it was almost always in acomfortable place. If my church burned down I got a better one. Ioffered a manuscript to a magazine, hoping to get for it forty dollars, which I much needed at the time. The manuscript was courteously returnedas not being available; but that article for which I could not get fortydollars has since, in other uses, brought me forty thousand dollars. Thecaricaturists have sent multitudes of people to hear me preach andlecture. I have had antagonists; but if any man of my day has had morewarm personal friends I do not know his name. 

THE SIXTEENTH MILESTONE

1892-1895

I had only one fault to find with the world in my sixty years of travelover it and that was it had treated me too well. In the ordinary courseof events, and by the law of the Psalmist, I still had ten more yearsbefore me; but, according to my own calculations, life stretchedbrilliantly ahead of me as far as heart and mind could wish. There weremany things to take into consideration. There was the purpose of thefuture, its obligations, its opportunities to adjust. My whole life hadbeen a series of questions. My course had been the issue of problems, achoice of many ways. 

Shortly after the dawn of 1893 the financial difficulties in which theNew Tabernacle had been reared confronted us. It had arisen from theashes of its predecessor by sheer force of energy and pluck. It hadtaken a vast amount of negotiation. A loan of $125, 000, made to us byRussell Sage, payable in one year at 6 per cent. , was one of the meansemployed. This loan was arranged by Mr. A. L. Soulard, the president ofthe German-American Title and Guarantee Company. Mr. Sage was a friendof mine, of my church, and that was some inducement. The loan was madeupon the guarantee of the Title Company. It was reported to me that Mr. Sage had said at this time:--

"It all depends upon whether Dr. Talmage lives or not. If he shouldhappen to die the Brooklyn Tabernacle wouldn't be worth much. "

The German-American Title and Guarantee Company then secured aninsurance on my life for $25, 000 and insisted that the Board of Trusteesof the church give their individual bonds for the fulfillment of themortgage. The trustees were W. D. Mead, F. H. Branch, John Wood, C. S. Darling, F. M. Lawrence, and James B. Ferguson. In this way Mr. Sagesatisfied both his religious sympathies and his business nature. Formore reasons than one, therefore, I kept myself in perfect health. Thiswas only one of the incidents involved in the building of the NewTabernacle. For two years I had donated my salary of $12, 000 a year tothe church, and had worked hard incessantly to infuse it with life andsuccess. This information may serve to contradict some scatteredimpressions made by our friendly critics, that my personal aim in lifewas mercenary and selfish. My income from my lectures, and the earningsfrom my books and published sermons, were sufficient for all my needs. 

During the year 1893 I did my best to stem the tide of debt andembarrassment in which the business elements of the church was involved. I find an entry in my accounts of a check dated March 27, 1893, inBrooklyn, for $10, 000, which I donated to the Brooklyn TabernacleEmergency Fund. There is a spiritual warning in almost every practicalevent of our lives, and it seemed that in that year, so discomforting tothe New Tabernacle, there was a spiritual warning to me which grew intoa certainty of feeling that my work called me elsewhere. I said nothingof this to anyone, but quietly thought the situation over without hasteor undue prejudice. My Gospel field was a big one. The whole worldaccepted the Gospel as I preached it, and I concluded that it did notmake much difference where the pulpit was in which I preached. 

After a full year's consideration of the entire outlook, in January, 1894, I announced my resignation as pastor of the Tabernacle, to takeeffect in the spring of that year. I gave no other cause than that Ifelt that I had been in one place long enough. An attempt was made bythe Press to interpret my action into a private difference of opinionwith the trustees of the church--but this was not true. All sorts ofplans were proposed for raising the required sum of our expensive churchmanagement, in which I concurred and laboured heartily. It was said thatI resigned because the trustees were about to decide in favour ofcharging a nominal fee of ten cents to attend our services. I made noobjection to this. My resignation was a surprise to the congregationbecause I had not indicated my plans or intimated to them my own privateexpectations of the remaining years of my life. 

On Sunday, January 22, 1894, among the usual church announcements madefrom the pulpit, I read the following statement, which I had written ona slip of paper:--

"This coming spring I will have been pastor of this church twenty-fiveyears--a quarter of a century--long enough for any minister to preach inone place. At that anniversary I will resign this pulpit, and it will beoccupied by such person as you may select. 

"Though the work has been arduous, because of the unparalleled necessityof building three great churches, two of them destroyed by fire, thefield has been delightful and blessed by God. No other congregation hasever been called to build three churches, and I hope no other pastorwill ever be called to such an undertaking. 

"My plans after resignation have not been developed, but I shall preachboth by voice and newspaper press, as long as my life and health arecontinued. 

"From first to last we have been a united people, and my fervent thanksare to all the Boards of Trustees and Elders, whether of the present orpast, and to all the congregation, and to New York and Brooklyn. 

"I have no vocabulary intense enough to express my gratitude to thenewspaper press of these cities for the generous manner in which theyhave treated me and augmented my work for this quarter of a century. 

"After such a long pastorate it is a painful thing to break the ties ofaffection, but I hope our friendship will be renewed in Heaven. "

There was a sorrowful silence when I stopped reading, which made merealise that I had tasted another bitter draft of life in the prospectof farewell between pastor and flock. I left the church alone and wentquietly to my study where I closed the door to all inquirers. 

If my decision had been made upon any other ground than those ofspiritual obligation to the purpose of my whole life I should have saidso. My decision had been made because I had been thinking of my share inthe evangelism of the world, and how mercifully I had been spared andinstructed and forwarded in my Gospel mission. I wanted a moreneighbourly relation with the human race than the prescribed limitationsof a single pulpit. 

In February, 1893, I lost an evangelical neighbour of manyyears--Bishop Brooks. He was a giant, but he died. My mind goes back tothe time when Bishop Brooks and myself were neighbours in Philadelphia. He had already achieved a great reputation as a pulpit orator in 1870. The first time I saw him was on a stormy night as he walked majesticallyup the aisle of the church to which I administered. He had come to hearhis neighbour, as afterward I often went to hear him. What a great andgenial soul he was! He was a man that people in the streets stopped tolook at, and strangers would say as he passed, "I wonder who that manis?" Of unusual height and stature, with a face beaming in kindness, once seeing him he was always remembered, but the pulpit was his throne. With a velocity of utterance that was the despair of the swifteststenographers, he poured forth his impassioned soul, making every themehe touched luminous and radiant. 

Putting no emphasis on the mere technicalities of religion, he made hispulpit flame with its power. He was the special inspiration of youngmen, and the disheartened took courage under the touch of his words androse up healed. It will take all time and all eternity to tell theresults of his Christian utterances. There were some who thought thatthere was here and there an unsafe spot in his theology. As forourselves we never found anything in the man or in his utterances thatwe did not like. 

Although fully realising that I was approaching a crisis of some sort inmy own career, it was with definite thankfulness for the mercies thathad upheld me so long that I forged ahead. My state of mind at this timewas peaceful and contented. I find in a note-book of this period of mylife the following entry, which betrays the trend of my heart and mindduring the last milestone of my ministry in Brooklyn:

"Here I am in Madison, Wisconsin, July 23, 1893. I have been attendingMonona Lake Chautauqua, lecturing yesterday, preaching this morning. This Sabbath afternoon I have been thinking of the goodness of God tome. It began many years before I was born; for as far back as I can findanything concerning my ancestry, both on my father's and mother's sides, they were virtuous and Christian people. Who shall estimate the value ofsuch a pedigree? The old cradle, as I remember it, was made out of plainboards, but it was a Christian cradle. God has been good in letting usbe born in a fair climate, neither in the rigours of frigidity nor inthe scorching air of tropical regions. Fortunate was I in being startedin a home neither rich nor poor, so that I had the temptations ofneither luxury nor poverty. Fortunate in good health--sixty years of it. I say sixty rather than sixty-one, for I believe the first year or twoof my life compassed all styles of infantile ailments, from mumps toscarlet fever. 

"A quarter of a century ago, looking at a pile of manuscript sermons, Isaid again and again to my wife: 'Those sermons were not made only forthe people who have already heard them. They must have a wider field. 'The prophecy came true, and every one of those sermons through the presshas come to the attention of at least twenty-five million people. I haveno reason to be morose or splenetic. 'Goodness and mercy have followedme all the days of my life. ' Here I am at 61 years of age without anache, a pain, or a physical infirmity. Now closing a preaching andlecturing tour from Georgia to Minnesota and Wisconsin, I am to-morrowmorning to start for my residence at the seaside where my family areawaiting me, and notwithstanding all the journeying and addressing ofgreat audiences, and shaking hands with thousands of people, after acouple of days' rest will be no more weary than when I left home. 'Blessthe Lord, O my soul!'"

My ordinary mode of passing vacations has been to go to East Hampton, Long Island, and thence to go out for two or three preaching andlecturing excursions to points all the way between New York and SanFrancisco, or from Texas to Maine. I find that I cannot rest more thantwo weeks at a time. More than that wearies me. Of all the places I haveever known East Hampton is the best place for quiet and recuperation. 

I became acquainted with it through my brother-in-law, Rev. S. L. Mershon. The Presbyterian church here was his first pastoral settlement. When a boy in grammar school and college I visited him and his wife, mysister Mary. The place is gradually submitting to modern notions, butEast Hampton, whether in its antiquated shape or epauletted and frilledand decorated by the hand of modern enterprise, has always been to me asemi-Paradise. 

As I approach it my pulse is slackened and a delicious somnolence comesover me. I dream out the work for another year. 

My most useful sermons have been born here. My most successful bookswere planned here. In this place, between the hours of somnolence, therecome hours of illumination and ecstasy. It seems far off from the heatedand busy world. East Hampton has been a great blessing to my family. Ithas been a mercy to have them here, free from all summer heats. Whennearly grown, the place is not lively enough for them, but anoccasional diversion to White Sulphur, or Alum Springs, or a summer inEurope, has given them abundant opportunity. All my children have beenwith us in Europe, except my departed son, DeWitt, who was at a mostimportant period in school at the time of our going, or he would havebeen with us on one of our foreign tours. 

I have crossed the ocean twelve times, that is six each way, and like itless and less. It is to me a stomachic horror. But the frequent visitshave given educational opportunity to my children. Foreign travel, andlecturing and preaching excursions in our own country have been to me astimulus, while East Hampton has been to me a sedative and anodyne. Forthis beautiful medicament I am profoundly thankful. 

But I am writing this in the new house that we have builded in place ofour old one. It is far more beautiful and convenient and valuable thanthe old one, but I doubt if it will be any more useful. And a railroadhas been laid out, and before summer is passed the shriek of alocomotive will awaken all the Rip Van Winkles that have been slumberinghere since before the first almanac was printed. 

The task of remembering the best of one's life is a pleasant one. Underdate of December 20, 1893, I find another recollection in my note-bookthat is worth amplifying. 

"This morning, passing through Frankfort, Kentucky, on my way fromLexington, at the close of a preaching and lecturing tour of nearlythree weeks, I am reminded of a most royal visit that I had here atFrankfort as the guest of Governor Blackburn, at the gubernatorialmansion about ten years ago. 

"I had made an engagement to preach twice at High Bridge, Ky. , a famouscamp meeting. Governor Blackburn telegraphed me to Brooklyn asking whenand where I would enter Kentucky, as he wished to meet me on the borderof the State and conduct me to the High Bridge services. We met atCincinnati. Crossing the Ohio River, we found the Governor's especialcar with its luxurious appointments and group of servants to spread thetable and wait on every want. The Governor, a most fascinating andsplendid man, with a warmth of cordiality that glows in me every time Irecall his memory, entertained me with the story of his life which hadbeen a romance of mercy in the healing art, he having been elected tohis high office in appreciation of his heroic services as physician intime of yellow fever. 

"At Lexington a brusque man got on our car, and we entered with him intovigorous conversation. I did not hear his name on introduction, and Ifelt rather sorry that the Governor should have invited him into ourcharming seclusion. But the stranger became such an entertainer as acolloquialist, and demonstrated such extraordinary intellectuality, Ibegan to wonder who he was, and I addressed him, saying, "Sir, I did nothear your name when you were introduced. " He replied, 'My name isBeck--Senator Beck. ' Then and there began one of the most entertainingfriendships of my life. Great Scotch soul! Beck came a poor boy fromScotland to America, hired himself out for farm work in Kentucky, discovered to his employer a fondness for reading, was offered freeaccess to his employer's large library, and marched right up intoeducation and the legal profession and the Senate of the United States. "

That day we got out of the train at High Bridge. My sermon was on "TheDivinity of the Scriptures. " Directly in front of me, and with mostintense look, whether of disapprobation or approval I knew not, sat theSenator. On the train back to Lexington, where he took me in hiscarriage on a long ride amid the scenes of Clayiana, he told me thesermon had re-established his faith in Christianity, for he had beenbrought up to believe the Bible as most of the people in Scotlandbelieve it. But I did not know all that transpired that day at HighBridge until after the Senator was dead, and I was in Lexington, andvisited his grave at the cemetery where he sleeps amid the mightyKentuckians who have adorned their State. 

On this last visit that I speak of, a young man connected with thePhoenix Hotel, Lexington, where Senator Beck lived much of the time, andwhere he entertained me, told me that on the morning of the day thatSenator Beck went with me to High Bridge he had been standing in thathotel among a group of men who were assailing Christianity, andexpressing surprise that Senator Beck was going to High Bridge to hear asermon. When we got to the hotel that afternoon the same group of menwere standing together, and were waiting to hear the Senator's report ofthe service, and hoping to get something to the disadvantage ofreligion. My informant heard them say to him, "Well, how was it?" TheSenator replied, "Doctor Talmage proved the truth of the Bible as by amathematical demonstration. Now talk to me no more on that subject. "

On Sunday morning I returned to High Bridge for another preachingservice. Governor Blackburn again took us in his especial car. The word"immensity" may give adequate idea of the audience present. Then theGovernor insisted that I go with him to Frankfort and spend a few days. They were memorable days to me. At breakfast, lunch and dinner theprominent people of Kentucky were invited to meet me. Mrs. Blackburntook me to preach to her Bible Class in the State Prison. I think therewere about 800 convicts in that class. Paul would have called her "Theelect lady, " "Thoroughly furnished unto all good works. " Heaven only cantell the story of her usefulness. What days and nights they were at theGovernor's Mansion. No one will ever understand the heartiness andgenerosity and warmth of Kentucky hospitality until he experiences it. 

President Arthur was coming through Lexington on his way to open anExposition at Louisville. Governor Blackburn was to go to Lexington toreceive him and make a speech. The Governor read me the speech in theState House before leaving Frankfort, and asked for my criticism. It wasan excellent speech about which I made only one criticism, and thatconcerning a sentence in which he praised the beautiful women and thefine horses of Kentucky. I suggested that he put the human and theequine subjects of his admiration in different sentences, and thissuggestion he adopted. 

We started for Lexington and arrived at the hotel. Soon the throngs inthe streets showed that the President of the United States was coming. The President was escorted into the parlour to receive the address ofwelcome, and seeing me in the throng, he exclaimed, "Dr. Talmage! Areyou here? It makes me feel at home to see you. " The Governor put on hisspectacles and began to read his speech, but the light was poor, and hehalted once or twice for a word, when I was tempted to prompt him, for Iremembered his speech better than he did himself. 

That day I bade good-bye to Governor Blackburn, and I saw him two orthree times after that, once in my church in Brooklyn and once inLouisville lecture hall, where he stood at the door to welcome me as Icame in from New Orleans on a belated train at half-past nine o'clock atnight when I ought to have begun my lecture at 8 o'clock; and the lasttime I saw him he was sick and in sad decadence and near the terminus ofan eventful life. One of my brightest anticipations of Heaven is that ofseeing my illustrious Kentucky friend. 

That experience at Frankfort was one of the many courtesies I havereceived from all the leading men of all the States. I have known manyof the Governors, and Legislatures, when I have looked in upon them, have adjourned to give me reception, a speech has always been calledfor, and then a general hand-shaking has followed. It was markedly sowith the Legislatures of Ohio and Missouri. At Jefferson City, thecapital of Missouri, both Houses of Legislature adjourned and mettogether in the Assembly Room, which was the larger place, and then theGovernor introduced me for an address. 

It is a satisfaction to be kindly treated by the prominent characters ofyour own time. I confess to a feeling of pleasure when General Grant, atthe Memorial Services at Greenwood--I think the last public meeting heever attended, and where I delivered the Memorial Address on DecorationDay--said that he had read with interest everything that appearedconnected with my name. President Arthur, at the White House one day, told me the same thing. 

Whenever by the mysterious laws of destiny I found myself in the cave ofthe winds of displeasure, there always came to me encouraging echoesfrom somewhere. I find among my papers at this time a telegram from theRussian Ambassador in Washington, which illustrates this idea. 

This message read as follows:--

 "Washington, D. C. , May 20, 1893. 

 "To Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage, Bible House, New York. 

 "I would be very glad to see you on the 27th of May in Philadelphia on board the Russian flagship 'Dimitry Donskoy' at eleven o'clock, to tender to you in presence of our brilliant sailors and on Russian soil, a souvenir His Majesty the Emperor ordered me to give in his name to the American gentleman who visited Russia during the trying year 1892. 

 "CANTACUZENE. "

Gladly I obeyed this request, and was presented, amid imperialceremonies, with a magnificent solid gold tea service from the EmperorAlexander III. These were the sort of appreciative incidents so oftenhappening in my life that infused my work with encouragements. 

The months preceding the close of my ministry in Brooklyn developed aremarkable interest shown among those to whom my name had become asymbol of the Gospel message. There was a universal, world-widerecognition of my work. Many regretted my decision to leave the BrooklynTabernacle, some doubted that I actually intended to do so, othersforetold a more brilliant future for me in the open trail of Gospelservice they expected me to follow. 

All this enthusiasm expressed by my friends of the world culminated in acelebration festival given in honour of the twenty-fifth anniversary ofmy pastorate in Brooklyn. The movement spread all over the country andto Europe. It was decided to make the occasion a sort of Internationalreception, to be held in the Tabernacle on May 10 and 11, 1894. 

I had made my plans for a wide glimpse of the earth and the people on itwho knew me, but whom I had never seen. I had made preparations to starton May 14, and the dates set for this jubilee were arranged on the eveof my farewell. I was about to make a complete circuit of the globe, andwhatever my friends expected me to do otherwise I approached thisoccasion with a very definite conclusion that it would be my farewell toBrooklyn. 

I recall this event in my life with keen contrasts of feeling, for it ismingled in my heart with swift impressions of extraordinary joy andtragic import. All of it was God's will--the blessing and thechastening. 

The church had been decorated with the stars and stripes, with gold andpurple. In front of the great organ, under a huge picture of the pastor, was the motto that briefly described my evangelical career:--

"Tabernacle his pulpit; the world his audience. "

The reception began at eight o'clock in the evening with a selection onthe great organ, by Henry Eyre Brown, our organist, of an originalcomposition written by him and called, in compliment to the occasion, "The Talmage Silver Anniversary March. " On the speaker's platform withme were Mayor Schieren, of Brooklyn, Mr. Barnard Peters, Rev. FatherSylvester Malone, Rev. Dr. John F. Carson, ex-Mayor David A. Boody, Rev. Dr. Gregg, Rabbi F. De Sol Mendes, Rev. Dr. Louis Albert Banks, Hon. John Winslow, Rev. Spencer F. Roche, and Rev. A. C. Dixon--anundenominational gathering of good men. There is, perhaps, no better wayto record my own impressions of this event than to quote the words withwhich I replied to the complimentary speeches of this oration. Theyrecall, more closely and positively, the sensibilities, the emotions, and the inspiration of that hour:

 "Dear Mr. Mayor, and friends before me, and friends behind me, and friends all around me, and friends hovering over me, and friends in this room, and the adjoining rooms, and friends indoors and outdoors--forever photographed upon my mind and heart is this scene of May 10, 1894. The lights, the flags, the decorations, the flowers, the music, the illumined faces will remain with me while earthly life lasts, and be a cause of thanksgiving after I have passed into the Great Beyond. Two feelings dominate me to-night--gratitude and unworthiness; gratitude first to God, and next, to all who have complimented me. 

 "My twenty-five years in Brooklyn have been happy years--hard work, of course. This is the fourth church in which I have preached since coming to Brooklyn, and how much of the difficult work of church building that implies you can appreciate. This church had its mother and its grandmother, and its great-grandmother. I could not tell the story of disasters without telling the story of heroes and heroines, and around me in all these years have stood men and women of whom the world was not worthy. But for the most part the twenty-five years have been to me a great happiness. With all good people here present the wonder is, although they may not express it, 'What will be the effect upon the pastor of this church; of all this scene?' Only one effect, I assure you, and that an inspiration for better work for God and humanity. And the question is already absorbing my entire nature, 'What can I do to repay Brooklyn for this great uprising?' Here is my hand and heart for a campaign of harder work for God and righteousness than I have ever yet accomplished. I have been told that sometimes in the Alps there are great avalanches called down by a shepherd's voice. The pure white snows pile up higher and higher like a great white throne, mountains of snow on mountains of snow, and all this is so delicately and evenly poised that the touch of a hand or the vibration of air caused by the human voice will send down the avalanche into the valleys with all-compassing and overwhelming power. Well, to-night I think that the heavens above us are full of pure white blessings, mountains of mercy on mountains of mercy, and it will not take much to bring down the avalanche of benediction, and so I put up my right hand to reach it and lift my voice, to start it. And now let the avalanche of blessing come upon your bodies, your minds, your souls, your homes, your churches, and your city. Blessed be the Lord God of Israel from everlasting to everlasting, and let the whole earth be filled with His glory! Amen and Amen!"

On the next day, May 11, the reception was continued. Among the speakerswas the Hon. William M. Evarts, ex-Secretary of State, who, thoughadvanced in years, honoured us with his presence and an address. SenatorWalsh, of Georgia, spoke for the South; ex-Congressman Joseph C. Hendrixof Brooklyn, Rev. Charles L. Thompson, Murat Halstead, Rev. Dr. I. J. Lansing, General Tracey, were among the other speakers of the evening. 

From St. Petersburg came a cable, signed by Count Bobrinsky, saying:--"Heartfelt congratulations from remembering friends. "

Messages from Senator John Sherman, from Governor McKinley (before hebecame President), from Mr. Gladstone, from Rev. Joseph Parker, andamong others from London, the following cable, which I shall alwaysprize among the greatest testimonials of the broad Gospel purpose inEngland--

 "Cordial congratulations; grateful acknowledgment of splendid services in ministry during last twenty-five years. Warm wishes for future prosperity. 

 "(Signed) ARCHDEACON OF LONDON, CANON WILBERFORCE. THOMAS DAVIDSON. PROFESSOR SIMPSON. JOHN LOBB. BISHOP OF LONDON. "

Appreciation, good cheer, encouragement swept around and about me, as Iwas to start on what Dr. Gregg described as "A walk among the people ofmy congregation" around the world. 

The following Sunday, May 13, 1894, just after the morning service, theTabernacle was burned to the ground. 

THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE

1895-1898

Among the mysteries that are in every man's life, more or lessinfluencing his course, is the mystery of disaster that comes upon himnoiselessly, suddenly, horribly. The destruction of the New Tabernacleby a fire which started in the organ loft was one of these mysteriesthat will never be revealed this side of eternity. The destruction ofany church, no matter how large or how popular, does not destroy ourfaith in God. Great as the disaster had been, much greater was the mercyof Divine mystery that prevented a worse calamity in the loss of humanlife. The fire was discovered just after the morning service, andeveryone had left the building but myself, Mrs. Talmage, the organist, and one or two personal friends. We were standing in the centre aisle ofthe church when a puff of smoke suddenly came out of the space behindthe organ. In less than fifteen minutes from that discovery the hugepipe organ was a raging furnace, and I personally narrowly escaped thefalling debris by the rear door of my church study. The flags anddecoration which had been put up for the jubilee celebration had notbeen moved, and they whetted the appetite of the flames. It was allsignificant to me of one thing chiefly, that at some points of my lifeI had been given no choice. At these places of surprise in my life therewas never any doubt about what I had to do. God's way is very clear andvisible when the Divine purpose is intended for you. 

I had delivered that morning my farewell sermon before departing on along journey around the world. My prayer, in which the silent sympathyof a vast congregation joined me, had invoked the Divine protection andblessing upon us, upon all who were present at that time, upon all whohad participated in the great jubilee service of the preceding week. Onthe tablets of memory I had recalled all the kindnesses that had beenshown our church by other churches and other pastors on that occasion. The general feeling of my prayer had been an outpouring of heartfeltgratitude for myself and my flock. As I have said before, God speaksloudest in the thunder of our experiences. There were several narrowescapes, for the fire spread with great rapidity, but, fortunately, allescaped from the doomed building in time. Mr. Frederick W. Lawrence andMr. T. E. Matthews, both of them trustees of the church, were exposed toserious danger and their escape was providential. Mr. Lawrence crept outon his hands and knees to the open air, and Mr. Matthews was almostsuffocated when he reached the street. 

The flames spread rapidly in the neighbourhood and destroyed the HotelRegent, adjoining the church. At my home that day there were manymessages of sympathy and condolence brought to me, and neighbouringchurches sent committees to tender the use of their pulpits. In theafternoon the Tabernacle trustees met at my house and submitted thefollowing letter, which was adopted:--

 "DEAR DR. TALMAGE. --With saddened hearts, but undismayed, and with faith in God unshaken and undisturbed, the trustees of the Brooklyn Tabernacle have unanimously resolved to rebuild the Tabernacle. We find that after paying the present indebtedness there will be nothing left to begin with. 

 "But if we can feel assured that our dear pastor will continue to break the bread of life to us and to the great multitudes that are accustomed to throng the Tabernacle, we are willing to undertake the work, firmly believing that we can safely count upon the blessing of God and the practical sympathy of all Christian people. 

 "Will you kindly give us the encouragement of your promise to serve the Tabernacle as its pastor, if we will dedicate a new building free from debt, to the honour, the glory, and the service of God?

 "TRUSTEES OF THE TABERNACLE. "

On reading this letter, or rather hearing it read to me, in the impulseof gratitude I replied in like sympathy. I thanked them, and rememberingthat I had buried their dead, baptised their children and married theyoung, my heart was with them. I sincerely felt then, and perhaps Ialways did feel, that I would rather serve them than any other people onthe face of the earth. It was my conclusion that if the trustees couldfulfil the conditions they had mentioned, of building a new Tabernacle, free of debt, I would remain their pastor. 

My date for beginning my journey around the world had been May 14, theday following the disaster. Before leaving, however, I dictated thefollowing communication to my friends and the friends of my ministryeverywhere:--

 "Our church has again been halted by a sword of flame. The destruction of the first Brooklyn Tabernacle was a mystery. The destruction of the second a greater--profound. The third calamity we adjourn to the Judgment Day for explanation. The home of a vast multitude of souls, it has become a heap of ashes. Whether it will ever rise again is a prophecy we will not undertake. God rules and reigns and makes no mistake. He has His way with churches as with individuals. One thing is certain: the pastor of the Brooklyn Tabernacle will continue to preach as long as life and health last. We have no anxieties about a place to preach in. But woe is unto us if we preach not the Gospel! We ask for the prayers of all good people for the pastor and people of the Brooklyn Tabernacle. 

 "T. DEWITT TALMAGE. "

At half past nine o'clock on the night of May 14, 1894, I descended thefront steps of my home in Brooklyn, N. Y. The sensation of leaving for ajourney around the world was not all bright anticipation. The miles tobe travelled were numerous, the seas to be crossed treacherous, thesolemnities outnumbered the expectations. My family accompanied me tothe railroad train, and my thought was should we ever meet again? Theclimatic changes, the ships, the shoals, the hurricanes, the bridges, the cars, the epidemics, the possibilities hinder any positiveness ofprophecy. I remembered the consoling remark at my reception a fewevenings ago, made by the Hon. William M. Evarts. 

He said: "Dr. Talmage ought to realise that if he goes around the worldhe will come out at the same place he started. "

The timbers of our destroyed church were still smoking when I lefthome. Three great churches had been consumed. Why this series of hugecalamities I knew not. Had I not made all the arrangements fordeparture, and been assured by the trustees of my church that they wouldtake all further responsibilities upon themselves, I would havepostponed my intended tour or adjourned it for ever; but all whom Iconsulted told me that now was the time to go, so I turned my facetowards the Golden Gate. 

In a book called "The Earth Girdled, " I have published all the facts ofthis journey. It contains so completely the daily record of my trip thatthere is no necessity to repeat any of its contents in these pages. 

I returned to the United States in the autumn of 1894 and enteredactively into a campaign of preaching wherever a pulpit was available. Of course there was much curiosity and interest to know how I was goingto pursue my Gospel work, having resigned my pastorate in Brooklyn. OnSunday, January 6, 1895, I commenced a series of afternoon Gospelmeetings in the Academy of Music, New York, every Sunday. Because thepastors of other churches had written me that an afternoon service wasthe only one that would not interfere with their regular services, Iselected that time, otherwise I would much have preferred the morning orthe evening. I decided to go to New York because for many years friendsover there had been begging me to come. I regarded it as absurd andimprobable to expect the people of Brooklyn to build a fourthTabernacle, so I went in the direction that I felt would give me thelargest opportunity in the world. 

I continued to reside in Brooklyn pending future plans. I liked Brooklynimmensely--not only the people of my own former parish, but prominentpeople of all churches and denominations there are my warm personalfriends. Any particular church in which I preached thereafter was onlythe candlestick. In different parts of the world my sermons werepublished in more than ten million copies every week. How many readerssaw them no one can say positively. Those sermons came back to me inbook form in almost every language of Europe. 

My arrangements at the Academy of Music were not the final plans for myGospel work. I expected, however, to gather from these Gospel meetingssufficient guidance to decide my field of work for the rest of my life. I felt then that I was yet to do my best work free from all hindrances. I looked forward to fully twenty years of good hard work before me. 

Over nine churches in my own country, and several in England, had madevery enthusiastic offers to me to accept a permanent pastoralobligation. For some reason or other I became more and more convinced, however, that the divine intention in my life from this time on would bedifferent from any previous plan. The only reason that I declined toaccept these offers was because there was enough work for me to dooutside a permanent pulpit. 

My literary work became extensive in its demand upon my time, and myweekly sermons were like a sacred obligation that I could not forego. Inever found any difficulty in finding a pulpit from which to preachevery Sunday of my life. There were some ministers who preferred tosandwich me in between regular hours of worship, if possible, so as tomaintain the even course of their way and avoid the crowds. I nevercould avoid them and I never wanted to. I was never nervous, as manypeople are, of a crowded place--of a panic. 

The sudden excitement to which we give the name of "panic" is almostalways senseless and without foundation, whether this panic be a wildrush in the money market or the stampede of an audience down the aislesand out of the windows. My advice to my family when they are in acongregation of people suddenly seized upon by a determination to getout right away, and to get out regardless as to whether others are ableto get out, is to sit quiet on the supposition that nothing hashappened, or is going to happen. 

I have been in a large number of panics, and in all the cases nothingoccurred except a demonstration of frenzy. One night in the Academy ofMusic, Brooklyn, while my congregation were worshipping there, at thetime we were rebuilding one of our churches, there occurred a wildpanic. There was a sound that gave the impression that the gallerieswere giving way under the immense throngs of people. I had beenpreaching about ten minutes when at the alarming sound aforesaid, thewhole audience rose to their feet except those who fainted. Hundreds ofvoices were in full shriek. Before me I saw strong men swoon. Theorganist fled the platform. In an avalanche people went down the stairs. A young man left his hat and overcoat and sweetheart, and took a leapfor life, and it is doubtful whether he ever found his hat or coat, although, I suppose, he did recover his sweetheart. Terrorisationreigned. I shouted at the top of my voice, "Sit down!" but it was acricket addressing a cyclone. Had it not been that the audience for themost part were so completely packed in, there must have been a greatloss of life in the struggle. Hoping to calm the multitude I began tosing the long meter doxology, but struck it at such a high pitch that bythe time I came to the second line I broke down. I then called to agentleman in the orchestra whom I knew could sing well: "Thompson, can'tyou sing better than that?" whereupon he started the doxology again. Bythe time we came to the second line scores of voices had joined, and bythe time we came to the third line hundreds of voices enlisted, and thelast line marshalled thousands. Before the last line was reached I criedout, "As I was saying when you interrupted me, " and then went on with mysermon. The cause of the panic was the sliding of the snow from one partof the roof of the Academy to another part. That was all. But no one whowas present that night will ever forget the horrors of the scene. 

On the following Wednesday I was in the large upper room of the collegeat Lewisburg, Pa. ; I was about to address the students. No more peoplecould get into this room, which was on the second or third storey. ThePresident of the college was introducing me when some inflammableChristmas greens, which had some six months before been wound around apillar in the centre of the room, took fire, and from floor to ceilingthere was a pillar of flame. Instantly the place was turned from a jollycommencement scene, in which beauty and learning and congratulationcommingled, into a raving bedlam of fright and uproar. The panic of theprevious Sunday night in the Academy of Music, Brooklyn, had schooled mefor the occasion, and I saw at a glance that when the Christmas greenswere through burning all would be well. 

One of the professors said to me, "You seem to be the only composedperson present. " I replied, "Yes, I got prepared for this by somethingwhich I saw last Sunday in Brooklyn. "

So I give my advice: On occasions of panic, sit still; in 999 cases outof a thousand there is nothing the matter. 

I was not released from my pastorate of the Brooklyn Tabernacle by theBrooklyn Presbytery until December, 1894, after my return from abroad. Some explanation was demanded of me by members of the Presbytery for mydecision to relinquish my pastorate, and I read the following statementwhich I had carefully prepared. It concerns these pages because it isexplanatory of the causes which carried me over many crossroads, encountered everywhere in my life:

 "To the Brooklyn Presbytery--

 "Dear Brethren, --After much prayer and solemn consideration I apply for the dissolution of the pastoral relation existing between the Brooklyn Tabernacle and myself. I have only one reason for asking this. As you all know, we have, during my pastorate, built three large churches and they have been destroyed. If I remain pastor we must undertake the superhuman work of building a fourth church. I do not feel it my duty to lead in such an undertaking. The plain providential indications are that my work in the Brooklyn Tabernacle is concluded. Let me say, however, to the Presbytery, that I do not intend to go into idleness, but into other service quite as arduous as that in which I have been engaged. Expecting that my request will be granted I take this opportunity of expressing my love for all the brethren in the Presbytery with whom I have been so long and so pleasantly associated, and to pray for them and the churches they represent the best blessings that God can bestow. --Yours in the Gospel, "T. DEWITT TALMAGE. "

The following resolution was then offered by the Presbytery as follows:

 "Resolved--That the Presbytery, while yielding to Dr. Talmage's earnest petition for the dissolution of the relationship existing between the Brooklyn Tabernacle and himself, expresses its deep regret at the necessity for such action, and wishes Dr. Talmage abundant success in any field in which in the providence of God he may be called to labour. Presbytery also expresses its profound sympathy with the members of the Tabernacle Church in the loss of their honoured and loving pastor, and cordially commends them to go forward in all the work of the church. "

In October, 1895, I accepted the call of the First Presbyterian Churchin Washington. My work was to be an association with the Rev. Dr. ByronW. Sunderland, the President's pastor. It was Dr. Sunderland's desirethat I should do this, and although there had been some intention in Dr. Sunderland's mind to resign his pastorate on account of ill-health Iadvocated a joint pastorate. There were invitations from all parts ofthe world for me to preach at this time. I had calls from churches inMelbourne, Australia; Toronto, Canada; San Francisco, California;Louisville, Kentucky; Chicago, Illinois; New York City; Brooklyn, N. Y. London had pledged me a larger edifice than Spurgeon's Tabernacle. Allthese cities, in fact, promised to build big churches for me if I wouldgo there to preach. 

The call which came to me from Washington was as follows:

 "Rev. Dr. T. DeWitt Talmage--

 "The congregation of the First Presbyterian Church, of Washington, D. C. , being on sufficient grounds well satisfied of the ministerial qualifications of you, the Rev. Dr. T. DeWitt Talmage, and having good hopes from our knowledge of your past eminent labours that your ministrations in the Gospel will be profitable to our spiritual interests, do earnestly, unanimously, harmoniously and heartily, not one voice dissenting, call and desire you to undertake the office of co-pastor in said congregation, promising you in the discharge of your duty all proper support, encouragement and obedience in the Lord. And that you may be free from worldly cares and avocations, considering your well and wide-known ability and generosity, we do not assume to specify any definite sum of money for your recompense, but we do hereby promise, pledge and oblige ourselves, to pay to you such sums of money and at such times as shall be mutually satisfactory during the time of your being and remaining in the relation to said church to which we do hereby call you. "

On September 23, 1895, accompanying this call, I received the followingdispatch from Dr. Sunderland:

 "T. D. W. Talmage, 1, South Oxford Street. 

 "Meeting unanimous and enthusiastic. Call extended, rising vote, all on their feet in a flash. Call mailed special delivery. 

 "B. SUNDERLAND. "

On September 26, 1895, I accepted the call in the following letter:

 "The call signed by the elders, deacons, trustees, and members of the congregation of the First Presbyterian Church of Washington is before me. The statement contained in that call that you 'do earnestly, unanimously, harmoniously and heartily, not one voice dissenting, ' desire me to become co-pastor in your great and historical church has distinctly impressed me. With the same heartiness I now declare my acceptance of the call. All of my energies of body, mind, and soul shall be enlisted in your Christian service. I will preach my first sermon Sabbath evening, October 27. "

Washington was always a beautiful city to me, the climate in winter isdelightful. President Cleveland was a personal friend, as were many ofthe public men, and I regarded my call to Washington as a nationalopportunity. It had been my custom in the past, when I was very tiredfrom overwork, to visit Washington for two or three days, stopping atone of the hotels, to get a thorough rest. For a long time I was reallyundecided what to do, I had so many invitations to take up my home andlife work in different cities. While preaching was to be the main workfor the rest of my life, my arrangements were so understood by my churchin Washington that I could continue my lecture engagements. 

I delivered a farewell sermon before leaving for Washington, at theLafayette Avenue Presbyterian Church, in Brooklyn, before an audience offive thousand people. My text was 2 Samuel xii. 23: "I shall go to Him. "

I still recall the occasion as one of deep feeling--a difficult hour ofself-control. I could not stop the flow of tears that came with theclosing paragraph. The words are merely the outward sign of my innerfeelings:

 "Farewell, dear friends. I could wish that in this last interview I might find you all the sons and daughters of the Mighty. Why not cross the line this hour, out of the world into the kingdom of God? I have lived in peace with all of you. There is not among all the hundreds of thousands of people of this city one person with whom I could not shake hands heartily and wish him all the happiness for this world and the next. If I have wronged anyone let him appear at the close of this service, and I will ask his forgiveness before I go. Will it not be glorious to meet again in our Father's house, where the word goodbye shall never be spoken? How much we shall then have to talk over of earthly vicissitudes! Farewell! A hearty, loving, hopeful, Christian farewell!"

[Illustration: THE FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH OF WASHINGTON DR. TALMAGE'SLAST CHARGE. ]

I was installed in the First Presbyterian Church in Washington onOctober 23, 1895. My first sermon in the new pulpit in Washington waspreached to a crowded church, with an overflow of over three thousandpersons in the street outside. The text of my sermon was, "All Heaven islooking on. "

In a few days, by exchange of my Brooklyn property, I had obtained thehouse 1402 Massachusetts Avenue, in Washington, for my home. It had atone time been the Spanish Legation, and was in a delightful part of thecity. Shortly after my arrival in Washington I received my firstintroduction at the White House, with my daughters, to Mrs. Cleveland. Our reception was cordial and gracious in the extreme. I had engaged asuite of rooms at the Arlington Hotel for a year. We remained there tillour lease was up before entering our new home. There was a desire amongmembers of the congregation of the First Presbyterian Church to have mepreach at the morning as well as the evening services. With threeministers attached to one church there was some difficulty in thearrangement of the sermons. Eventually it was decided that I shouldpreach morning and evening. 

In 1896 I made an extensive lecturing tour, in which I discussed myimpressions of the world trip I had recently made. 

The world was getting better in spite of contrasting opinions from menwho had thought about it. God never launched a failure. 

In 1897 I made an appeal for aid for the famine in India. I alwaysbelieved it was possible to evangelise India. 

My life in Washington was not different from its former course. I hadknown many prominent people of this country, and some of the great menof other lands. 

I had known all the Presidents of the United States since Buchanan. Ihad known Mr. Gladstone, all the more prominent men in the bishoprics, and in high commercial, financial and religious position. I had beenpresented to royalty in more than one country. 

Legislatures in the North and South have adjourned to give me reception. The Earl of Kintore, a Scottish peer, entertained us at his house inLondon in 1879. I found his family delightful Christian people, and theCountess and their daughters are very lovely. The Earl presided at twoof my meetings. He took me to see some of his midnight charities--one ofthem called the "House of Lords" and the other the "House of Commons, "both of them asylums for old and helpless men. We parted about twoo'clock in the morning in the streets of London. As we bade each othergood-bye he said, "Send me a stick of American wood and I will send youa stick. " His arrived in America, and is now in my possession, ashepherd's crook; but before the cane I purchased for him reachedScotland the good Earl had departed this life. I was not surprised tohear of his decease. I said to my wife in London, "We will never see theEarl again in this world. He is ripe for Heaven, and will soon betaken. " He attended the House of Lords during the week, and almost everySabbath preached in some chapel or church. 

I shall not forget the exciting night I met him. I was getting out of acarriage at the door of a church in London where I was to lecture when aruffian struck at me, crying, "He that believeth not shall be damned. "The scoundrel's blow would have demolished me but for the fact that abystander put out his arm and arrested the blow. From that scene I wasushered into the ante-room of the church where the Earl of Kintore wasawaiting my arrival. From that hour we formed a friendship. He had beena continuous reader of my sermons, and that fact made an introductioneasy. I have from him five or six letters. 

Lord and Lady Aberdeen had us at their house in London in the summer of1892. Most gracious and delightful people they are. I was to speak atHaddo House, their estate in Scotland, at a great philanthropic meeting, but I was detained in St. Petersburg, Russia, by an invitation of theEmperor, and could not get to Scotland in time. Glad am I that the Earlis coming to Canada to be Governor-General. He and the Countess will doCanada a mighty good. They are on the side of God, and righteousness, and the Church. Since his appointment--for he intimated at Aberdeen, Scotland, when he called upon me, that he was to have an importantappointment--I have had opportunity to say plauditory things of them invast assemblages in Ottawa, Montreal, Toronto, London and Grimsby Park. 

In a scrap book in which I put down, hurriedly, perhaps, but accurately, my impressions of various visits to the White House during my four yearspastorate in Washington, I find some notes that may be interesting. Itransmit them to the printed page exactly as I find them written onpaper:

 "May 1, 1896. Had a long talk this afternoon with Mrs. Cleveland at Woodley. I always knew she was very attractive, but never knew how wide her information was on all subjects. She had her three children brought in, and the two elder ones sang Easter songs for me. Mrs. Cleveland impresses me as a consecrated Christian mother. She passes much of her time with her children, and seems more interested in her family than in anything else. The first lady of the land, she is universally admired. I took tea with her and we talked over many subjects. She told me that she had joined the church at fourteen years of age. Only two joined the church that day, a man of eighty years old and herself. She was baptised then, not having been baptised in infancy. She said she was glad she had not been baptised before because she preferred to remember her baptism. 

 "She said she did not like the great crowds attending the church then, because she did not like to be stared at as the President's wife. But I told her she would get used to that after a while. She said she did not mind being stared at on secular occasions, but objected to it at religious service. She said she had long ago ceased taking the Holy Communion at our church because of the fact that spectators on that day seemed peculiarly anxious to see how she looked at the Communion. 

 "My first meeting with Mrs. Cleveland was just after her marriage. She was at the depot, in her carriage, to see Miss Rose Cleveland, the President's sister, off on the train. Dr. Sunderland introduced me at that time, when I was just visiting Washington. Mrs. Cleveland invited me to take a seat in her carriage. I accepted the invitation, and we sat there some time talking about various things. I saw, as everyone sees who converses with her, that she is a very attractive person, though brilliantly attired, unaffected in her manner as any mountain lass. 

 "March 3, 1897. Made my last call this afternoon on Mrs. Cleveland. Found her amid a group of distinguished ladies, and unhappy at the thought of leaving the White House, which had been her home off and on for nearly eight years. Her children have already gone to Princeton, which is to be her new home. She is the same beautiful, unaffected, and intelligent woman that she has always been since I formed her acquaintance. She is an inspiration to anyone who preaches, because she is such an intense listener. Her going from our church here will be a great loss. It is wonderful that a woman so much applauded and admired should not have been somewhat spoiled. More complimentary things have been said of her than of any living woman. She invited me to her home in Princeton, but I do not expect ever to get there. Our pleasant acquaintance seems to have come to an end. Washington society will miss this queen of amiability and loveliness. 

 "February 4, 1897. Had one of my talks with President Cleveland. 

 "As I congratulated him on his coming relief from the duties of his absorbing office, he said:

 "'Yes! I am glad of it; but there are so many things I wanted to accomplish which have not been accomplished. '

 "Then he went into extended remarks about the failure of the Senate to ratify the Arbitration plan. He said that there had been much work and anxiety in that movement that had never come to the surface; how they had waited for cablegrams, and how at the same time, although he had not expressed it, he had a presentiment that through the inaction of the Senate the splendid plan for the pacification of the world's controversies would be a failure. 

 "He dwelt much upon the Cuban embroglio, and said that he had told the Committee on Foreign Relations that if they waited until spring they had better declare war, but that he would never be responsible for such a calamity. 

 "He said that he had chosen Princeton for his residence because he would find there less social obligation and less demand upon his financial resources than in a larger place. He said that in all matters of national as well as individual importance it was a consolation to him to know that there was an overwhelming Providence. When I congratulated him upon his continuous good health, notwithstanding the strain upon him for the eight years of his past and present administration, he said:

 "'Yes! I am a wonder to myself. The gout that used to distract me is almost cured, and I am in better health than when I entered office. '

 "He accounted for his good health by the fact that he had occasionally taken an outing of a few days on hunting expeditions. 

 "I said to him, 'Yes! You cannot think of matters of State while out shooting ducks. '

 "He answered:

 "'No, I cannot, except when the hunting is poor and the ducks do not appear. '

 "May 21, 1896. This morning when I entered President Cleveland's room at the White House, he said: 'Good morning, I have been thinking of you this morning. '

 "The fact is he had under consideration the recall of a minister plenipotentiary from a European Government. I had an opportunity of saying something about a gentleman who was proposed as a substitute for the foreign embassy, and the President said my conversation with him had given him a new idea about the whole affair, and I think it kept the President from making a mistake that might have involved our Government in some entanglement with another nation. 

 "The President read me a long letter that he had received on the subject. I felt that my call had been providential, although I went to see him merely to say good-bye before he went away on his usual summer trip to Gray Gables, Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts. 

 "The President is in excellent health although he says he much needs an outing. He is very fond of his children, and seemed delighted to hear of the good time I had with them at Woodley. When I told how Ruth and Esther sang for me he said he could not stand hearing them sing, as it was so touching it made him cry. I told him how the baby, Marian, looked at me very soberly and scrutinisingly as long as I held her in my arms, but when I handed her to her mother, the baby, feeling herself very safe, put out her hands to me and wanted to play. But what a season of work and anxiety it had been to the President, important question after question to be settled. 

 "March 1, 1897. I have this afternoon made my last call on President Cleveland. With Dr. Sunderland and the officers of our church I went to the White House to bid our retiring President goodbye. Notwithstanding appointments he had made, Thurber, his private secretary, informed us that the President could not see us because of a sudden attack of rheumatism. But after Thurber had gone into the President's room, he returned saying that the President would see Dr. Sunderland and myself. Indeed, afterwards, he saw all our church officers. But he could not move from his chair. His doctor had told him that if he put his foot to the floor he would not be able to attend the inauguration of Major McKinley on the following Thursday. 

 "After Dr. Sunderland and the officers of the church had shaken hands for departure, the President said to me:

 "'Doctor, remain, I want to see you. '

 "The door closed, he asked me if I had followed the Chinese Immigration Bill that was then under consideration. We discussed it fully. The President read to me the veto which he was writing. He stated to me his objection to the bill. Our conversation was intimate, but somewhat saddened by the thought that perhaps we might not meet again. With an invitation to come and see him at Princeton, we parted. 

 "During a conversation of an earlier period at the White House, I congratulated the President upon his improved appearance since returning from one of his hunting expeditions. 

 "'Oh! Yes!' he said, 'I cannot get daily exercise in Washington. It is impossible, so I am compelled to take these occasional outings. I approach the city on my return with a feeling that work must be pulled down over me, like a nightcap, ' and as he said this he made the motion as of someone putting on a cap over his head. 

 "I congratulated him on the effect of his proclamation on the Monroe Doctrine as it would set a precedent, and really meant peace. He agreed with me, saying:

 "'Yes, but they blame me very much for the excitement I have caused in business circles, and the failures consequent. But no one failed who was doing a legitimate business, only those collapsed who were engaged in unwarranted speculations. I wish more of those people would fail. '

 "'Mr. President, ' I said, 'I do not want to pry into State secrets, but I would like to know how many ducks you did shoot?' He laughed, and said, 'Eleven. The papers said thirteen. Indeed, the country papers before I began to shoot said I had shot a hundred and twenty. ' I spoke of the brightness and beauty of his children again. I remarked that the youngest one, then four months old, had the intelligence of a child a year old, and the President said:

 "'Yes, she is a great pleasure to us, and seems to know everything. '

 "March 3, 1896. Started from Washington for the great Home Missionary meeting to be held in Carnegie Hall, New York, President Cleveland to preside. We left on the eleven o'clock train, by Pennsylvania railroad. I did not go to the President's private car until we had been some distance on our way, although he told me when I went in that he had looked for me at the depot, that I might as well have been in his car all the way. No one was with him except Mrs. Cleveland and his private secretary, Mr. Thurber, who is also one of my church. We had an uninterrupted conversation. The servants and guards were at the front end of the car, and we were at the rear. 

 "I asked the President if he found it possible to throw off the cares of office for a while. He laughed, and said:

 "'They call a trip of this kind a vacation;' then with a countenance of sudden gravity he added: 'We no sooner get through one great question than another comes. ' It made me think of the tension on the President's mind at that time. There was the Venezuelan question. There were suggestions of war with England, and then there was the Cuban matter with suggestions of war with Spain, and all the time the overshadowing financial questions. 

 "During our conversation the President referred to the conditions ever and anon inflicted upon him by newspaper misrepresentations, particularly those of inebriety, of domestic quarrels, of turning Mrs. Cleveland out of doors at night so that she had to flee for refuge to the house of Dr. Sunderland, my pastoral associate, passing the night there; and then the reports that his children were deaf and dumb, or imbecile, when he knew I had seen them and considered them the brightest and healthiest children I had known. 

 "All these attacks and falsehoods concerning the President and his family I saw hurt him as deeply as they would any of us, but he is in a position which does not allow him to make reply. I assured him that he was only in the line of misrepresentation that had assailed all the Presidents, George Washington more violently than himself, and that the words cynicism, jealousy, political hatred, and diabolism in general would account for all. I do think, however, that the factories of scandal had been particularly busy with our beloved President. They were running on extra time. 

 "If I were asked who among the mighty men at Washington has most impressed me with elements of power I would say Grover Cleveland. 

 "June 25, 1896. It seems now that Major McKinley, of Canton, Ohio, will be elected President of the United States. I was in Canton about three weeks ago and called at Major McKinley's house. He was just starting from his home to call on me. He presided at the first lecture I delivered at Canton in 1871. On my recent visit he recalled all the circumstances of that lecture, remembering that he went to my room afterwards in the hotel, and had a long talk with me, which he said made a deep impression upon him. 

 "My visit at Canton three weeks ago was to lecture. Major McKinley attended and came upon the platform afterwards to congratulate me. He is a Christian man and as genial and lovable a man as I ever met. "

 "September 21, 1897. Had a most delightful interview with President McKinley in the White House. 

 "I congratulated him on the peaceful opening of his administration. He said:

 "'Yes! I hope it is not the calm before a storm. '

 "He said that during the last six weeks at least a half million of people had passed before him, and they all gave signs of their encouragement. Especially, he said, the women and children looked and acted as though they expected better times. 

 "The President looked uncommonly well. I told him that during the past summer I had travelled in many of the states, and that from the people everywhere I gathered hopeful feelings. I told him that they were expecting great prosperity would come to the country through his administration. "

Of course these are merely scraps torn from old note-books, but I cannothelp commending the value of first impressions, of the first-handreports, which are made in this way. There is in the unadorned pictureof any incident in the past a sort of hallowed character that no ornateframe can improve. 

So the pages of these recollections are but a string of impressions tornfrom old note-books and diaries. 

 * * * * *

From scrap books and other sources, some other person may set up thelast milestones of my journey through life, and think other things ofenough importance to add to the furlongs I have already travelled; and Igive permission to add that biography to this autobiography. 

[Illustration: T. De Witt Talmage signature. ]

A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF DR. TALMAGE'S LAST MILESTONES

BY

MRS. T. DEWITT TALMAGE

1898-1902

THE LAST MILESTONES

BY

MRS. T. DEWITT TALMAGE

1898-1902

The wishes of Doctor Talmage reign paramount with me; otherwise I shouldnot dare to add these imperfect memoirs to the finished and eloquent, yet simple, narration of his life-work which has just charmed the readerfrom his own graphic pen. Dr. Talmage did not consider his autobiographyof vital importance to posterity; his chief concern was for his sermonsand other voluminous writings. The intimate things of his life he heldtoo sacred for public view, and he shrank from any intrusion thereupon. His autobiography, therefore, was a concession to his family, hisfriends, and an admiring public. 

So many people all over the world have paid homage to his personality, and to his remarkable influence, that it seemed evident not only to usbut to many others, that his own recollections would give abidingpleasure. I remember when we were travelling to Washington after ourmarriage, many men of prominence, who were on the Congressional Limited, said to Dr. Talmage: "Doctor, why don't you write your memoirs? Theywould be especially interesting because you have bridged two centuriesin your life. " Then, turning to me, they urged me to use my influenceover him. Later on I did so, placing over his desk as a reminder, in bigletters, the one word--"Autobiography. "

His celebrity was something so unique, and so widespread, that it isdifficult to write of it under the spell which still surrounds hismemory. Many still remember seeing and feeling almost with awe thetremendous grasp of success which Dr. Talmage had all his life. Areminiscence of my girlhood will be pardoned: My father was his greatadmirer many years before I ever met the Doctor. Whenever I went with myfather from my home in Pittsburg on a visit to New York, I was takenover to Brooklyn every Sunday morning, unwillingly I must confess, tohear Dr. Talmage. At that time there were other things which I foundmore pleasant, for I had many young friends to visit and to entertain. However, my father's wishes were always uppermost with me, and hisadmiration of the great preacher inspired me also with reverence. TheDoctor soon became one of the great men of my life. 

Dr. Talmage was among the builders of his century--a watchman of hisperiod. He was a man of philanthropy and enterprise. His popularity wasworld-wide; his extraordinary power was exerted over people of allclasses and conditions of life. His broad human intellectuality, hisconstant good humour, his indomitable energy, threw a glamour about him. His happy laughter, which attested the deep peace of his heart, rangeverywhere, through his home, in social meetings with his friends, incasual encounters even with strangers. 

[Illustration: DR. AND MRS. T. DE WITT TALMAGE. ]

No one who ever knew the Doctor thought of him as an old man. He himselfalmost believed that he would live for ever. "Barring an accident, " heoften said, "I shall live for ever. " The frankness and buoyancy of hisspirit were like youth: were the enchantment of his personality. Evento-day, when memories begin to grow cold in the shadow of his tomb, I amconstantly reminded by those who remember him of the strange magicaleternity that was in him. He had been so active and busy through all theyears of his life, keeping pace with each one in its seeminglyincreasing speed, that his heart remained ever young, living in theglory of things that were present, searching with eager vigour thehorizon of the future. 

Wherever I am, whether in this country or in Europe, but especially inEngland, Dr. Talmage's name still brings me remembrance of hisdistinguished career from the men of prominence who knew him. They cometo me and tell me about him with unabated affection for his memory. Heattracted people by a kind of magnetism, and held them afterwards withties of deep friendship and respect. The standards of his youth were thestandards of his whole life. 

My appreciation of Dr. Talmage in these printed pages may not be whollyin harmony with his ideas of the privacy of his home life; but it isdifficult to think of him at all in any mood less intimately reverent. 

As I look over the scrapbook, my scrapbook (as he and I always calledit), I feel the reserve about it that he himself did. My share in theDoctor's life, however, belongs to these last years of his distinguishedcareer, and I am a contributor by special privilege. 

I met him first at East Hampton, Long Island, in the summer of 1896, when I was visiting friends. The other day, while in reminiscentstruggle with my scrapbook, I was visited by an old friend of Dr. Talmage, who recalled the following incident:

"It was Dr. Talmage's custom, " he said, "to take long drives out intothe country round about Washington. Sometimes he sent for me to drivewith him. One afternoon I received a specially urgent call to be sureand drive with him that day, because he had something of greatimportance to discuss with me. On our way back, towards evening, I askedhim what it was. He said, 'I work hard, very hard. Sometimes I come backto my home tired, very tired--lonely. I open my door and the house isdark, silent. The young folks are out somewhere and there is no one totalk to. ' Then he became silent himself. I said to him: 'Have you anyone in mind whom you would like to talk to?' 'I have, ' he saidpositively. 'If so, ' I said, 'go to her at once and tell her so. ' 'Iwill, ' he replied briskly--and the next night he went to Pittsburg. "

We were married in January, 1898. 

The first reception given in our home on Massachusetts Avenue was in thenature of a greeting between the Doctor's friends and myself. His owninterest in the social side of things in Washington was an agreeableinterruption rather than a part of his own activities. His friends weremen and women from every highway and byway of the world. My father, aman of unusual intellectual breadth and heart, had been my companion ofmany years, so that I was, to some degree, accustomed to matureconceptions of people and affairs. But the busy whirl in the life of acelebrity was entirely new. 

It was soon quite evident that Dr. Talmage relied upon me for thediscretionary duties of a man besieged by all sorts of demands. From thefirst I feared that Dr. Talmage was over-taxing his strength, undiminished though it was at a time when most men begin to relinquishtheir burdens. Therefore, I entered eagerly into my new duties ofrelieving the strain he himself did not realise. 

His was a full and ample life devoted to the gospel of cheerfulness; andto me, I think, was given the best part of it--the autumn. When I knewhim he had already impressed the wide world of his hearers with hisstriking originality of thought and style. He had already established aform of preaching that was known by his name--Talmagic. Its characterwas the man himself, broad, brilliant, picturesque, keen with divine andhuman facts, told simply, always with an uplift of spiritual beauty. 

In March, 1898, Dr. Talmage was called West for lecture engagements, andI went with him. What strange and delightful events that spring tourbrought into my life! The Doctor lectured every night in what was to mesome new and undiscovered country. We were always going to an hotel, toa train, to an opera house, to another hotel, another train, anotheropera house. Our experiences were not less exciting than the trials ofone-night stands. I had never travelled before without a civilised quotaof trunks; but the Doctor would have been overwhelmed with them in therush to keep his engagements. So we had to be content with our bags. When we were not studying time tables the Doctor was striding across theland, his Bible under his arm, myself in gasping haste at his side. Whatprimitive hotels we encountered; what antiquated trains we had to take!Frequently a milk train was the only means of reaching our destination, and, alas! a milk train always leaves at the trying hour of 4 a. M. Oncewe had to ride on a special engine; and frequently the caboose of afreight train served our desperate purpose. I began to understandsomething of the loneliness of the Doctor's life in experiences likethese. 

I insisted upon sitting in the front row at every one of Dr. Talmage'slectures, which I soon knew by heart. He used to laugh when I wouldrepeat certain parts of them to him. 

Then he would beg me to stay away that I might not be bored by listeningto the same thing over again. I would not have missed one of hislectures for the world. These were the great moments of his life; thecombined resources of his character came to the surface whenever he wentinto the pulpit or on to the platform. These were the moments thatinspired his life, that gave it an ever-increasing vigour of human anddivine perception. The enthusiasm of his reception by the crowds inthese theatres keyed me up so that each new audience was a new pleasure. There were no preliminaries to his lectures. Frequently he had time onlyto drop his hat and step on to the stage as he had come from the train. After every lecture it was his custom to shake hands with hundreds ofpeople who came up to the platform. This was very exhausting, but thesewere to him the moments of fruition--the spiritual harvest of theChristian seeds he had scattered over the earth. They were wonderfulscenes, dramatic in their earnestness, remarkable in the evidence theybrought out of his universal influence upon the hearts of men and women. Everywhere the same testimony prevailed:

"You saved my father, God bless you!" "You saved my brother, thank God!""You made a good woman of me!" "You gave me my first start in life!" Inthese words they told him their gratitude, as they grasped his hand. 

On these occasions the Doctor's face was wonderful to see as, with thesilent pressure of his hand, he looked into the eyes that were filledwith tears. Sometimes people would come to me and whisper the sametruths about him, and when I would tell him, his answer wascharacteristic: "Eleanor, this is what gives me strength. It is worthliving to hear people tell me these things. "

Dr. Talmage's instincts were big, evangelical impulses. I often used tourge him to relinquish his pastorate; but he would reply that after allthe Church was his candlestick; that he must have a place to hold hiscandle while he preached to a world of all nations. Yet he often said hewould rather have been an unfettered evangelist, bent on saving theworld, than the pastor of any one flock or church. To preach to thepeople was the breath of his life. It was the restless energy of hissoul that kept him for ever young. He would put all his strength intoevery sermon he preached, and every lecture he delivered. 

Dr. Talmage had absolutely no personal vanity. He was a man absorbed inideas, indifferent to appearances. He lived in the opportunities of hisheart and mind to help others; although he had been one of the mosttried of men, he had never spared himself to help others. He never lostfaith in anyone. There were many shrewd enough to realise thischaracteristic in him, who would put a finger on his heart and draw outof him all he had to give. 

On one occasion we were travelling through Iowa, when a big snow stormmade it evident that we could not make connections to meet an engagementhe had made to lecture that evening in Marietta, Ohio. He had just saidto me that after all he was glad, because he was very tired and neededthe rest. Will Carleton was on the same train, bound for Zanesville, Ohio, to give a lecture that night. He was very much afraid that he, too, would miss his engagement. He asked the Doctor to telegraph to therailroad officials to hold the limited at Chicago Junction, which theDoctor did. The result was that we were whisked in a carriage acrossChicago and whirled on a special car to the junction, where the limitedwas held for us, much to the disgust of the other passengers. 

He saw the mercy of God in every calamity, the beauty of faith in Him inevery mood of earth or sky. One spring day we were sitting in the roomof a friend's house. There were flowers in the room, and Dr. Talmageloved these children of nature. He always said that flowers wereappropriate for all occasions. Some one said to him, "Doctor, how haveyou kept your faith in people, your sweet interpretation of humannature, in spite of the injustice you have sometimes been shown?"Looking at a great bunch of sweet peas on the table, he said: "Manyyears ago I learned not to care what the world said of me so long as Imyself knew I was right and fair, and how can one help but believe whenthe good God above us makes such beautiful things as these flowers?"

His creed, as I learned it, was perfect faith, and the universalcommands of human nature to live and let live. Although I was destinedto share less than five years of his life, there was in the whole of itno chapter or incident with which he did not acquaint me. He was not aman of theory. No one could live near him without awe of his genius. 

We returned to Washington after this spring lecturing tour, where theDoctor resumed his preaching twice on Sunday, and his mid-week lecture, till June. Then, according to Dr. Talmage's custom, we went to Saratogafor a few weeks before the crowds came for the season. The Doctor foundthe Saratoga Springs beneficial and made it a rule to go there for atime each summer. On July 3, 1898, we started for the Pacific coast onwhat Dr. Talmage called a summer vacation. On his desk there was alwaysa great number of invitations to preach and lecture awaiting hisacknowledgment or refusal. The greatest problem of the last years of hislife was how to find time for all the things he was asked to do andwanted to do. In vain I tried to make him conform to the usual plans ofa summer outing. He asked me if he might take a "few lectures" on ourroute to California, and he did, but he always managed to slip in a fewextra ones without my knowledge. When I would protest about theseadditional engagements he would say that the people wanted to hear him, that they were new people he had never seen, which meant more to himthan anything else; then, of course, I had to yield my judgment. 

It had been Dr. Talmage's original plan to go to Europe during thisfirst summer of our marriage, but the outbreak of the Spanish war madehim afraid he might not be able to get back in time for his church workin October. Although ostensibly this was a vacation trip, it was so onlyin the spirit and gaiety of the Doctor's moods. Three times a week Dr. Talmage lectured, and preached once, sometimes twice, every Sunday. FromCincinnati westward to Denver, we zigzagged over the country, keeping inconstant pursuit of the Doctor's engagements. No argument on our partcould alter these working plans which my husband had made before we leftWashington. He was so happy, however, in the midst of his energies, thatwe forgot the exertion of his labours. 

The three places where, by agreeable lapses, Dr. Talmage really enjoyeda rest, were Colorado Springs, the Yellowstone Park, and Coronado Beachin California. Aside from these points, we were travelling incessantlyin the Doctor's reflected glory, which was our vacation, but by no meanshis. While at Colorado Springs, where we stayed two weeks, Dr. Talmagepreached once, and once in Denver, but he did not lecture. 

In Salt Lake City the Doctor preached in the Tabernacle, the throne roomof polygamy, that he had so often attacked in previous years. That was aremarkable feature of these last milestones of his life, that allconflicts were forgotten in a universal acknowledgment of hisevangelism. His grasp of every subject was always close to the hearts ofothers, and it was instinctive, not studied. 

During our visit in the West, he talked much of the effect of theSpanish war, regarding our victory in Cuba and the Philippines as anadvance to civilisation. 

We entered the Yellowstone Park at Minado and drove through the geysercountry. We stopped at Dwelly's, a little log-cabin famous to alltravellers, just before entering the park. On leaving there, we had beentold that there were occasional hold-ups of parties travelling inprivate vehicles, as we were. The following day, while passing along alonely road, a man suddenly leaped from the bushes and seized thebridles of the horses. The Doctor appeared to be terribly frightened, and we were all very much excited when we saw that the driver had missedhis aim when he fired at the bandit. The robber was of the appearanceapproved in dime novels; he wore a sacking over his head with eye-holescut in it through which he could see, and looked in all other respectsa disreputable cut-throat. Just as we were about to surrender our jewelsand money, Dr. Talmage confessed that he had arranged the hold-up forour benefit, and that it was a practical joke of his. He was always fullof mischief, and took delight in surprising people. 

On Sunday Dr. Talmage preached in the parlours of the Fountain Hotel. The rooms were crowded with the soldiers who were stationed in the park. The Doctor's sermon was on garrison duty; he said afterwards that hefound it extremely difficult to talk there because the rooms were small, and the people were too close to him. We paid a visit to Mr. Henderson, who was an official of the Yellowstone Park at that time, and whosebrother was Speaker of the House in Washington. He begged Dr. Talmage touse his influence with members of Congress to oppose a project which hadbeen started, to build a trolley line through the Yellowstone Park. TheDoctor promised to do so, and I think the trolley line has not beenbuilt. We left the Yellowstone Park, at Cinabar, and went direct toSeattle. During our stay in Seattle the whole town was excited onemorning by the arrival of a ship from the Klondike, that region ofgolden romance and painful reality. The Doctor and I went down to thewharf to see the great ship disembark these gold-diggers; but forseveral hours the four hundred passengers had been detained on boardbecause $24, 000 in gold dust, carried by two miners, had been stolen;and though a search had been instituted, to which everyone had beencompelled to submit, no clue to the thief had been found. Dr. Talmagewas profoundly impressed by the misfortune of these two men, who aftermonths of exposure and fatigue were now obliged to walk ashorepenniless. A number of these four hundred passengers had brought backan aggregate of about $4, 000, 000 from the Klondike; but many among themhad brought back only disappointment, and their haggard faces werepitiful to see; indeed, the Doctor told me that out of the thousands whowent fortune hunting to Alaska, only about 3 per cent. Came back richerthan when they started. 

In the early part of September Dr. Talmage lectured in San Francisco onInternational Policies. His admiration of the Czar's manifesto fordisarmament of the nations was unbounded, and he emphasised it wheneverhe appeared in public. He prophesied the millennium as if he lookedforward to personal experiences of it; this came from his remarkableconfidence in the life forces nature had given him. At Coronado Beach wedetermined upon a rest for two weeks; but the Doctor could in no wise beinduced to forego his lecture at San Diego. A pleasant visit to LosAngeles was followed by a delightful sojourn of a few days at SantaBarbara, the floral paradise of the Golden Coast; here the Doctor wasmet at the station by carriages, and we were literally smothered inflowers; even our rooms in the hotel were banked high with roses. In theafternoon we accepted an invitation to drive through Santa Barbara, hoping against hope that we might do so inconspicuously. But the sameflower-laden carriages came for us, and we were driven through the citylike a miniature flower parade. Much to the Doctor's regret he wasfollowed about like a circus; but his courtesy never failed. 

On our route East we again stopped in San Francisco. An announcement hadbeen made that Dr. Talmage would preach for the Sunday evening serviceat Calvary Presbyterian Church, on the corner of Powell and GearyStreets. Never had I seen such a crowd before. As we made our way tothe church, we found the adjoining streets packed so solidly with peoplethat we had to call a policeman to make an opening for us. Once inside, we saw the church rapidly filling, till at last, as a means ofprotection, the doors were locked against the surging crowd. But Dr. Talmage had scarcely begun his sermon when the doors were literallybroken down by the crowd outside. Quick to see the danger the Doctorsent out word to the people that he would speak in Union Squareimmediately after the church service. This had the desired effect, andthe great crowd waited patiently for him a block away till nine o'clock. It was rather a raw evening because of a fog that had come up from thesea, and for this reason the Doctor asked permission to keep his hat onwhile he talked from the band stand. It was the first time I ever heardhim speak out of doors, and I was amazed to hear how clearly every wordtravelled, and with what precision his voice carried the exact effect. It was a coincidence that the theme of his sermon should have been, "There is plenty of room in Heaven. "

The tremendous enthusiasm, the almost worshipful interest with which hewas received, could easily have spoiled any man, but with Dr. Talmagesuch an ovation as we had witnessed seemed only to intensify thesimplicity of his character. He lost his identity in the elements ofinspiration, and when he had finished preaching it was not to himselfbut to the power that had been given him, he gave all the credit of hisinfluence. He was always simple, direct, unpretentious. 

During a short stay in Chicago Dr. Talmage preached in his son's church, and then hurried home to begin his duties in his own church. Duty wasthe Doctor's master key; with it he locked himself away from themediocre, and unlocked his way to ultimate freedom of religiousimpulse. For a long while he had formed a habit of preaching withoutrecompense, as he would have desired to do all his life, because he feltthat the power of preaching was a gift from God, a trust to betransmitted without cost to the people. He never missed preaching onSunday, paying his own expenses to whatever pulpit he was invited tooccupy. There were so many invitations that he was usually able tochoose. It was this conviction that led to his ultimate resignation fromhis church in Washington, that he might be free to expound theScriptures wherever he was. 

He was always so happy it was hard to believe that he was overworking;yet I feared his labour of love would end in exhaustion and possibleillness. Everything in the world was beautiful to him, and yet beautywas not a matter of externals with him. It radiated from him, even whenit was not about him. Especially was this noticeable when we were awaytogether on one of his short lecturing trips. At these times we werequite alone, and then, without interruptions, in the sequestered domainof some country hotel he would admit me into the wonderland of his innerhopes, his plans for the future, his ideas of life and people andhappiness. Once we were staying in one of these country hotels obviouslypretentious, but very uncomfortable--the sort of hotel where the wallsof the room oppress you, and the furniture astonishes you, and there areno private baths. He sat down in the largest chair, literally beamingwith delight. 

"Isn't it beautiful?" he said; "now I take my home with me; before Iused to be so much alone. Now I have someone to talk to. "

There was nothing comparative in his happiness; everything was madeperfect for him by the simplicity of his appreciation. I used to lookforward to these trips as one might look forward to an excursion intosome new and unexpected transport of existence, for he always had newwonders of heart and mind to reveal in these obscure byways we exploredtogether. They were all too short, and yet too full for time to recordthem in a diary. These were the hours that one puts away in the secretchamber of unwritten and untold feeling. I turn again to the pages ofour scrap book, as one turns to the dictionary, for reserve of language. 

In November of 1898 I find there a clipping that reminds me of the dayDr. Talmage and I spent at the home of Senator Faulkner, in Martinsburg, West Virginia. The Anglo-American Commission was in session inWashington then, and during the following winter. The Joint HighCommission was the official title, and we were invited by SenatorFaulkner with these men to get a glimpse of that rare Americanism knownthe world over as Southern hospitality. The foreign members of theCommission were Lord Herschel, Sir Wilfred Laurier, Sir Louis Davis, andSir Richard Cartwright. Our host was one of the Americans on theCommission. 

We left Washington about noon, lunched on the train, and reached the oldancestral home in a snow storm. All of the available carriages andcarry-alls were at our disposal, however, and we were quickly driven tothe warm fireside of a true Southerner, who, more than any other kind ofman, knows how to brand the word "Home" upon your memory. We dined withtrue Southern sumptuousness. Never shall I forget the resigned andcomfortable expression of that little roast pig as it was laid beforeus. To the Englishmen it was a rare chance to understand the cordialrelations between England and America, in an atmosphere of Colonialsplendour. The house itself has not undergone any change since it wasbuilt; it stands a complete example of an old ancestral estate. As wewere leaving, our host insisted that no friend should leave his housewithout tasting the best egg-nog ever made in Virginia. The doctor and Idrove to the station in a carriage with Lord Herschel. He was a man ofgreat reserve and high breeding. On the way he showed us a letter thathe had just received from his daughter, a little girl in England, telling him to be sure and come home for the Christmas holidays, and notto let those rich Americans keep him away. 

This was the beginning of a series of dinners given by members of theJoint High Commission in Washington during the winter, to which we wereoften invited. A few months later Lord Herschel died in Washington. Dr. Talmage was almost the last man to see him alive. He called at his hotelto invite him to stay at his house, but he was then too ill to be moved. 

During the early Fall of 1898 the Doctor lectured at Annapolis. It washis first visit to the old historic town, and he was received with allthe honour of the place. We were the guests of Governor Lowndes at theexecutive mansion, where we were entertained in the evening at dinner. Just before the Christmas holidays, Dr. Talmage made a short lecturingtrip into Canada, and I went with him; it was my privilege to accompanyhim everywhere, even for a brief journey of a day. 

In Montreal, while sitting in a box with some Canadian friends, duringone of the Doctor's lectures, they told me how deep was the affectionand regard for him in England. 

"Wait till you see how the English people receive him, " they said; "youwill be surprised at the hold that he has on them over there. " Thefollowing year I went to England with him, and experienced with prideand pleasure the truth of what they had said. 

The end of our first year together seemed to be only the prelude to along lifetime of companionship and happiness, without age, withoutsorrow, without discord. 

THE SECOND MILESTONE

1899-1900

In his study no wasted hours ever entered. With the exception of thestenographer and his immediate family no one was admitted there. It washis eventful laboratory where he conceived the greatest sermons of hisperiod. I merely quote the opinions of others, far more important thanmy own, when I say this. It is a sort of haunted room to-day which Ienter not with any fear, but I can never stay in it very long. It has noghostly associations, it is too full of vital memories for that; but itis a room that mystifies and silences me, not with mere regrets, forthat is sorrow, and there is nothing sad about the place to me. I canscarcely convey the impression; it is as though I expected to see himcome in at the door at any moment and hear him call my name. The room isempty, but it makes me feel that he has only just stepped out for alittle while. The study is at the top of the house, a long, wide, high-ceilinged room with many windows, from which the tops of trees swaygently in the breeze against the sky above and beyond. I spent a greatdeal of time with him in it. Sometimes he would talk with me there aboutthe themes of his sermons which were always drawn from some need inmodern life. 

With the Bible open before him he would seek for a text. 

"After forty years of preaching about all the wonders of this greatBook, " he would say, "I am often puzzled where to choose the text mostfitting to my sermon. "

His habits were methodical in the extreme; his time punctually dividedby a fixed system of invaluable character. His inspirations were part ofhis eternal spirit, but he lived face to face with time, obedient to thelaw of its precision. I think of him always as of one whose genius wasunknown to himself. 

We could always tell the time of day by the Doctor's habits. They wereas regular as a clock that never varies. At 7. 30 to the second he was atthe breakfast table. It was exactly one o'clock when he sat down todinner. At 6. 30 his supper was before him. Some of our household wouldhave preferred dining in the evening, but in that case the Doctor wouldhave dined alone, which was out of the question. 

Every day of his life, excepting Friday, Saturday and Sunday, the Doctorwalked five miles. In bad weather he went out muffled and booted like asailor on a stormy sea. His favourite walk was always from our house tothe Capitol, around the Library of Congress and back. He never variedthis walk for he had no bump of locality, and he was afraid of losinghis way. If he strayed from the beaten path into any one of thebeautiful squares in Washington he was sure to have to ask a policemanhow to get home. 

Fridays and Saturdays Dr. Talmage spent entirely in his study, dictatinghis sermons. How many miles he walked these days he himself never knew, but all day long he tramped back and forth the length of his study, composing and expounding in a loud voice the sermon of the week. Hecould be heard all over the house. We had a new servant once who camerushing downstairs to my room one morning in great fear. 

"Mrs. Talmage, ma'am, there is a crazy man in that room on the topfloor, " she cried. She had not seen nor heard the Doctor, and did notknow that that room was his study. On these weekend days we always droveafter dark. An open carriage was at the door by 8 o'clock, and no matterwhat the weather might be we had our drive. In the dead of winter, wrapped in furs and rugs, we have driven in an open carriage just as ifit were summer. Usually we went up on Capitol Hill because the Doctorwas fond of the view from that height. 

My share in the Doctor's labours were those of a watchful companion, whoappreciated his genius, but could give it no greater light than sympathyand admiration. Occasionally he would ask me to select the hymns for theservices, and this I did as well as I could. Sunday was the great day ofthe week to me. It has never been the same since the Doctor died. Ourfriendships were always mutual, and we shared them with equal pleasure. The Doctor's friendship with President McKinley was an intimate mutualassociation that ended only with the great national disaster of thePresident's assassination. Very often, we walked over in the morning tothe White House to call on the President for an informal chat. A littleschool friend, who was visiting my daughter that winter, told my husbandhow anxious she was to see a President. 

"Come on with me, I will show you a real President, " said Dr. Talmageone morning, and over we went to the White House. While we were talkingwith the President, Mrs. McKinley came in from a drive and sent wordthat she wished to see us. 

"I want to show you the President's library and bedroom, " she said, "that you may see how a President lives. " Then she took us upstairs andshowed us their home. 

While we did not keep open house, there was always someone dropping into take dinner or supper informally, and I was somewhat surprised whenDr. Talmage told me one day that he thought we ought to give some sortof entertainment in return for our social obligations. It was not quitelike him to remember or think of such things. On January 23, 1899, wegave an evening reception, to which over 300 people came. It was thefirst social affair of consequence the Doctor had ever given in hishouse in Washington. 

My husband's memory for names was so uncertain that when he introducedme to people he tactfully mumbled. On this occasion Senator Gorman verykindly stood near me to identify the people for me. I remember a verydapper, very little man in evening clothes, who was passed on to me bythe Doctor, with the usual unintelligible introduction, and I had justbegun to make myself agreeable when, pointing to a medal on his coat, the little man said:

"I am the only woman in the United States who has been honoured with oneof these medals. "

I was very much mystified and looked up helplessly at Senator Gorman, who relieved me at once by saying, "Mrs. Talmage, this is the celebratedDr. Mary Walker, of whom you have heard so often. "

It was difficult for Dr. Talmage to assimilate the social obligationsof life with the broader demands of his life mission, which seemed toconstantly extend and increase in scope into the far distances of theworld. More and more evident it became that the candlestick of hisreligious doctrine could no longer be maintained in one church, or inone pulpit. The necessity of breaking engagements out of town so as tobe in Washington every Sunday became irksome to him. He felt that hecould do better in the purposes of his usefulness as a preacher if hewere to bear the candle of his Gospel in a candlestick he could carryeverywhere himself. I confess that I was not sorry when he reached thisdecision and submitted his resignation to the First Presbyterian Churchin the spring of 1899, after our return from a short vacation inFlorida. 

On our trip South I remember Admiral Schley was on the train with uspart of the way. The Admiral told the Doctor the whole story of theSantiago victory, and commented upon the official investigation of theaffair. My husband was very fond of him, and his comment was summed upin his reassuring answer to the Admiral--"But you were there. "

It was during our stay in Florida that Dr. Talmage and Joseph Jefferson, the actor, renewed their acquaintance. The Doctor never saw him actbecause he had made it a rule after he entered the ministry in his youthnever to go to the theatre to see a play. In crossing the ocean he hadfrequently appeared with stage celebrities, at the usual entertainmentsgiven on board ship for the benefit of seamen, and in this way had madesome friends among actors. He was particularly fond of Madame Modjeska, whom he had met on the steamer, and whose character and spirit hegreatly admired. 

Jefferson was a great fisherman, and most of his day was spent on thewater or on the pier. There we used to meet him, and he and Dr. Talmagewould exchange reminiscences, serious and ludicrous. One of the Doctor'sfavourite stories was an account of a terrific fight he saw in India, between a mongoose and a cobra. Mr. Jefferson also had a story, a sortof parody of this, which described a man in _delirium tremens_ watchingin imaginary terror a similar fight. Years before this, when the Doctorhad delivered his famous sermon in Brooklyn against the stage, Jeffersonwas among the actors who went to hear him. Recalling this incident, Mr. Jefferson said:--

"When I entered that church to hear your sermon, Doctor, I hated you. When I left the church, I loved you. " He talked very little of thetheatre, and seemed to regard his stage career with less importance thanhe did his love of painting. He never grew tired of this subject. 

When we were leaving Palm Beach, Mr. Jefferson said to me, "I know Dr. Talmage won't come and see me act, but when I am in Washington I willsend you a box, and I hope the Doctor will let you come. "

Dr. Talmage's resignation from his church in Washington took place inMarch, 1899. I quote his address to the Presbytery because it was amomentous event occurring in the gloaming of what seemed to us all, then, the prime of his life:

 "March 3, 1899. 

 "To the Session of the First Presbyterian Church of Washington. 

 "Dear Friends--

 "The increasing demands made upon me by religious journalism, and the continuous calls for more general work in the cities, have of late years caused frequent interruption of my pastoral work. It is not right that this condition of affairs should further continue. Besides that, it is desirable that I have more opportunity to meet face to face, in religious assemblies, those in this country and in other countries to whom I have, through the kindness of the printing press, been permitted to preach week by week, and without the exception of a week, for about thirty years. Therefore, though very reluctantly, I have concluded, after serving you nearly four years in the pastoral relation, to send this letter of resignation. .. . 

 "T. DEWITT TALMAGE. "

I had rather expected that the Doctor's release from his church wouldhave had the desired effect of reducing his labours, but he neveraccomplished less than the allotment of his utmost strength. Rest was aproblem he never solved, and he did not know what it meant. My life hadnot been idle by any means, but it seemed to me that the Doctor'sworking hours were without end. When I told him this, he would say:--

"Why, Eleanor, I am not working hard at all now. This is very tamecompared to what I have done in the years gone by. "

His weekly sermon was always put in the mail on Saturday night, as alsohis weekly editorials. Sunday the sermon was preached, and on Mondaymorning the syndicate of newspapers in this country printed it. He madealways two copies of his sermon. One he sent to his editorial offices inNew York, the other was delivered to the _Washington Post_. I was told alittle while ago that a prominent preacher called on the editor of thisnewspaper and asked him to publish one of his own sermons. This wasrefused, even when the aforesaid preacher offered to pay for theprivilege. 

"But you print Talmage's sermons!" said the preacher. 

"We do, " replied the editor, "because we find that our readers demandthem. We tried to do without them, but we could not. "

Dr. Talmage's acquaintance with men of national reputation was verywide, but he never seemed to consider their friendship greater than anyothers. He was a great hero worshipper himself, always impressed by aman who had done something in the world. There was a great deal ofpraise being bestowed about this time on Mr. Carnegie's library gifts. Dr. Talmage admired the Scottish-American immensely, having formed hisacquaintance while crossing the ocean. Five or six years later, duringthe winter of 1899, the Doctor met him in one of the rooms of the WhiteHouse. He tells this anecdote in his own words, as follows:--

 "I was glad I was present that day, when Mr. Andrew Carnegie decided upon the gift of a library to the city of Washington. I was in one of the rooms of the White House talking with Governor Lowndes, of Maryland, and Mr. B. H. Warner, of Washington, who was especially interested in city libraries. Mr. Carnegie entered at the opposite end of the room. We greeted each other with heartiness, not having met since we crossed the ocean together some time before. I asked Mr. Carnegie to permit me to introduce him to some friends. After each introduction the conversation immediately turned upon libraries, as Mr. Carnegie was then constantly presenting them in this and other lands. Before the conversation ended that day, Mr. Carnegie offered $250, 000 for a Washington library. I have always felt very happy at having had anything to do with that interview, which resulted so gloriously. "

Dr. Talmage's opinions upon the aftermath of the Spanish war were widelyquoted at this time. 

 "The fact is this war ought never to have occurred, " he said. "We have had the greatest naval officer of this century, Admiral Schley, assailed for disobeying orders, and General Shatter denounced for being too fat and wanting to retreat, and General Wheeler attacked because of something else. We are all tired of this investigating business. I never knew a man in Church or State to move for an investigating committee who was not himself somewhat of a hypocrite. The question is what to do with the bad job we have on hand. I say, educate and evangelise those islands. "

As he wrote he usually talked, and these words are recollections of thesubjects he talked over with me in his quieter study hours. They werevirile talks, abreast of the century hurrying to its close, full ofcheerfulness, faith, and courage for the future. 

He was particularly distressed and moved by the death of Chief JusticeField, in April, 1899. It was his custom to read his sermons to me inhis study before preaching. He chose for his sermon on April 16, thedecease of the great jurist, and his text was Zachariah xi, 2: "Howl firtree, for the cedar has fallen. " Many no doubt remember this sermon, butno one can realise the depths of feeling with which the Doctor read itto me in the secret corner of his workroom at home. But his heart was inevery sermon. He said when he resigned from his church:--

"The preaching of the Gospel has always been my chosen work, I believeI was called to it, and I shall never abandon it. "

During this season in Washington we gave a few formal dinners. Myhusband wished it, and he was a cheerful, magnetic host, though heaccepted few invitations to dinner himself. No wine was served at thesedinners, and yet they were by no means dull or tiresome. Our guests weremen of ideas, men like Justice Brewer, Speaker Reed, Senator Burrows, Justice Harlan, Vice-President Fairbanks, Governor Stone, and Senatorswho have since become members of the old guard. It was said inWashington at the time that Dr. Talmage's dinner parties weredelightful, because they were ostensible opportunities to hear men talkwho had something to say. The Doctor was liberal-minded abouteverything, but his standards of conduct were the laws of his life thatno one could jeopardise or deny. 

A very prominent society woman came to Dr. Talmage one day to ask thefavour that he preach a temperance sermon for the benefit of Sir WilfridLaurier, whom she wanted to interest in temperance legislation. Shepromised to bring him to the Doctor's church for that purpose. 

"Madame, I shall be very glad to have Sir Wilfrid Laurier attend mychurch, " said the Doctor, "but I never preach at anybody. Your requestis something I cannot agree to. " The lady was a personal friend, and shepersisted. Finally the Doctor said to her:

"Mrs. G----, my wife and I are invited to meet Sir Wilfrid Laurier at adinner in your house next week. Will you omit the wines at that dinner?"The lady admitted that that would be impossible. 

"Then you see, Madame, how difficult it would be for me to alter myprinciples as a preacher. " In May, 1899, Dr. Talmage and I leftWashington and went to East Hampton--alone. Contrary to his usual customof closing his summer home between seasons, the Doctor had allowed aminister and his family to live there for three months. Diphtheria haddeveloped in the family during that time and the Doctor orderedeverything in the house to be burned, and the walls scraped. So thewhole house had to be refurnished, and the Doctor and I togetherselected the furniture. It was a joyous time, it was like redecoratingour lives with a new charm and sentiment that was intimately beautifuland refreshing. I remember the tenderness with which the Doctor showedme a place on the door of the barn where his son DeWitt, who died, hadcarved his initials. He would never allow that spot to be touched, itwas sacred to the memory of what was perhaps the most absorbingaffection of his life. He always called East Hampton his earthlyparadise, which to him meant a busy Utopia. He was very fond of the seabathing, and his chief recreation was running on the beach. He was 65years old, yet he could run like a young man. These few weeks were amemorable vacation. 

In June, Dr. Talmage made an engagement to attend the 60th commencementexercises of the Erskine Theological College in Due West, SouthCarolina. This is the place where secession was first planned, as it isalso the oldest Presbyterian centre in the United States. We were theguests of Dr. Grier, the president of the college. It was known thatRev. David P. Pressly, Presbyterian patriarch and graduate of thiscollege, had been my father's pastor in Pittsburg, and this associationadded some interest to my presence in Due West with the Doctor. The Rev. E. P. Lindsay, my brother's pastor in Pittsburg, had also been bornthere, and his mother, when I met her in 1899, was still a vigorousSecessionist. Her greatest disappointment was the fact that her son hadabandoned the sentiments of Secession and had gone to preach in aNorthern church. She told us that she had once hidden Jefferson Davis inher house for three days. Due West was a quiet little village inhabitedby some rich people who lived comfortably on their plantations. Thegraduating class of the college were entertained at dinner by Dr. Grierand the Doctor. There was a great deal of comment upon the physicalvigour and strength of Dr. Talmage's address, most of which reached me. A gentleman who was present was reminded of the remarkable energy of theRev. Dr. Pressly, who preached for over fifty years, and was marriedthree times. When asked about his health, Dr. Pressly always throughouthis life made the same reply, "Never better; never better. " After he hadwon his third wife, however, he used to reply to this question withgreater enthusiasm than before, saying, "Better than ever; better thanever. " Another resident of Due West, who had heard both the Booths intheir prime, said, "Talmage has more dramatic power than I ever saw inBooth. " This visit to Due West will always remain in my memory as fullof sunshine and warmth as the days were themselves. 

We returned to East Hampton for a few days, and on July 4, 1899, theDoctor delivered an oration to an immense crowd in the auditorium atOcean Grove. This was the beginning of a summer tour of Chautauquas, first in Michigan, then up the lakes near Mackinaw Island, and later toJamestown, New York. 

In the Fall of 1899 we made a trip South, including Nashville, Memphis, Chattanooga, Birmingham, and New Orleans. One remarkable feature of Dr. Talmage's public life was the way in which he was sought as the man ofuseful opinions upon subjects that were not related to the pulpit. Hewas always being interviewed upon political and local issues, and hisviews were scattered broadcast, as if he were himself an official ofnational affairs. He never failed to be ahead of the hour. He regardedthe affairs of men as the basis of his evangelical purpose. The Spanishwar ended, and his views were sought about the future policy in theEast. The Boer war came, and his opinions of that issue were published. Nothing moved in or out of the world of import, during these lastmilestones of his life, that he was not asked about its coming and itsgoing. His readiness to penetrate the course of events, to wrap them inthe sacred veil of his own philosophy and spiritual fabric, combined tomake him one of the foremost living characters of his time. 

Dr. Talmage was the most eager human being I ever knew, eager to see, tofeel the heart of all humanity. I remember we arrived in Birmingham, Alabama, the day following the disaster that visited that city after thegreat cyclone. The first thing the Doctor did on our arrival was to geta carriage and drive through those sections of the city that hadsuffered the most. It was a gruesome sight, with so many bodies lyingabout the streets awaiting burial. But that was his grasp of life, hisindomitable energy, always alert to see and hear the laws of nature atclose range. 

We were entertained a great deal through the South, where I believe myhusband had the warmest friends and a more cordial appreciation than inany other part of the country. There was no lack of excitement in thislife that I was leading at the elbow of the great preacher, andsometimes he would ask me if the big crowds did not tire me. To him theywere the habit of his daily life, a natural consequence of his industry. However, I think he always found me equal to them, always happy to benear him where I could see and hear all. 

In October of this year we returned to Washington, when thePan-Presbyterian Council was in session, and we entertained them at areception in our house till late in the evening. The International Unionof Women's Foreign Missionary Societies of the Presbyterian and ReformedChurches were also meeting in Washington at this time, and they came. Atone of the meetings of the Council Dr. Talmage invited them all to hishouse from the platform in his characteristic way. 

"Come all, " he said, "and bring your wives with you. God gave Eve toAdam so that when he lost Paradise he might be able to stand it. She wastaken out of man's side that she might be near the door of his heart, and have easy access to his pockets. Therefore, come, bringing theladies with you. My wife and I shall not be entertaining angelsunawares, but knowing it all the while. To have so much piety and brainunder one roof at once, even for an hour or two, will be a benedictionto us all the rest of our lives. I believe in the communion of saints asmuch as I believe in the life everlasting. "

In November, 1899, Dr. Talmage installed the Rev. Donald McLeod assucceeding pastor of the First Presbyterian Church in Washington, anddelivered the installation address, the subject of which was, "Invitation to Outsiders. " There had been some effort to inspire thepeople of Washington to build an independent Tabernacle for the Doctorafter his resignation, but he himself was not in sympathy with themovement because of the additional labour and strain it would have putupon him. 

As the winter grew into long, gray days, we were already planning a tripto Europe for the following year of 1900, and we were anticipating thisevent with eager expectancy as the time grew near. 

THE THIRD MILESTONE

1900-1901

So much has been written about Dr. Talmage the world over, that I amtempted to tell those things about him that have not been written, butit is difficult to do. He stood always before the people a sort ofradiant mystery to them. He was never really understood by those whom hemost influenced. A writer in an English newspaper has given the bestdescription of his appearance in 1900 I ever saw. It is so much betterthan any I could make that I quote it, regretting that I do not know theauthor's name:--

"A big man, erect and masterful in spite of advancing years, with anexpressive and mobile mouth that seems ever smiling, and with great andspeaking eyes which proclaim the fervent soul beneath. "

This portrait is very true, with a suggestion of his nature that makesit a faithful transcript of his presence. It is a picture of him at 66years of age. His strength overwhelmed people, and yet he was verysimple, easily affected by the misfortunes of others, direct in all hisimpressions; but no one could take him by surprise, because his faith inthe eternal redemption of all trials was beyond the ways of the world. His optimism was simple Christianity. He always said he believed therewas as great a number out of the Church as there was in it that followedthe teaching of Christianity. He was among the believers, with hisutmost energy alert to save and comfort the unbelievers. He believed ineverything and everyone. The ingenuousness of his nature was childlikein its unchallenged faith and its tender instincts. His unworldlinesswas almost legendary in its belief of human nature. I remember he wasasked once whether he believed in Santa Claus, and in his own beautifulimagery he said:

"I believe in Santa Claus. Haven't I listened when I was a boy andalmost heard those bells on the reindeer; haven't I seen the marks inthe snow where the sleigh stopped at the door and old Santa jumped out?I believed in him then and I believe in him now--believe that childrenshould be allowed to believe in the beautiful mythical tale. It neverhurt anyone, and I think one of the saddest memories of my childhood isof a day when an older brother told me there was no Santa Claus. Ididn't believe him at first, and afterwards when I saw those delightfulmysterious bundles being sneaked into the house, way down deep in myheart I believed that Santa Claus as well as my father and mother hadsomething to do with it. "

In the last years of his life music became the greatest pleasure to Dr. Talmage. An accumulation of work made it necessary for me to engage asecretary. We were fortunate in securing a young lady who was anexquisite pianist. In the evening she would play Liszt's rhapsodies forthe Doctor, who enjoyed the Hungarian composer most of all. He said tome once that he felt as if music in his study, when he was at work, would be a great inspiration. So my Christmas present to him that yearwas a musical box, which he kept in his study. 

The three months preceding our trip to Europe were spent in the usualbusy turmoil of social and public life. In truth we were very full ofour plans for the European tour, which was to be devoted to preaching byDr. Talmage, and to show me the places he had seen and people he had meton previous visits. There was something significant in the welcome andthe ovations which my husband received over there. Neither the Doctornor myself ever dreamed that it would be his farewell visit. And yet itseems to me now that he was received everywhere in Europe as if theyexpected it to be his last. 

I must confess that we looked forward to our jaunt across the water soeagerly that the events of the preceding months did not seem veryimportant. With Dr. Talmage I went on his usual lecture trip West, stopping in Chicago, where the Doctor preached in his son's church. Everywhere we were invited to be the guests of some prominent residentof the town we were in. It had been so with Dr. Talmage for years. Healways refused, however, because he felt that his time was tooimperative a taskmaster. For thirty years he had never visited anyoneover night, until he went to my brother's house in Pittsburg. But wewere constantly meeting old friends of his, friends of many years, inevery stopping place of our journeys. I remember particularly one ofthese characteristic meetings which took place in New York, where theDoctor, had gone to preach one Sunday. We had just entered the WaldorfHotel, where we were stopping, when a little man stepped up to theDoctor and began picking money off his coat. He seemed to find it allover him. Dr. Talmage laughed, and introduced me to Marshall P. Wilder. 

"Dr. Talmage started me in life, " said Mr. Wilder, and proceeded to tellme how the Doctor had filled him with optimism and success. He wasalways doing this, gripping young men by the shoulders and shaking theminto healthful life. And then men of political or national prominencewere always seeking him out, to gain a little dynamic energy and balancefrom the Doctor's storehouse of experience and philosophy. He was agiant of helpfulness and inspiration, to everyone who came into contactwith him. 

In January we dined with Governor Stone at the executive mansion inHarrisburg, where Dr. Talmage went to preach, and on our return fromEurope Governor Stone insisted upon giving us a great reception andwelcome. Of course, those years were stirring and enjoyable, and neverto be forgotten. The reflected glory is a personal pleasure after all. 

In April, 1900, we sailed on the "Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse" bound forLondon. The two points of interest the Doctor insisted upon making inEurope were the North Cape, to see the Midnight Sun, and the PassionPlay at Ober-Ammergau. Hundreds of invitations had been sent to him topreach abroad, many of which he accepted, but he could not be persuadedto lecture. 

There was never a jollier, more electric companion _de voyage_ than Dr. Talmage during the whole of his trip. He was the life of the party, which included his daughter, Miss Maud Talmage, and my daughter, MissRebekah Collier. 

On a very stormy Sunday, on board ship going over, Dr. Talmage preached, holding on to a pillar in the cabin. There were some who wondered howhe escaped the tortures of _mal-de-mer_, from which he had alwayssuffered. It was a family secret. Once, when crossing with Mrs. Vanderbilt, she had given Dr. Talmage an opium plaster, which wasabsolute proof against the disagreeable consequences of ocean travel. With the aid of this plaster the Doctor's poise was perfect. Disembarking at Southampton we did not reach London until 3 a. M. , goingto the hotel somewhat the worse for wear. Temporarily we stopped at theLangham, moving later to the Metropole. Before lunch the same day theDoctor drove to Westminster Abbey to see the grave of Gladstone. It washis first thought, his first duty. It had been his custom for many yearsto visit the graves of his friends whenever he could be near them. Itwas a characteristic impulse of Dr. Talmage's to follow to the edge ofeternity those whom he had known and liked. When he was asked in Englandwhat he had come to do there, he said:

"I am visiting Europe with the hope of reviving old friendships andstimulating those who have helped me in the old gospel of kindness. "

His range of vision was always from the Gospel point of view, notnecessarily denominational. I remember he was asked, while in England, if there was an organisation in America akin to the Evangelical Councilof Free Churches, and he said, while there was no such body, "there wasa common platform in the United States upon almost every subject. "

The principal topic in England then was the Boer War, which aroused somuch hostility in our country. The Doctor's sympathies were with theBoers, but he tactfully evaded any public expression of them in England, although he was interviewed widely on the subject. He never believed inrumours that were current, that the United States would interfere inthe Transvaal, and prophesied that the American Government would not doso--"remembering their common origin. "

"The great need in America, " he said, "is of accurate information aboutthe Transvaal affairs. A great many Democratic politicians are trying tomake Presidential capital out of the Boer disturbances, but it isdoubtful how far these politicians will be permitted to dictate thepolicy of even their own party. "

I remember the candidature for President of Admiral Dewey was discussedwith Dr. Talmage, who had no very emphatic views about the matter, except to declare Admiral Dewey's tremendous popularity, and toacknowledge his support by the good Democrats of the country. The Doctorwas convinced however that Mr. McKinley would be the next President atthis time. 

The first service in England which Dr. Talmage conducted was inCavendish Chapel at Manchester. The next was at Albert Hall inNottingham, under the auspices of the Y. M. C. A. He was described in theNottingham newspapers as the "most alive man in the United States. " Agreat crowd filled the hall at Nottingham, and as usual he was compelledto hold an open-air meeting afterwards. The first lecture he everdelivered in England was given in this place twenty-one years before. 

Nothing interfered with the routine of the Doctor's habits of industryduring all this European trip. He had taken over with him the proofs ofabout 20 volumes of his selected sermons for correction, and all hisspare moments were spent in perfecting and revising these books for theprinter. His sermons were the only monument he wished to leave toposterity. It has caused me the deepest regret that these books have notbeen perpetuated as he so earnestly wished. In addition to this work hewrote his weekly sermon for the syndicate, employing stenographerswherever he might be in Europe two days every week for that purpose. Andyet he never lost interest in the opportunities of travel, eagerlyplanning trips to the old historic places near by. 

Near Nottingham is the famous Byron country which Dr. Talmage had neverfound time to visit when he was in Europe before. We were told, at thehotel in Nottingham, that no visitors were allowed inside NewsteadAbbey, so that when we ordered a carriage to drive there the hotelpeople shrugged their shoulders at what they regarded as our Americanirreverence. The rain was coming down in torrents when we started, theDoctor more than ever determined to overthrow British custom in hisquiet, positive way. Through slush and mud, under dripping trees, acrosscountry landscapes veiled in the tender mist of clouds, we finallyarrived at the Abbey. The huge outer gates were open, but the driver, with proper British respect for the law, stopped his horses. The Doctorleaned his head out of the carriage window and told him to drive intothe grounds. Obediently he did so, and at last we reached the greatheavy doors of the entrance. Dr. Talmage jumped out and boldly rang thebell. A sentry appeared to inform us that no one was allowed inside theAbbey. 

"But we have come all the way from America to see this place, " theDoctor urged. The sentry, with wooden militarism, was adamant. 

"Is there no one inside in authority?" the Doctor finally asked. Thenthe housekeeper was called. She told us that the Abbey belonged to anArmy officer and his wife, that her master was away at the war in SouthAfrica where his wife had gone with him, and that her orders wereimperative. 

"Look here, just let us see the lower floor, " said Dr. Talmage; "we havecome all the way from New York to see this place, " and he slipped twosovereigns into her hand. Still she was unmoved. My daughter, who wasthen about 14, was visibly disappointed. England was to her hallowedground, and she was keenly anxious to walk in the footsteps of all itsromance, which she had eagerly absorbed in history. Turning to theDoctor, she said, almost tearfully:

"Why, Doctor Talmage, how can they refuse you?"

The housekeeper caught the name. 

"Who did you say this was?" she asked. 

"Doctor Talmage, " said my daughter. 

"Dr. Talmage, I was just reading the sermon you preached on Sunday inthe Nottingham newspaper, I am sure if my mistress were at home shewould be glad to receive you. Come in, come in!"

So we saw Newstead Abbey. The housekeeper insisted that we should stayto tea, and made us enter our names in the visitors' book, and asked theDoctor to write his name on a card, saying, "I will send this to mymistress in South Africa. "

In the effort to remember many of the details of our stay in England andScotland, I find it necessary to take refuge for information in mydaughter's diary. It amused Dr. Talmage very much as he read it page bypage. I find this entry made in Manchester, where she was not wellenough to attend church:--

"Sunday, A. M. --Doctor Talmage preached and I was disappointed that Icould not go. The people went wild about the Doctor, and he had to makean address after church out-of-doors for those who could not get inside. Several policemen stood around the church door to keep away the crowd. I saw the High Sheriff driving home from church. He was inside a coachthat looked as though it had been drawn out of a fairy tale--a hugecoach painted red and gold, with crowns or something like them at eachof the four corners. Two footmen dressed in George III. Liveries werehanging behind by ribbons, and two on the box, all wearing powderedwigs. To be sure, I didn't see much of the Sheriff, but then the coachwas the real show after all. "

Many of the details of the side trips which we made through England andScotland have escaped my memory. In looking over my daughter's diary Ifind them amplified in the manner of girlhood, now lightly touched withfancy, now solemn with historical responsibility, now charmed with theglamour of romance. Dr. Talmage thought so well of them that they willserve to show the trail of his footsteps through the gateways ofancestral England. 

We went to Haddon Hall with Dr. Wrench, physician to the Duke ofDevonshire. We drove from Bakewell. In this part of my daughter's diaryI read:--

"It was a most beautiful drive. Derbyshire is called the Switzerland ofEngland. The hills were quite high and beautifully wooded, and our drivelay along the river's edge--a brook we would call it in the States, butit is a river here--and winds in and out and through the fields andaround the foot of the highest hill of all, called the Peak ofDerbyshire. We passed picturesque little farmhouses, built of squareblocks of rough, grey stone covered with ivy. We drove between hawthornhedges, through beautiful green fields and orchards. From the midst of alittle forest of grand old trees we caught sight of the highest tower ofthe castle, then we crossed over a little stone bridge and passedthrough the gates. Another short drive across the meadow and we stoppedat the foot of a little hill, looking up at Haddon Hall. 

"We walked up to the castle and stood before the great iron-studded oakdoor, which has been there since the days of Queen Elizabeth. It had notbeen opened for years, but a smaller one had been cut in it throughwhich visitors passed. For over 200 years no one had lived in thecastle. It was built by the Normans and given by William the Conquerorto one of his Norman Barons. Finally by marriage it became the propertyof Sir George Vernon, who had two daughters, famous for their beauty. Margaret Vernon married a Stanley, and on the night of the weddingDorothy Vernon eloped with Mr. John Manners. The story is very romantic. The ballroom from which Dorothy stole away when the wedding party was atits height is still just as it was then, excepting for the furniture. From the windows you can see the little stone bridge where Mannerswaited for her with the horses. Haddon Hall became the property ofDorothy Manners and has remained in the hands of the Rutland family, being now owned by the Duke of Rutland. 

"That is the romance of Haddon Hall, but one could make up a hundred tooneself when one walks through the different rooms. What a queer feelingit gives me to go through the old doorways, to stop and look through thequeer little windows, and on the courtyard, wondering who used, longago, to look out of the same windows. I wonder what they saw going on inthe courtyard?

"We climbed to the top of the highest tower. The stairway wound upwardwith stone steps about three feet high cut out of the wall. At intervalswe found little square rooms, very possibly where the men at armsslept. What a view at the top! The towers and roofs and courtyards ofthe castle lay before us. All around us the lovely English country, andas far as the eye could see, hills, woodland, and the winding river. Itwas glorious. Maud and I danced a two-step in the ballroom. 

"If stones could only talk! Well, if they could I should want a longconfab with each one in the old courtyard of Haddon Hall. Who can tell, William the Conqueror himself may have stepped on some of them. "

We drove from Haddon Hall to the Peacock Inn for luncheon, going over toChatsworth for the afternoon. Again I turn a few leaves of the diary:

"Chatsworth is one of the homes of the Duke of Devonshire. The park isfourteen miles across and I don't know how big it is, but Dr. Wrenchtold me the number of acres, and I think it was three or four thousand. We drove five miles through the park before reaching the gates ofChatsworth--shall I call it house or castle? I have pictures of it, andit is a good thing for I could not describe it. Dr. Wrench, being theDuke's physician, was able to take us through the private rooms. Onentering the Hall, a broad marble staircase leads to the corridorsabove, from which others branch out through different parts of thehouse. We walked miles, it seems, until we got to the Duke's privatelibrary. When you are once in the room the doors are shut. You cannottell how you got in or how you will get out. On every wall the bookcasesare built in and there is not an opening of any kind; not a break in therows and rows of books. The explanation is simply this: the doorsthemselves are made to look like book shelves, painted on. 

"Chatsworth is so large that were I living there I should want a Cook'sguide every time I moved. One picture gallery is full of sketches byHogarth, and pictures of almost every old master you ever heard of, andsome you never heard of. Opening out of this gallery are great glassdoors leading into halls into which the different bedrooms open. In onebedroom the walls and ceiling were covered with oil paintings, nothanging but literally painted on them. The bed was a huge four-poster. The curtains were of heavy brocaded satin. The windows looked out onterraces, garden and fountains. I like this room best of all. We weretaken through the state apartments where I saw on a throne a huge chairof state on a platform, with canopy over it, with the Duke's crest ingold woven upon it. In one of the drawing-rooms we saw a life-sizeportrait of Henry VIII. , a real true one painted from life, and one ofPhilip II. Of Spain, and of Charles V. , and of Anne of Austria. The Dukehad sent special word from London to have the fountains in the park playfor us, and we watched them from the window. They are beautiful. Suchnice shower baths for the marble statues on the terrace!

"The Prince of Wales has often visited Chatsworth, and a funny story wastold about one of his visits. It was after dinner and the drawing-roomwas full of people. Whenever Royalty is present it is expected that themen will wear all their decorations. Well, the Earl of Something-or-otherhad forgotten one of his, and someone reported this fact to the Princewho sent for the culprit to be brought before him. At the time thePrince was seated on one of the huge lounges, on which only a giantcould sit and keep his feet on the floor. The Prince was sitting farback and his feet stuck straight out in the air. When the guilty man wasbrought up to be reprimanded the attitude of the Prince was far fromdignified. His Royal Highness was not really angry, but he told the poorEarl of Something-or-other that he must write out the oath of the Orderthat he had forgotten to wear. It was a long oath and the Earl's memorywas not so long. "

We went from Nottingham to Glasgow. The date, I find, is May 1, 1900. Itwas always Dr. Talmage's custom to visit the cemetery first, so we droveout to the grave of John Knox. In Glasgow the Doctor preached at theCowcaddens Free Church to the usual crowded congregation, and he wascompelled to address an overflow meeting from the steps of the churchafter the regular service. The best part of Dr. Talmage's holiday moods, which were as scarce as he could make them because of the amount of workhe was always doing, were filled with the delight of watching the eagerinterest in sightseeing of the two girls, Miss Maud Talmage and mydaughter. In Glasgow we encountered the usual wet weather of theproverbial Scottish quality, and it was Saturday of the week before weventured out to see the Lakes. My daughter naively confesses thesituation to her journal as follows:--

"This A. M. --Got up at the usual starting hour, 7 o'clock, and as itlooked only dark we decided to go. At breakfast it started to rain againand Mamma and the Doctor began to back out, but Maud and I talked tosome advantage. We argued that if we were going to sit around waitingfor a fair day in this country we might just as well give up seeinganything more interesting than hotel parlours and dining-rooms. 

"We started, and just as a 'send off' the old sky opened and let down adeluge of water. It rained all the time we were on Loch Lomond, but thatdidn't prevent us from being up on deck on the boat. From underumbrellas we saw the most beautiful scenery in Scotland. Part of thistrip was made by coach, always in the pouring rain. We drove on and onthrough the hills, seeing nothing but sheep, sheep, sheep. DoctorTalmage asked the driver what kind of vegetables they raised in themountains and the driver replied--'mutton. ' We had luncheon at a verypretty little hotel on Loch Katrine, and here boarded a little steamerlaunch, 'Rob Roy, ' for a beautiful sail. I never, no matter where Itravel, expect to look upon a lake more beautiful. The mountains givewildness and romance to the calm and quiet of the lake, and the island. Maud read aloud to us parts of 'The Lady of the Lake' as we sat out ondeck. "

In Edinburgh Dr. Talmage preached his well-known sermon upon unrequitedservices, at the request of Lord Kintore, the son of the Earl ofKintore, who had suggested the theme to him some years before. In factthe Doctor wrote this sermon by special suggestion of the Earl ofKintore. 

Incidents great and small were such a large part of the eventful trip toEurope that it is difficult to make those omissions which thedisinterested reader might wish. The Doctor, like ourselves, saw withthe same rose-coloured glasses that we did. We were very pleasantlyentertained in Edinburgh by Lord Kintore and others, but the mostinteresting dinner party I think was when we were the guests of SirHerbert Simpson, brother of the celebrated Sir James Y. Simpson, the manwho discovered the uses of chloroform as an anæsthetic. We dined in thevery room where the discovery was first tested. When Dr. Simpson haddecided upon a final experiment of the effects of chloroform as ananæsthetic, he invited three or four of his colleagues and friends toshare the test with him. They met in the very room where we dined withSir Herbert Simpson and his family. The story goes that when everythinghad been prepared for the evening's work, Dr. Simpson informed "Sandy, "an old servant, that he must not be disturbed under any circumstances, telling him not to venture inside the door himself until 5 a. M. Then, ifno one had left the room, he was to enter. "Sandy" obeyed theseinstructions to the letter, and came into the room at 5 in the morning. He was very much shocked to find his master and the others under thetable in a stupor. "I never thought my master would come to this, " saidSandy. He was still in the employ of the family, being a very old man. 

Dr. Talmage's engagements took him from Edinburgh to Liverpool, where hepreached. It was while there that we made a visit to Hawarden to seeMrs. Gladstone. The Doctor had been to Hawarden before as the guest ofMr. Gladstone, and was disappointed to find that Mrs. Gladstone was tooill to be seen by anyone. We were entertained, however, by Mrs. HerbertGladstone. I remember how much the Doctor was moved when he saw in thehall at Hawarden a bundle of walking sticks and three or four hatshanging on the hat-rack, as Mr. Gladstone had left them when he died. 

From Liverpool we went to Sheffield, where Dr. Talmage preached to animmense congregation. It was in May, the time when all England isflower-laden, when the air is as sweet as perfume and the wholecountryside is as fascinating as a garden. It was the coaching season, too, and the Doctor entered into the spirit of these beautiful days veryhappily. We took a ten days' trip from Leamington after leavingSheffield, coaching through the exquisite scenery around about Warwick, Kenilworth, and the Shakespeare country in Stratford-on-Avon. Most ofthese reminiscences are full of incidents too intimate for publicinterest. Like a dream that lifts one from prosaic life into the placesof precious remembrance I recall these long, happy days in the glorioussunset of his life. 

We returned to London in time for the Doctor's first preachingengagement there on May 28, 1900. The London newspapers described him as"The American Spurgeon. "

"And now before the services opened at St. James' Hall a congregation of3, 000 people waited to hear Dr. Talmage, " says a London newspaper. Thenit goes on to say further:--

"Dr. Talmage, who has preached from pulpits all over the world, may bedescribed as an 'American Spurgeon. ' None of our great English speakersis less of an orator. Dr. Talmage is a great speaker, but his power asan orator is not by any means that of a Gladstone or a Bright. It liesmore in the matter than in the manner, in his wonderful imagery, thevividness with which he conjures up a picture before the congregation. He is a great artist in words. Dr. Talmage affects nothing; he isnaturalness itself in the pulpit, and the manner of his speech suggeststhat he is angry with his subject. The sermon on this occasion lentitself well to a master of metaphor such as Dr. Talmage, it being areview of the last great battle of the world, when the forces of rightand wrong should meet for the final mastery. "

Dr. Talmage rarely preached this sermon because it was a great tax onhis memory. It included a suggestion of all the great battles of theearth, a vivid description of the armies of the world marching forwardin the eternal human struggle of right against wrong until they weremasked for the last great battle of all, when "Satan would take thefield in person, in whose make-up nothing bad was left out, nothing goodwas put in. "

It is very remarkable to see the universal acknowledgments of theDoctor's genius in England, one of the London newspapers going so far asto describe him in its headlines as "America's Apostle. " Nothing I couldwrite about him could be more in eulogy, more in sympathy incomprehension of his brilliant sacred message to the world. Englandproclaimed him as he was, with deep sincerity and reverence. 

His favourite sermon, and it was mine also, was upon the theme ofunrequited services, the text being from I Samuel xxx. 24, "But as hispart is that goeth down to the battle, so shall his part be thattarrieth by the stuff. " It was in this sermon that Dr. Talmage madereference to Florence Nightingale, in the following words:--

"Women, your reward in the eternal world will be as great as that ofFlorence Nightingale, the Lady of the Lamp. " While in London he preachedthis sermon, and the following day to our surprise the Doctor receivedthe following note at his hotel:--

 "June 3, 1900. "10, South Street, "Park Lane. 

 "Dear Sir-- "I could gladly see you to-morrow (Monday) at 5. --Yours faithfully, "FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. "T. DeWitt Talmage, of America. "

I have carefully kept the letter in my autograph album. 

Dr. Talmage and I called at the appointed time. It was a beautifulsummer day and we found the celebrated woman lying on a couch in a roomat the top of the house, the windows of which looked out on Hyde Park. She was dressed all in white. Her face was exquisitely spiritual, calm, sweet with the youth of a soul that knew no age. She had never knownthat she had been called 'The Lady of the Lamp' by the soldiers of theCrimea till she read of it in the Doctor's sermon. She was curious to betold all about it. In conversation with the Doctor she made manyinquiries about America and the Spanish war, making notes on a pad ofwhat he said. The Doctor told her that she looked like a woman who hadnever known the ordinary conflicts of life, as though she had alwaysbeen supremely happy and calm in her soul. I remember she replied thatshe had never known a day's real happiness till she began her work as anurse on the battlefield. 

"I was not always happy, " she said; "I had my idle hours when I was agirl. " I may not remember her exact words, but this is the sense ofthem. She was past 82 years of age at the time. 

Enjoying the intervals of sight-seeing, such as the Tower, the Museum, Westminster Abbey, and the usual wonders of historical London, weremained in town several weeks. I remember a visit which Mr. Choate, theAmerican Ambassador, made us with a view to extending any courtesy hecould for the Doctor while we were in England. I told him that I wasmore anxious to see the British Parliament in session than anythingelse. 

"I should think, as Dr. Talmage has with him a letter from the Presidentof the United States, this request could be arranged, " I said. 

Mr. Choate gracefully replied that Dr. Talmage required no introductionanywhere, not even from the President, and arranged to have the Charged'Affaires, Mr. White, who was later Ambassador to France, take us overto the Houses of Parliament, where we were permitted a glimpse of theMembers at work from the cage enclosure reserved for lady visitors. 

The Doctor's friends in England did their best to make us feel at homein London. We were dined and lunched, and driven about whenever Dr. Talmage could spare time from his work. Sir Alfred Newton, the LordMayor, and Lady Newton gave us a luncheon at the Mansion House on June5, 1900. I remember the date because it was an epoch in the history ofEngland. During the luncheon the news reached the Lord Mayor of thecapture of Pretoria. He ordered a huge banner to be hung from theMansion House on which were the words--

"THE BRITISH FLAG FLIES AT PRETORIA. "

This was the first intimation of the event given to Londoners in thatpart of the city. Side by side with it another banner proclaimed theNational prayer, "God Save the Queen, " in big red letters on the whitebackground. A scene of wild enthusiasm and excitement followed. EveryEnglishman in that part of London, I believe, began to shout and cheerat the top of his lungs. An immense crowd gathered in the adjoiningstreets around the Mansion House. The morning war news had onlyindicated a prolonged struggle, so that the capture of Pretoria was agreat and joyous surprise to the British heart. Suddenly all hats wereoff, and the crowds in the streets sang the National Anthem. There wereloud calls for the Lord Mayor to make a speech. We watched it all fromthe windows in the parlour of the Mansion House, at the corner of QueenVictoria Street. Dr. Talmage was as wildly enthusiastic as anyEnglishman, cheering and waving his arm from the open windows in heartyaccord with the crowd below. There was no sleep for anyone in Londonthat night. Around our hotel, the blowing of horns and cheering lastedtill the small hours of the morning. It seemed very much like theexcitement in America after the capture of the Spanish Fleet. 

We left London finally with many regrets, having enjoyed the hospitalityof what is to me the most attractive country in the world to visit. Wewent direct to Paris to attend the opening ceremonies of the ParisExposition of 1900. It seems like a very old story to tell anythingto-day of this event, and to Dr. Talmage it was chiefly a repetition ofthe many Fairs he had seen in his life, but he found time to write adescription of it at the time, which recalls his impressions. Heregarded it as "An Object Lesson of Peace and a Tableau of theMillennium. "

His defence of General Peck, the American Commissioner-General, who wascriticised by the American exhibitors, was made at length. He consideredthese criticisms unjust, and said so. During our stay in Paris Dr. Talmage preached at the American churches. 

Fearing that it would be difficult to secure rooms in Paris during theExposition, the Doctor had written from Washington during the winter andengaged them at the hotel which a few years before had been one of thebest in Paris. Many changes had occurred since he had last been abroad, however, and we found that the hotel where we had engaged rooms was farfrom being suitable for us. The mistake caused some amusement among ourAmerican friends, who were surprised to find Dr. Talmage living in themidst of a Parisian gaiety entirely too promiscuous for his calling. Wesoon moved away from this zone of oriental music and splendour to aquieter and more remote hotel in the Rue Castiglione. 

Dr. Talmage was restless, however, to reach the North Cape in the bestseason to see the Midnight Sun in its glory, and we only remained inParis a few days, going from there to the Hague, Amsterdam, and thenceto Copenhagen in Denmark. In all the cities abroad we were always theguests of the American Embassy one evening during our stay, and thisfrequently led to private dinner parties with some of the prominentresidents, which the Doctor greatly enjoyed, because it gave him anopportunity to know the foreign people in their homes. I remember one ofthese invitations particularly because as we drove into the grounds ofour host's home he ordered the American flag to be hoisted as weentered. The garden was beautiful with a profusion of yellow blossoms, anational flower in Denmark known as "Golden Rain. " We admired them somuch that our host wanted to present me with sprigs of the trees toplant in our home at East Hampton. Dr. Talmage said he was sure thatthey would not grow out there so near the sea. Remembering JudgeCollier's grounds in Pittsburg, where every sort of flower grows, Isuggested that they would thrive there. Our host took my father-in-law'saddress, and to-day this "Golden Rain" of Denmark is growing beautifullyin his garden in Pittsburg. 

We saw and explored Copenhagen thoroughly. The King of Denmark wasabsent from the capital, but we stood in front of his palace with theusual interest of visitors, little expecting to be entertained there, asafterwards we were. It all came as a surprise. 

We were on our way to the station to leave Copenhagen, when Mr. Swenson, the American Minister, overtook us and informed us that theCrown Prince and Princess desired to receive Dr. Talmage and his familyat the summer palace. Though it may be at the risk of _lèse majesté_ tosay it, some persuasion was necessary to induce the Doctor to remainover. Our trunks were already at the station and Dr. Talmage was anxiousto get up to the North Cape. However, the American Minister finallyprevailed upon the Doctor to consider the importance of a request fromroyalty, and we went back to the hotel into the same rooms we had justleft. 

Our presentation took place the next day at the summer palace, which isfive miles from Copenhagen. It was the most informally delightfulmeeting. The formalities of royalty that are sometimes made to appear sooverwhelming to the ordinary individual, were so gracefully interwovenby the Crown Prince and the Princess with cordiality and courtesy, thatwe were as perfectly at ease, as if there had been crowns hovering overour own heads. The royal children were all present, too, and we talkedand walked and laughed together like a family party. The Crown Princesssaid to me, "Come, let me show you my garden, " and we strolled in thebeautiful grounds. The Crown Prince said, "Come, let me show you myden, " and there gave us the autographs of himself and the Princess. Weleft regretfully. As we drove away the royal party were gathered at thefront windows of the palace waving their handkerchiefs to us in gracefuladieus. I remember my little daughter was very much surprised with thesimplicity of the whole affair, saying to me as we drove away, "Why, itwas just like visiting Grandpa's home. "

On our way to Tröndhjem from Copenhagen we stayed over a few days atChristiania, where we were the guests of Nansen, the Arctic explorer. His home, which stood out near the water's edge, was like a bungalowmade of pine logs. There were no carpets on the floors, which werecovered with the skins of animals he had himself killed. Trophies of allsorts were in evidence. It was a very memorable afternoon with thesimple, brave, scientific Nansen. 

At Tröndhjem we took the steamer "Köng Harald" for the North Cape. Aparty of American friends had just returned from there with the mostlugubrious story about the bad weather and their utter failure to seethe sun. As it was pouring rain when we started, it would not have takenmuch persuasion to induce us to give it all up. But we had started witha purpose, and silently but firmly we went on with it. Dr. Talmage neverturned back at any cross road in his whole life. In a few hours afterleaving Tröndhjem we were in the raw, cold Arctic temperature where anew order of existence begins. 

We lose all sense of ordinary time, for our watches indicate midnight, and there is no darkness. The over-hanging clouds draw slowly apart, andthe most brilliant, dazzling midnight sun covers the waters and sets thesky on fire. It neither rises from the horizon or sinks into it. Itstays perfectly, immovably still. After a while it rises very slowly. The meals on board are as irregular as the time; they are servedaccording to the adaptability of one's appetite to the strangeness ofthe new element of constant daytime. We scarcely want to sleep, or knowwhen to do so. Fortunately our furs are handy, for there is snow and iceon the wild, barren rocks on either side of us. 

On July 1, at 8 p. M. , we sighted this northernmost land, the Cape, andwere immediately induced to indulge in cod fishing from the decks of oursteamer. It is the custom, and the cod seem to accept the situation withperverse indiscretion, for many of them are caught. Our lines and baitare provided by sailors. Dinner is again delayed to enable us to indulgein this sport, but we don't mind because we have lost all the habitualtendencies of our previous normal state. 

At 10 p. M. , in a bright daylight, the small boats full of passengersbegin to leave the steamer for the shore. In about fifteen minutes weare landed at the base of that towering Cape. There are some who doubtthe wisdom of Dr. Talmage's attempting to climb at his age. He has nodoubts, however, and no one expresses them to him. He is among the firstto take the staff, handed to him as to all of us, and starts up at hisusual brisk, striding gait. It is a test of lungs and heart, of skilland nerve to climb the North Cape, and let no one attempt it who isunfitted for the task. Steep almost as the side of a house, rocky as anunused pathway, it is a feat to accomplish. We were the first party ofthe season to go up, and the paths had not been entirely cleared ofsnow, which was two and three feet deep in places, the path itselfsometimes a narrow ledge over a precipice. A rope guard was the onlybarrier between us and a slippery catastrophe. Every ten or fifteenminutes we sat down to get our breath. It took us two hours to reach thetop. It was a few minutes after midnight when the sun came outgloriously. 

Coming down was much more perilous, but we got back in safety to the"Köng Harald" at 2 a. M. On our way down to Tröndhjem we celebrated theFourth of July on board. The captain decorated the ship for the occasionand we all tried to sing "The Star Spangled Banner, " but we could notremember the words, much to our mutual surprise and finally wecompromised by singing "America, " and, worst of all, "Yankee Doodle. "Dr. Talmage made a very happy address, and we came into port finally, pledged to learn the words of "The Star Spangled Banner" before the yearwas up. 

In our haste to reach the North Cape we had passed hurriedly throughSweden, so, on our return we went from Tröndhjem to Stockholm, where wearrived on July 7, 1900. 

When in London Dr. Talmage had accepted an invitation to preach in thelargest church in Sweden, with some misgiving, because, as he himselfsaid when asked to do this, "Shall I have an audience?" Of course theDoctor did not speak the Swedish language. Dr. Talmage had been told inEngland that his name was known through all Sweden, which was a factfully sustained by a publisher in Stockholm who came to the hotel oneafternoon and brought copies of ten of the Doctor's books translatedinto Swedish. This insured a cordial greeting for the Doctor, but howwas he to make himself understood?

The Immanuel Church in Stockholm, one of the largest I ever saw, withtwo galleries and three aisles, was filled to its capacity. Dr. Talmagewas to preach through an interpreter, himself a foremost preacher in hisown country. The Doctor had preached through interpreters three times inhis life; once when a theological student addressing a congregation ofAmerican Indians, once in a church in Hawaii, and once in Ceylon throughan interpreter standing on each side of him, one to translate intoCingalese, and the other to translate into Hindustan. No one who waspresent at that morning Sabbath service on July 8, 1900, will forgetthe strange impressions that translated sermon preached by Dr. Talmagemade upon everyone. Sentence by sentence the brilliant interpreterrepeated the Doctor's words in the Swedish language, while thecongregation in eager silence studied Dr. Talmage's face while listeningto the translation of his ideas. 

"Whether I did them any good or not they did me good, " said the Doctorafter the service. 

While in Stockholm we dined with Mr. Wyndham, Secretary of the AmericanLegation, and were shown through the private rooms of the royal palace, of which my daughter took snapshots with surreptitious skill. The Queenwas a great invalid and scarcely ever saw anyone, but while driving toher summer palace we caught a glimpse of her being lifted from herlittle horse, on which she had been riding, seated in a sort of armchairsaddle. With a groom to lead the horse Her Majesty took the air everyday in this way. She was a very frail little woman. 

From Stockholm we started by steamer for St. Petersburg, but the crowdwas so great that we found our staterooms impossible, and we disembarkedat Alba, the first capital in Finland. We were curious to see the newcapital, Helsingfors, and stopped over a day or two there. FromHelsingfors we went by rail to the Russian capital. 

Dr. Talmage had been in Russia years before, on the occasion of hispresentation of a shipload of flour from the American people to thefamine sufferers. At that time he had been presented to EmperorAlexander III. , as well as the Dowager Empress. It was his intention topay his respects again to the new Emperor, whose father he had known, sothat we looked forward to our stay in St. Petersburg as eventful. TheCrown Prince of Denmark had urged the Doctor to see his brother-in-law, the Czar, while in St. Petersburg, and we learned later that he hadwritten a letter to the Court concerning our coming to St. Petersburg. 

On July 23, 1900, we received the following note from Dr. Pierce, theAmerican Charge d'Affaires in St. Petersburg:--

 "July 23, 1900. "Embassy of the United States, St. Petersburg. 

 "Dear Dr. Talmage--

 "I take much pleasure in informing you that you and Mrs. Talmage and your daughters will be received by Their Majesties the Emperor and Empress on Wednesday next, at 2½ p. M. 

 "Yours very sincerely, "HERBERT H. D. PIERCE. 

 "P. S. --I will let you know the details later. "

Mr. Pierce called in full court dress and informed Dr. Talmage that itwould be necessary for him to appear in like regalia. As the Doctor wasnot accustomed to wearing swords, or cocked hats, or brass buttons onhis coat, he received these instructions with some distress of mind. Later, we received from the Grand Master of Ceremonies of the RussianCourt a formal invitation to be presented at Peterhof, the summerpalace. 

On Wednesday, July 25, 1900, I find this irreverent entry in my Americangirl's diary:--

"I can't think of any words sufficiently high sounding with which tobegin the report of this day, so shall simply write about breakfastfirst, and gradually lead up to the great event. In spite of the cominghonour and the present excitement we all ate a hearty breakfast. "

"As our train was to leave for Peterhof about noon we spent the morningdressing. 

"After all, " writes my irreverent daughter in her diary, "dressing forroyalty is not more important than dressing for a dance or dinner. Itcan't last for much over an hour. When we had everything on we satopposite each other as stiff as pokers--waiting. "

My daughter took a snapshot picture of us while waiting. Mrs. Pierce hadkindly given us some instructions about curtseying and backing away fromroyalty, a ceremony which neither the Czar nor the Czarina imposed uponus, however. The trip to Peterhof was made on one of the Imperial cars. The distance by rail from St. Petersburg was only half-an-hour. Agentleman from the American Embassy rode with us. We were met at thestation by footmen in royal livery and conducted to a carriage with theImperial coat-of-arms upon it. Sentinels in grey coats saluted us. 

We were driven first to the Palace of Peterhof, where more footmen ingold lace, and two other officials in gorgeous uniform, conducted usinside, through a corridor, past a row of bowing servants, into adining-room where the table was set for luncheon, with gold and silverplates, cut glass and rare china. A more exquisite table setting I neversaw. Three dressing-rooms opened off this big room, and these wepromptly appropriated. 

The luncheon was perfect, though we would have enjoyed it better afterthe strain of our presentation had been over. The four different kindsof wine were not very liberally patronised by any of our party. Afterluncheon we were driven through the royal park which was literallyfilled with mounted Cossacks on guard everywhere, to the abode of theEmperor. Through another double line of liveried servants we wereushered into a small room where the Master of Ceremonies and alady-in-waiting greeted us. We waited about five minutes when an officercame to the Doctor and took him to see the Emperor. A little later wewere ushered into another room into the presence of the Empress ofRussia. She came forward very graciously with outstretched hands to meetus. The Czarina is the most beautiful woman I ever saw, aristocratic, simple, extremely sensitive. She was dressed in a black silk gown withwhite polka dots. Slightly taller than the Czar, the Empress was mostaffable, girlish in her manner. As she talked the colour came and wenton her pale, fair cheeks, and she gave me the impression of being a verysensitive, reserved, exquisitely rare nature. Her smile had a charmingyet half melancholy radiance. We all sat down and talked. I remember thelittle shiver with which the Empress spoke of a race in the Orient whomshe disliked. 

"They would stab you in the back, " she said, her voice fading almost toa whisper. She looked to be about twenty-eight years old. Once when wethought it was time to go, and had started to make our adieus, theCzarina kept on talking, urging us to stay. She talked of Americachiefly, and told us how enthusiastic her cousin was who had justreturned from there. When, finally, we did leave we were spared thedreaded ceremony of backing out of the room, for the Empress walked withus to the door, and shook hands in true democratic American fashion. 

Dr. Talmage's interview with the Czar was quite as cordial. The Emperorexpressed his faith in the results of the Peace movement at the Hague, for he was himself at peace with all the world. During the interview theDoctor was asked many questions by the Emperor about the heroes of theSpanish war, especially concerning Admiral Dewey. His Majesty laughedheartily at the Doctor's story of a battle in which the only loss oflife was a mule. 

"How many important things have happened since we met, " the Czar said tothe Doctor; "I was twenty-four when you were here before, now I amthirty-two. My father is gone. My mother has passed through three greatsorrows since you were here--the loss of my father, of my brother, andduring this last year of her own mother, the Queen of Denmark. Shewishes to see you in her own palace. "

The Czar is about five feet ten in height, is very fair, with blue eyes, and seemed full of kindness and good cheer. 

As we were leaving, word came from the Dowager Empress that she wouldsee us, and we drove a mile or two further through the royal park to herpalace. She greeted Dr. Talmage with both hands outstretched, like anold friend. Though much smaller in stature than the Empress of Russia, the Dowager Empress was quite as impressive and stately. She was dressedin mourning. Her room was like a corner in Paradise set apart from thegrim arrogance of Imperial Russia. It was filled with exquisitepaintings, sweet with a profusion of flowers and plants. She seemedgenuinely happy to see the Doctor, and her eyes filled with tears whenhe spoke of the late Emperor, her husband. At her neck she was wearing aminiature portrait of him set in diamonds. Very simply she took it offto show to us, saying, "This is the best picture ever taken of myhusband. It is such a pleasure to see you, Dr. Talmage, I heard of yourbeing in Europe from my brother in Denmark. "

The Dowager Empress was full of remembrances of the Doctor's previousvisit to Russia, eight years before. 

"How did you like the tea service which my husband sent you?" she askedDr. Talmage; "I selected it myself. It is exactly like a set we useourselves. "

The informal charm of the Empress's manner was most friendly and kind. 

"Do you remember the handful of flowers I picked for you, and asked youto send them to your family?" she said. 

"You stood here, my husband there, and I with my smaller children stoodhere. How well I remember that day; but, oh, what changes!"

The Dowager Empress invited us to come to her palace next day and meetthe Queen of Greece, her niece by marriage, and her sister-in-law whowas visiting Russia just then, but we were obliged to decline because ofprevious plans. Very graciously she wrote her autograph for us andpromised to send me her photograph, which later on I received. We weredriven back to the station in the Imperial carriage, where arepresentative of the American Embassy met us and rode back to St. Petersburg with us. 

So ended a day of absorbing interest such as I shall never experienceagain. There is a touch of humour always to the most important events inlife. I shall never forget Dr. Talmage's real distress when he foundthat the sword which he had borrowed from Mr. Pierce, the Charged'Affaires of the American Embassy, had become slightly bent in thecourse of its royal adventure. I can see his look of anxiety as he triedto straighten it out, and was afraid he couldn't. He always abhorredborrowed things and hardly ever took them. Fortunately, the sword wasnot seriously damaged. 

Our objective point after leaving Russia was Ober-Ammergau, where Dr. Talmage wanted to witness the Passion Play. We travelled in thatdirection by easy stages, going from St. Petersburg first to Moscow, where we paid a visit to Tolstoi's house. From Moscow we went to Warsaw, and thence to Berlin. The Doctor seemed to have abandoned himselfcompletely to the lure of sightseeing by this time. Churches, picturegalleries, museums were our daily diet. While in Berlin we returned froma drive one day to the hotel and found ourselves the objects of unusualsolicitude and attention from the hotel proprietor and his servants. With many obsequious bows we were informed that the Russian Ambassadorhad called upon us in our absence, and had informed the hotel peoplethat he had a special package from the Czar to deliver to me. He leftword that he would be at the hotel at 2 p. M. The following day to carryout his Imperial Master's instructions. At the time appointed the nextday the Russian Ambassador called and formally presented to me, in thename of the Emperor, a package that had been sent by special messenger. I immediately opened it and found a handsome Russian leather case. Iopened that, and inside found the autographs of the Emperor and Empressof Russia, written on separate sheets of their royal note paper. 

We had a very good time in Berlin. The presence of Sousa and his bandthere gave it an American flavour that was very delightful. The Doctor'sinterest was really centred in visiting the little town of Württemberg, famous for its Luther history. Dr. Dickey, Pastor of the AmericanChurch in Berlin, became our guide on the day we visited the haunts ofLuther. One day we went through the Kaiser's Palace at Potsdam, where mydaughter managed to use her kodak with good effect. 

From Berlin we went to Vienna, and thence to Munich, arriving at thelittle village of Ober-Ammergau on August 25, 1900. 

Dr. Talmage's impressions of the Passion Play, which he wrote atOber-Ammergau on this occasion, were never published in this country, and I herewith include them in these last milestones of his life. 

THE PASSION PLAY AT OBER-AMMERGAU

_By Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage, D. D. _

About fifteen years ago the good people of America were shocked at theproposition to put on the theatrical stage of New York the Passion Play, or a dramatic representation of the sufferings of Christ. It was to bean imitation of that which had been every ten years, since 1634, enactedin Ober-Ammergau, Germany. Every religious newspaper and most of thesecular journals, and all the pulpits, denounced the proposition. Itwould be an outrage, a sacrilege, a blasphemy. I thought so then; Ithink so now. The attempt of ordinary play actors amid worldlysurroundings, and before gay assemblages, to portray the sufferings ofChrist and His assassination would have been a horrible indecency thatwould have defied the heavens and invoked a plague worse than that forthe turning back of which the Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau wasestablished. We might have suggested for such a scene a Judas, or aCaiaphas, or a Pilate, or a Herod. But who would have been the Christ?

The Continental protest which did not allow the curtain of thatexhibition to be hoisted was right, and if a similar attempt should everbe made in America I hope it may be as vehemently defeated. But ascertain individuals may have an especial mission which other individualsare not caused to exercise, so neighbourhoods and provinces andcountries may have a call peculiar to themselves. 

Whether the German village of Ober-Ammergau which I have just beenvisiting, may have such an especial ordination, I leave others to judgeafter they have taken into consideration all the circumstances. ThePassion Play, as it was proposed for the theatrical stage in New York, would have been as different from the Passion Play as we saw it atOber-Ammergau a few days ago as midnight is different from mid-noon. 

Ober-Ammergau is a picture-frame of hills. 

The mountains look down upon the village, and the village looks up tothe mountains. The river Ammer, running through the village, has notrecovered from its race down the steeps, and has not been able tomoderate its pace. Like an arrow, it shoots past. Through exaltationsand depressions of the rail train, and on ascending and descendinggrades, we arrived at the place of which we had heard and read so much. The morning was as glorious as any other morning that was let down outof the heavens. Though many thousands of people from many quarters ofthe earth had lodged that night in Ober-Ammergau, the place at dawn wasas silent as a hunter's cabin in any of the mountains of Bavaria. TheAmmergauers are a quiet people. They speak in low tones, and arethemselves masters of the art of silence. Their step, as well as theirvoice, is quiet. Reverence and courtesy are among theircharacteristics. Though merry enough, and far from being dolorous, Ithink the most of them feel themselves called to a solemn duty, that insome later time they will be called to take part in absorbingsolemnities, for about 700 performers appear in the wonderfulperformance; there are only about 1, 400 inhabitants. 

While the morning is still morning, soon after 7 o'clock, hundreds andthousands of people, nearly all on foot, are moving in one direction, sothat you do not have to ask for the place of mighty convocation. Throughfourteen large double doors the audience enter. Everything in theimmense building is so plain that nothing could be plainer, and theseats are cushionless, a fact which becomes thoroughly pronounced afteryou have for eight hours, with only brief intermissions, been seated onthem. 

All is expectancy!

The signal gun outside the building sounds startlingly. We are not aboutto witness an experiment, but to look upon something which has been inpreparation and gathering force for two hundred and sixty-six years. Itwas put upon the stage not for financial gain but as a prayer to God forthe removal of a Destroying Angel which had with his wings swept todeath other villages, and was then destroying Ober-Ammergau. It was adying convulsion in which Widowhood and Orphanage and Childlessnessvowed that if the Lord should drive back that Angel of Death, then everyten years they would in the most realistic and overwhelming manner showthe world what Christ had done to save it. 

They would reproduce His groan. They would show the blood-tipped spear. They would depict the demoniac grin of ecclesiastics who gladly heardperjurers testify against the best Friend the world ever had, but whodeclined to hear anything in His defence. They would reproduce thespectacle of silence amid wrong; a silence with not a word of protest, or vindication, or beseechment; a silence that was louder than thethunder that broke from the heavens that day when at 12 o'clock at noonwas as dark as 12 o'clock at night. 

Poets have been busy for many years putting the Passion Play intorhythm. The Bavarian Government had omitted from it everythingfrivolous. The chorus would be that of drilled choirs. Men and women whohad never been out of the sight of the mountains which guarded theirhomes would do with religious themes what the David Garricks and theMacreadys and the Ristoris and the Charlotte Cushmans did with secularthemes. On a stage as unpretentious as foot ever trod there would be animpersonation that would move the world. The greatest tragedy of alltimes would find fit tragedian. We were not there that August morning tosee an extemporised performance. As long ago as last December theprogramme for this stupendous rendering was all made out. No man orwoman who had the least thing objectionable in character or reputationmight take part. 

The Passion Council, made up of the pastor of the village church and sixdevout members, together with the Mayor and ten councillors selected fortheir moral worth, assembled. After special Divine service, in whichheaven's direction was sought, the vote was taken, and the followingpersons were appointed to appear in the more important parts of thePassion Play: Rochus Lang, _Herod_; John Zwink, _Judas_; Andreas Braun, _Joseph of Arimathea_; Bertha Wolf, _Magdalen_; Sebastian Baur, _Pilate_; Peter Rendi, _John_; William Rutz, _Nicodemus_; Thomas Rendi, _Peter_; Anna Flunger, _Mary_; Anton Lang, _Christ_. 

The music began its triumphant roll, and the curtains were divided andpulled back to the sides of the stage. Lest we repeat the only error inthe sacred drama, that of prolixity, we will not give in minutiæ what wesaw and heard. The full text of the play is translated and published bymy friend, the Reverend Doctor Dickey, pastor of the American Church ofBerlin, and takes up 169 pages, mostly in fine print. 

I only describe what most impressed me. 

There is a throng of people of all classes in the streets of Jerusalem, by look and gesture indicating that something wonderful is advancing. Acclamations fill the air. The crowd parts enough to allow Christ topass, seated on the side of a colt, which was led by the John whom Jesusespecially loved. The Saviour's hands are spread above the throng inbenediction, while He looks upon them with a kindness and sympathy thatwin the love of the excited multitude. Arriving at the door of theTemple, Jesus dismounts and, walking over the palm branches and garmentswhich are strewn and unrolled in His way, He enters the Temple, andfinds that parts of that sacred structure are turned into a marketplace, with cages of birds and small droves of lambs and heifers which thedealers would sell to those who wanted to make a "live offering" in theTemple. Indignation gathers on the countenance of Christ wheregentleness had reigned. He denounces these merchants, who stood thereover-reaching in their bargains and exorbitantly outrageous in theircharges. The doors of the cages holding the pigeons are opened, and intheir escape they fly over the stage and over the audience. The tableon which the exchangers had been gathering unreasonable percentage wasthrown down, and the coin rattled over the floor, and the place wascleared of the dishonest invaders, who go forth to plot the ruin and thedeath of Him who had so suddenly expelled them. 

The most impressive character in all the sacred drama is Christ. 

The impersonator, Anton Lang, seems by nature far better fitted for thispart than was his predecessor, Josef Mayr, who took that part in 1870, 1880, and 1890. Mayr is very tall, brawny, athletic. His hair was blackin those days, and his countenance now is severe. He must have done itwell, but I can hardly imagine him impersonating gentleness and completesubmission to abuse. But Anton Lang, with his blonde complexion, hislight hair, blue eyes and delicate mouth, his exquisiteness of form andquietness of manner, is just like what Raphael and many of the oldmasters present. When we talked with Anton Lang in private he lookedexactly as he looked in the Passion Play. This is his first year in theChrist character, and his success is beyond criticism. In his trade as acarver of wood he has so much to do in imitating the human countenancethat he understands the full power of expression. The way he listens tothe unjust charges in the court room, his bearing when the ruffians bindhim, and his manner when, by a hand, thick-gloved so as not to get hurt, a crown of thorns was put upon his brow, and the officers with longbands of wood press it down upon the head of the sufferer, all show thathe has a talent to depict infinite agony. 

No more powerful acting was ever seen on the stage than that of JohnZwink, the Judas. In repose there is no honester face in Ober-Ammergauthan his. Twenty years ago he appeared in the Passion Play as St. John;one would suppose that he would do best in a representation of genialityand mildness. But in the character of Judas he represents, in everywrinkle of his face, and in every curl of his hair, and in every glareof his eye, and in every knuckle of his hand with which he clutches themoney bag, hypocrisy and avarice and hate and low strategy anddiabolism. The quickness with which he grabs the bribe for the betrayalof the Lord, the villainous leer at the Master while seated at the holysupper, show him to be capable of any wickedness. What a spectacle whenthe traitorous lips are pressed against the pure cheek of the ImmaculateOne, the disgusting smack desecrating the holy symbol of love. 

But after Judas has done his deadly work then there comes upon him aremorse and terror such as you have never seen depicted unless you havewitnessed the Passion Play at the foot of the Bavarian mountains. Hisstart at imaginary sounds, his alarm at a creaking door, his fear atnothing, the grinding teeth and the clenched fist indicative of mentaltorture, the dishevelled hair, the beating of his breast with his hands, the foaming mouth, the implication, the shriek, the madness, the flyinghere and there in the one attempt to get rid of himself, the horrorincreased at his every appearance, whether in company or alone, regardedin contrast with the dagger scene of "Macbeth" makes the latter merechild's play. That day, John Zwink, in the character of Judas, preachedfifty sermons on the ghastliness of betrayal. The fire-smart ofill-gotten gain, the iron-beaked vulture of an aroused conscience; allthe bloodhounds of despair seemed tearing him. Then, when he can endurethe anguish no longer, he loosens the long girdle from his waist andaddresses that girdle as a snake, crying out:--

"Ha! Come, thou serpent, entwine my neck and strangle the betrayer, " andhastily ties it about his neck and tightens it, then rushes up to thebranch of a tree for suicide, and the curtain closes before the 4, 000breathless auditors. 

Do I approve of the Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau?

My only answer is that I was never so impressed in all my life with thegreatness of the price that was paid for the redemption of the humanrace. The suffering depicted was so awful that I cannot now understandhow I could have endured looking upon its portrayal. It is amazing thatthousands in the audience did not faint into a swoon as complete as thatof the soldiers who fell on the stage at the Lord's reanimation fromJoseph's mausoleum. 

Imagine what it would be to see a soldier seemingly thrust a spear intothe Saviour's side, and to see the crimson rush from the laceration. 

Would I see it acted again? No. I would not risk my nerves again underthe strain of such a horror. One dreams of it nights after. 

When Christ carrying His cross falls under it, and you see Him on Hishands and knees, His forehead ensanguined with the twisted brambles, andVeronica comes to Him offering a handkerchief to wipe away the tears, and sweat and blood, your own forehead becomes beaded with perspiration. As the tragedy moves on, solemnity is added to solemnity. Not so much asa smile in the eight hours, except the slight snicker of some fool, suchas is sure to be found in all audiences, when the cock crew twice afterPeter had denied him thrice. 

What may seem strange to some, I was as much impressed with Christ'smental agony as with his physical pangs. Oh! what a scene when inGethsemane He groaned over the sins of the world for which He was makingexpiation, until the angelic throngs of heaven were so stirred by Hisimpassioned utterance that one of their white-winged number came out anddown to comfort the Angel of the New Covenant!

Some of the tableaux or living pictures between the acts of this dramawere graphic and thrilling, such as Adam and Eve expelled fromarborescence into homelessness; Joseph, because of his picturesqueattire sold into serfdom, from which he mounts to the Prime Minister'schair; the palace gates shut against Queen Vashti because she declinesto be immodest; manna snowing down into the hands of the hungryIsraelites; grapes of Eshcol so enormous that one cluster is carried bytwo men on a staff between them; Naboth stoned to death because Ahabwants his vineyard; blind Samson between the pillars of the Temple ofDagon, making very destructive sport for his enemies. These tableaux arechiefly intended as a breathing spell between the acts of the drama. Themusic rendered requires seven basses and seven tenors, ten sopranos andten contraltos. Edward Lang has worked thirty years educating themusical talent of the village. The Passion Play itself is beyondcriticism, though it would have been mightier if two hours less in itsperformance. The subtraction would be an addition. 

The drama progresses from the entering into Jerusalem to thecondemnation by the Sanhedrim, showing all the world that crime may becommitted according to law as certainly as crime against the law. 

Oh, the hard-visaged tribunal; countenances as hard as the spears, ashard as the spikes, as hard as the rocks under which the Master wasburied! Who can hear the metallic voice of that Caiaphas withoutthinking of some church court that condemned a man better thanthemselves? Caiaphas is as hateful as Judas. Blessed is thatdenomination of religionists which has not more than one Caiaphas!

On goes the scene till we reach the goodby of Mary and Christ atBethany. Who will ever forget that woman's cry, or the face from whichsuffering has dried the last tear? Who would have thought that AnnaFlunger, the maiden of twenty-five years, could have transformed herfair and happy face into such concentration of gloom and grief and woe?Mary must have known that the goodbye at Bethany was final, and that theembrace of that Mother and Son was their last earthly embrace. It wasthe saddest parting since the earth was made, never to be equalled whilethe earth stands. 

What groups of sympathetic women trying to comfort her, as only womencan comfort!

On goes the sacred drama till we come to the foot-washing. A few daysbefore, while we were in Vienna, we had explained to us the annualceremony of foot washing by the Emperor of Austria. It always takesplace at the close of Lent. Twelve very old people are selected from thepoorest of the poor. They are brought to the palace. At the lastfoot-washing the youngest of the twelve was 86 years of age, and theoldest 92. The Imperial family and all those in high places gather forthis ceremony. An officer precedes the Emperor with a basin of water. For many days the old people have been preparing for the scene. TheEmperor goes down on one knee before each one of these venerable people, puts water on the arch of the foot and then wipes it with a towel. Whenthis is done a rich provision of food and drink is put before each oneof the old people, but immediately removed before anything is tasted. Then the food and the cups and the knives and the forks are put intwelve sacks and each one has his portion allotted him. The old peoplecome to the foot-washing in the Emperor's carriage and return in thesame way, and they never forget the honour and splendour of thatoccasion. 

Oh, the contrast between that foot-washing amid pomp and brilliantceremony and the imitated foot-washing of our Lord at Ober-Ammergau. Before each one of the twelve Apostles Christ comes down so slowly thata sigh of emotion passes through the great throng of spectators. Christeven washes the feet of Judas. Was there in all time or eternity past, or will there be in all time or eternity to come, such a scene ofself-abnegation? The Lord of heaven and earth stooping to such a servicewhich must have astounded the heavens more than its dramatisationoverpowered us! What a stunning rebuke to the pride and arrogance andpersonal ambition of all ages!

The Hand of God on Human Foot in Ablution!

No wonder the quick-tempered Peter thought it incongruous, and forbadeits taking place, crying out: "Thou shalt never wash my feet!" But theLord broke him down until Peter vehemently asked that his head and hishands be washed as well as his feet. 

During eight hours on that stage it seems as though we were watching abattle between the demons of the Pit and the seraphs of Light, and thedemons triumph. Eight hours telling a sadness, with every moment worsethan its predecessor. All the world against Him, and hardly any let upso that we feel like leaving our place and rushing for the stage andgiving congratulations with both hands to Simon of Cyrene as he lightensthe Cross from the shoulder of the sufferer, and to Nicodemus who votedan emphatic "No" at the condemnation, and to Joseph of Arimathea whoasks the honour of being undertaker at the obsequies. 

Scene after scene, act after act, until at the scourging every strokefetches the blood; and the purple mantle is put upon Him in derision, and they slap His face and they push Him off the stool upon which Hesits, laughing at His fall. On, until from behind the curtain you hearthe thumping of the hammers on the spikes; on, until hanging between twobandits, He pledges Paradise within twenty-four hours to the one, andcommits His own broken-hearted mother to John, asking him to take careof her in her old age; and His complaint of thirst brings a spongemoistened with sour wine on the end of a staff; and blasphemy has hurledat Him its last curse, and malice has uttered concerning Him its lastlie, and contempt has spit upon Him its last foam, and the resources ofperdition are exhausted, and from the shuddering form and white lipscomes the exclamation, "It is finished!"

At that moment there resounded across the river Ammer and through thevillage of Ober-Ammergau a crash that was responded to by the echoes ofthe Bavarian mountains. The rocks tumbled back off the stage, and theheavens roared and the graves of the dead were wrecked, and it seemed asif the earth itself had foundered in its voyage through the sky. Thegreat audience almost leaped to its feet at the sound of that tempestand earthquake. 

Look! the ruffians are tossing dice for the ownership of the Master'scoat. The darkness thickens. Night, blackening night. Hark! The wolvesare howling for the corpse of the slain Lord. Then, with more pathos andtenderness than can be seen in Rubens' picture, "Descent from theCross, " in the cathedral at Antwerp, is the dead Christ lowered, andthere rises the wailing of crushed motherhood, and with solemn tread themutilated body is sepulchred. But soon the door of the mausoleum fallsand forth comes the Christ and, standing on the shoulder of MountOlivet, He is ready for ascension. Then the "Hallelujah Chorus" from the700 voices before and behind the scenes closes the most wonderfultragedy ever enacted. 

As we rose for departure we felt like saying with the blind preacher, whom William Wirt, the orator of Virginia, heard concluding his sermonto a backwoods congregation:

"Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus died like a God!"

I have been asked whether this play would ever be successfullyintroduced into America or England. I think there is some danger that itmay be secularised and turned into a mercenary institution. Instead ofthe long ride by carriages over rough mountain roads for days and days, as formerly was necessary in order to reach Ober-Ammergau, there are nowtwo trains a day which land tourists for the Passion Play, and amongthem may appear some American theatrical manager who, finding that JohnZwink of Ober-Ammergau impersonates the spirit of grab and cheat andinsincerity better than any one who treads the American stage, and onlyreceived for his wonderful histrionic ability what equals forty-fivepounds sterling for ten years, may offer him five times as muchcompensation for one night. If avarice could clutch Judas with such arelentless grasp at the offer of thirty pieces of silver, what might bethe proportionate temptation of a thousand pieces of gold!

The impression made upon Dr. Talmage by the Passion Play was stirringand reverent. He described it as one of the most tremendous and fearfulexperiences of his life. 

"I have seen it once, but I would not see it again, " he said, "I wouldnot dare risk my nerves to such an awful, harrowing ordeal. Accustomedas I am to think almost constantly on all that the Bible means, thePassion Play was an unfolding, a new and thrilling interpretation, arevelation. I never before realised the capabilities of the Bible fordramatic representation. "

We went from Ober-Ammergau to that modern Eden for the overwroughtnerves of kings and commoners--Baden-baden, where we spent ten days. Atthe end of this time we returned to Paris to enjoy the Exposition at ourleisure. Paris is always a place of brightness and pleasure. KingLeopold of Belgium was among the distinguished guests of the Frenchcapital, whom we saw one day while driving in the Bois. We made visitsto Versailles and the palace of Fontainebleau. The Doctor enjoyed thesetrips into the country, and always manged to make his arrangements sothat he could go with us. From Paris we went to London for a farewellvisit. Dr. Talmage had promised to preach in John Wesley's chapel in theCity Road, known as "The Cathedral of Methodism. "

On Sunday, September 30, 1900, the crowd was so great that had come tohear Dr. Talmage that a cordon of police was necessary to guard the bigiron gates after the church was filled. The text of his sermon that daywas significant. It may have been a conception of his own life work--itstext. It was taken from a passage in the eleventh chapter of Daniel:--

"The people that do know their God shall be strong and do exploits. "

It is difficult to conceive of the enthusiasm that Dr. Talmage arousedeverywhere the immense crowds that gathered to see and hear him. Duringour stay in London this time, after a preaching service in a church inPiccadilly, the wheels of our carriage were seized and we were like asmall island in a black sea of restless men and women. The drivercouldn't move. The Doctor took it with great delight and stood up in thecarriage, making an address. From where he was standing he could not seethe police charging the crowd to scatter them. When he did, he realisedthat he was aiding in obstructing the best regulated thoroughfare inLondon. Stopping his address, he said, "We must recognise the authorityof the law, " and sat down. It was said that Dr. Talmage was the only manwho had ever stopped the traffic in Piccadilly. 

From London Dr. Talmage and I went together for a short visit to theIsle of Wight, and later to Swansea where he preached; we left the girlswith Lady Lyle, at Sir John Lyle's house in London. 

It had become customary whenever the Doctor made an address to ask me tosit on the platform, and in this way I became equal to looking a bigaudience in the face, but one day the Doctor over-estimated my talents. He came in with more than his usual whir, and said to me:

"Eleanor, I have been asked if you won't dedicate a new building at theWood Green Wesleyan Church in North London. I said I thought you would, and accepted for you. Won't you please do this for me?"

There was no denying him, and I consented, provided he would help mewith the address. He did, and on the appointed day when we drove out tothe place I had the notes of my speech held tightly crumpled in myglove. There was the usual crowd that had turned out to hear Dr. Talmagewho was to preach afterwards, and I was genuinely frightened. I rememberas we climbed the steps to the speaker's platform, the Doctor whisperedto me, "Courage, Eleanor, what other women have done you can do. " Ialmost lost my equilibrium when I was presented with a silver trowel asa souvenir of the event. There was nothing about a silver trowel in mynotes. However, the event passed off without any calamity but it was myfirst and last appearance in public. 

As the time approached for us to return to America the Doctor lookedforward to the day of sailing. It had all been a wonderful experienceeven to him who had for so many years been in the glare of public life. He had reached the highest mark of public favour as a man, and as apreacher was the most celebrated of his time. I wonder now, as I realisethe strain of work he was under, that he gave me so little cause foranxiety considering his years. He was a marvel of health and strength. There may have been days when his genius burned more dimly than others, and often I would ask him if the zest of his work was as great if he wasa bit tired, hoping that he would yield a little to the trend of theyears, but he was as strong and buoyant in his energies as if each daywere a new beginning. His enjoyment of life was inspiring, his hold uponthe beauty of it never relaxed. 

From London we went to Belfast, on a very stormy day. Dr. Talmage wasadvised to wait a while, but he had no fear of anything. That crossingof the Irish Channel was the worst sea trip I ever had. We arrived inBelfast battered and ill from the stormy passage, all but the Doctor, who went stoically ahead with his engagements with undiminished vigour. Going up in the elevator of the hotel one day, we met Mrs. Langtry. Dr. Talmage had crossed the ocean with her. 

"Won't you come and see my play to-night?" she asked him. 

"I am very sorry, Madame, but I am speaking myself to-night, " said theDoctor courteously. He told me afterwards how fortunate he felt it to bethat he was able to make a real excuse. Invitations to the theatrealways embarrassed him. 

From Belfast we went to Cork for a few days, making a trip to theKillarney lakes before sailing from Queenstown on October 18, 1900, onthe "Oceanic. "

"Isn't it good to be going back to America, back to that beautiful cityof Washington, " said the Doctor, the moment we got on board. 

Whatever he was doing, whichever way he was going, he was always inpursuit of the joy of living. Although the greatest year of my life wasdrawing to a close, it all seemed then like an achievement rather than afarewell, like the beginning of a perfect happiness, the end of whichwas in remote perspective. 

THE LAST MILESTONE

1900-1902

There was no warning of the divine purpose; there was no pause ofweakness or illness in his life to foreshadow his approaching end. Untilthe last sunset hours of his useful days he always seemed to me a man ofiron. He had stood in the midst of crowds a towering figure; but awayfrom them his life had been a studied annihilation, an existence ofhidden sacrifice to his great work. He used to say to me: "Eleanor, Ihave lived among crowds, and yet I have been much of the time quitealone. " But alone or in company his mind was ever active, his greatheart ever intent on his apostolate of sunshine and help towards hisfellow-men. And the good things he said were not alone the utterances ofhis public career; they came bubbling forth as from a spring during thecourse of his daily life, in his home and among his friends, even withlittle children. Books have been written styled, "Conversations ofEminent Men"; and I have often thought had his ordinary conversationsbeen reported, or, better, could the colossal crowds who admired himhave been, as we, his privileged listeners, they would have been no lesscharmed with his brilliant talk than with the public displays ofeloquence with which they were so captivated. 

Immediately after his return from Europe in the autumn of 1900, Dr. Talmage took up his work with renewed vigour and enthusiasm. He steppedback into his study as if a new career of preaching awaited him. Never, indeed, had a Sunday passed, since our union, on which he had not givenhis divine message from the pulpit; never had he missed a full, arduous, wearisome day's work in his Master's vineyard. But I think Dr. Talmagenow wrote and preached more industriously and vigorously than I had everseen him before. His work had become so important an element in thecharacter of American life, and in the estimate of the Americanpeople--I might add, in that of many foreign peoples, too--that hisconsciousness of it seemed to double and treble his powers; he wascarried along on a great wave of enthusiasm; and in the joy of it all, we, with the thousands who bowed before his influence, looked naturallyfor a great many years of a life of such wide-spread usefulness. Overhim had come a new magic of autumnal youth and strength that touched theinspirations of his mind and increased the optimism of his heart. No onecould have suspected that the golden bowl was so soon to be broken; thatthe pitcher, still so full of the refreshing draughts of wisdom, wasabout to be crushed at the fountain. But so it was to be. 

Invigorated by his delightful foreign trip, Dr. Talmage now resumed hislabours with happy heart and effervescing zeal. He used to say: "I don'tcare how old a man gets to be, he never ought to be over eighteen yearsof age. " And he seemed now to be a living realisation of his words. Hehad given up his regular pastorate at the First Presbyterian Church inWashington, that he might devote himself to broader responsibilities, which seemed to have fallen upon him because of his world-widereputation. I cannot forbear quoting here--as it reveals so much thecharacter of the man--a portion of his farewell letter, the mode he tookof giving his parting salutation:

 "The world is full of farewells, and one of the hardest words to utter is goodby. What glorious Sabbaths we have had together! What holy communions! What thronged assemblages! Forever and forever we will remember them. .. . And now in parting I thank you for your kindness to me and mine. I have been permitted, Sabbath by Sabbath, to confront, with the tremendous truths of the Gospel, as genial and lovely, and cultivated and noble people as I ever knew, and it is a sadness to part with them. .. . May the richest blessing of God abide with you! May your sons and daughters be the sons and daughters of the Lord Almighty! And may we all meet in the heavenly realms to recount the divine mercies which have accompanied us all the way, and to celebrate, world without end, the grace that enabled us to conquer! And now I give you a tender, a hearty, a loving, a Christian goodby. 

 "T. DEWITT TALMAGE. "

Apart from his active literary and editorial work, he was now to devotehimself to sermons and lectures which should have for audience the wholecountry. As a consequence, on re-entering his study after his longabsence, he found accumulated on his desk an immense number ofinvitations to preach, applications from all parts of the land. Hesmiled, and expressed more than once his conviction that God'sProvidence had marked out his way for him, and here was direct proof ofHis divine call and His fatherly love. 

At a monster meeting in New York this year Dr. Talmage revived nationalinterest in his presence and his Gospel. Ten thousand people crowded tothe Academy of Music to hear his words of encouragement and hope. It wasthe twentieth anniversary of the Bowery Mission, of which Dr. Talmagewas one of the founders. "This century, " he said in part, "is to witnessa great revival of religion. Cities are to be redeemed. Officialauthority can do much, but nothing can take the place of the Gospel ofGod. .. . No man goes deliberately into sin; he gets aboard the greataccommodation train of Temptation, assured that it will stop at thedepot of Prudence, or anywhere else he desires, to let him off. Theconductor cries: 'All aboard' and off he goes. The train goes faster andfaster, and presently he wants to get off. 'Stop'! he calls to theconductor; but that official cries back: 'This is the fast express anddoes not stop until it reaches the Grand Central Station ofSmashupton. '" The sinner can be raised up, he insists. "The Bible saysGod will forgive 490 times. At your first cry He will bend down from histhrone to the depths of your degradation. Put your face to the sunrise. "

Faith in God was his armour; his shield was hope; his amulet wascharity. He harnessed the events of the world to his chariot ofinspiration, and sped on his way as in earlier years. He had become aforemost preacher of the Gospel because he preached under the spell ofevangelical impulse, under the control of that remarkable faith whichcomes with the transformation of all converted men or women. Thestillness of the vast crowds that stood about the church doors when headdressed them briefly in the open air after services was a tribute tothe spell he cast over them by the miracle of that converting grace. Hewas quite unconscious of the attention he attracted outside the pulpit, on the street, in the trains. His celebrity was not the consequence ofhis endeavours to obtain it, nor was it won, as some declared, bystudied dramatic effects; it was the result of his moments ofinspiration, combined with continual and almost superhuman mentallabour--labour that was a fountain of perennial delight to him, but nonethe less labour. 

If "Genius is infinite patience, " as a French writer said, Dr. Talmagepossessed it in an eminent degree. Every sermon he ever wrote was anoutput of his full energies, his whole heart and mind; and whiledictating his sermons in his study, he preached them before an imaginaryaudience, so earnest was his desire to reach the hearts of his hearersand produce upon them a lasting influence. His sermons were born not ofthe crowd, but for the crowd, in deep religious fervour and conviction. His lectures, incisive and far-reaching as they were in theirconceptions and in their moral and social effects, were not soimpressive as his sermons, with their undertone of divine inspiration. 

In accord with an invitation sent to us in Paris, from the Governor ofPennsylvania, we went to Harrisburg as the guests at the ExecutiveMansion, where a dinner and reception were given Dr. Talmage in honourof his return from abroad. During this dinner, the Rev. Dr. John WesleyHill, then pastor of the church in Harrisburg in which Dr. Talmagepreached, told us of a rare autograph letter of Lincoln, which he owned. It was his wish that Dr. Talmage should have it in his house, where hethought more people would see it. The next day, Dr. Hill sent thisletter to us:--

 "GENTLEMEN, --In response to your address, allow me to attest the accuracy of its historical statements; indorse the sentiments it expresses; and thank you, in the nation's name, for the sure promise it gives. 

 "Nobly sustained as the government has been by all the churches, I would utter nothing which might, in the least, appear invidious against any. Yet, without this, it may fairly be said that the Methodist Episcopal Church, not less devoted than the best, is, by its greater numbers, the most important of all. It, is no fault in others that the Methodist Church sends more soldiers to the field, more nurses to the hospitals, and more prayers to Heaven than any. God bless the Methodist Church--bless all the churches--and blessed be God, Who, in this our great trial, giveth us the churches. 

 "A. LINCOLN. 

 "May 18th, 1864. "

[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S LETTER. ]

A great welcome was given Dr. Talmage in Brooklyn, in November, 1900, when he preached in the Central Presbyterian Church there. It was theDoctor's second appearance in a Brooklyn church after the burning of theTabernacle in 1894. 

It was urged in the newspapers that he might return to his old home. Theinvitation was tempting, judging by the thousands who crowded thatSunday to hear him. In my scrapbook I read of this occasion:

"Women fainted, children were half-crushed, gowns were torn and strongmen grew red in the face as they buffeted the crowds that had gatheredto greet the Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage at the Central Presbyterian Churchin Brooklyn. "

In the autumn of 1900, an anniversary of East Hampton, N. Y. , was held, and the Doctor entered energetically and happily into the celebration, preaching in the little village church which had echoed to his voice inthe early days of his ministry. It was a far call backward over nearlyfive decades of his teeming life. And he, whose magic style, whether ofword or pen, had enchanted millions over the broad world--how well heremembered the fears and misgivings that had accompanied those firstefforts, with the warning of his late professors ringing in his ears:"You must change your style, otherwise no pulpit will ever be open toyou. "

Now he could look back over more than a quarter of a century duringwhich his sermons had been published weekly; through syndicates they hadbeen given to the world in 3, 600 different papers, and reached, it wasestimated, 30, 000, 000 people in the United States and other countries. They were translated into most European and even into Asiatic languages. His collected discourses were already printed in twenty volumes, whilematerial remained for almost as many more. His style, too, in spite ofhis "original eccentricities, " had attracted hundreds of thousands ofreaders to his books on miscellaneous subjects--all written with a moralpurpose. Among a score of them I might mention: From Manger to Throne;The Pathway of Life; Crumbs Swept Up; Every-day Religion; The MarriageRing; Woman: her Powers and Privileges. 

Dr. Talmage edited several papers beginning with _The Christian atWork_; afterwards he took charge, successively, of the _Advance, FrankLeslie's Sunday Magazine_, and finally _The Christian Herald_, of whichhe continued to be chief editor till the end of his life. He spoke andwrote earnestly of the civilising and educational power of the press, and felt that in availing himself of it and thereby furnishing lessonsof righteousness and good cheer to millions, he was multiplying beyondmeasure his short span of life and putting years into hours. He said:"My lecture tours seem but hand-shaking with the vast throngs whom Ihave been enabled to preach to through the press. "

His editorials were often wrought out in the highest style of literaryart. I am pleased to give the following estimate from an author who knewhim well: "As an editorial writer, Dr. Talmage was versatile andprolific, and his weekly contributions on an immense variety of topicswould fill many volumes. His writing was as entertaining and pungent ashis preaching, and full of brilliant eccentricities--'Talmagisms, ' asthey were called. He coined new words and invented new phrases. If thetopic was to his liking, the pen raced to keep time with the thought. .. . Still, with all this haste, nothing could exceed the scrupulous care hetook with his finished manuscript. He once wired from Cincinnati to hispublisher in New York instructions to change a comma in his currentsermon to a semicolon. He had detected the error while reading proof onthe train. "

Dr. Talmage's personal mail was thought to be the largest of any man inthe country, outside of some of the public officers. Thousands, men andwomen, appealed to him for advice in spiritual things, revealing to himintimate family affairs, laying their hearts bare before him as before atrusted physician of the soul. I have seen him moved to the depths ofhis nature by some of these white missives bearing news of conversion tofaith in Christ wrought by his sermons; of families rent asunder unitedthrough his words of love and broadmindedness; of mothers whose brokenhearts he had healed by leading back the prodigal son; of prisonerswhose hope in life and trust in a loving Father had been awakened by acasual reading of some of his comforting paragraphs. 

The life of Dr. Talmage was by no means the luxurious one of the man ofwealth and ease it was sometimes represented to be. He could not endurethat men should have this aspect of him. He was a plain man in histastes and his habits; the impression that he was ambitious for wealth, I know, was a false one. I do not believe he ever knew the value ofmoney. The possession of it gave him little gratification except for itsuse in helping to carry on the great work he had in hand; and, indeed, he never knew how little or how much he had. He never would own horseslest he should give people reason to accuse him of being arrogantlyrich. We drove a great deal, but he always insisted on hiring hiscarriages. If he accepted remuneration for his brain and heart labour, Scripture tells us, "The labourer is worthy of his hire. " He wasforemost in helping in any time of public calamity, not only in our owncountry but more than once in foreign lands. And when volumes of hissermons were pirated over the country, and he was urged to take legalsteps to stop the injustice, he said: "Let them alone; the sermons willgo farther and do more good. "

Dr. Talmage's opinions were sought eagerly, and upon all subjects ofsocial, political, or international interest. He was a student of men, and kept ever in close touch with the progress of events. A voluminousand rapid reader, he was quick to grasp the aim and significance of whathe read and apply it to his purpose. His library in Washingtoncontained a large and valuable collection of classics, ancient andmodern; and his East Hampton library was almost a duplicate of this. Henever travelled very far without a trunkful of books. I remember, in thefirst year of our marriage, his interest in some books I had broughtfrom my home that were new to him. Many of them he had not had time toread, so, in the evenings, I used to read them aloud to him. Tolstoi'sworks were his first choice; together we read a life of the greatRussian, which the Doctor enjoyed immensely. 

The Bible was ever held by Dr. Talmage in extreme reverence, which grewwith his continual study and meditation of the sacred pages. Herepudiated the "higher criticism" with a vehemence that caused him to besharply assailed by modern critics--pronounced infidels or of infidelproclivities--who called him a "bibliolater. " He asserted and reassertedhis belief in its divine inspiration: "The Bible is right in itsauthenticity, right in its style, right in its doctrine, and right inits effects. There is less evidence that Shakespeare wrote 'Hamlet, 'that Milton wrote 'Paradise Lost, ' or that Tennyson wrote 'The Charge ofthe Light Brigade, ' than that the Bible is God's Word, written underinspiration by evangelists and prophets. It has stood the bombardment ofages, but with the result of more and more proof of its being a bookdivinely written and protected. " "Science and Revelation are the bassand soprano of the same tune, " he said. He defied the attempts of theloud-mouthed orators to destroy belief in the Bible. "I compare such menas Ingersoll, in their attacks on the Bible, to a grasshopper upon arailway-line with the express coming thundering along. "

His living portraits of Jesus, the Saviour of men, his studies of thatdivine life, of the words, the actions of the Son of God, especially ofHis sufferings and death, merging into the glory of His resurrection andascension, are all well known to those who were of his wide audience. The sweetness, gentleness, and sympathy of the Saviour were favouritethemes with him. In a sermon on tears, he says: "Jesus had enough trialsto make him sympathetic with all sorrowful souls. The shortest verse inthe Bible tells the story: 'Jesus wept. ' The scar on the back of eitherhand, the scar in the arch of either foot, the row of scars along theline of the hair, _will keep all Heaven thinking_. Oh, that Great Weeperis the One to silence all earthly trouble, to wipe all the stains ofearthly grief. Gentle! Why, His step is softer than the step of the dew. It will not be a tyrant bidding you hush your crying. It will be aFather who will take you on His left arm, His face beaming into yours, while with the soft tips of the fingers of the right hand He shall wipeaway all tears from your eyes. " And here is a word of appeal to thosegone astray: "The great heart of Christ _aches_ to have you come in; andJesus this moment looks into your eyes and says: 'Other sheep I havethat are not of this fold. '"

Dr. Talmage was at times acutely sensitive to the thrusts of sharpcriticism dealt to him through envy or misunderstanding of his motives. A great writer has said somewhere: "Accusations make wounds and leavescars"; but even the scars were soon worn off his outraged feelings bythe remembrance of his divine Master's gentleness and forgiveness. Howoften have I seen the mandate, "Love your enemies; do good to them thathate you, " verified in Dr. Talmage. He could not bear detraction oruncharitableness. His heart was so broad and loving that he seemed tohave room in it for the whole world; and his greeting of strangers on anAustralian platform, amid the heathers of Scotland, or in the GoldenGate of California, was so free and cordial that each one might havethought himself a dear friend of the Doctor, and he would have beenright in thinking so. Again, his sense of humour was so great that hecould laugh and "poke fun" at his critics with such ease and good humourthat their arrows passed harmlessly over his head. "Men have a right totheir opinions, " he would genially say. "There are twenty tall pippintrees in the orchard to one crab apple tree. There are a million cloverblooms to one thistle in the meadow. "

His will power was extraordinary; it was endowed with a persistence thatovercame every obstacle of his life; there was an air of supremeconfidence, of overwhelming vitality, about his every act. Nothingseemed to me more wonderful in him than this; and it entered into allhis actions, from those that were important and far-reaching in theirconsequences to the workings of his daily life in the home. Though hisway through these last milestones, during which I travelled with him, was chiefly through the triumphal archways he had raised for himselfupon the foundations of his work, there were indications that theircornerstone was the will power of his nature. 

Many incidents of the years before I knew him justify this opinion. Onein particular illustrates the extraordinary perseverance of Dr. Talmage's character. When his son DeWitt was a boy, in a sudden mood ofadventure one day, he enlisted in the United States Navy. Shortlyafterwards he regretted having done so. Some one went to his father andtold him that the boy was on board a warship at Hampton Roads, homesickand miserable. Dr. Talmage went directly to Washington, straight intothe office of Mr. Thompson, the Secretary of the Navy. "I am Dr. Talmage, " he said promptly; "my son has enlisted in the Navy and is on aship near Norfolk. I want to go to him and bring him home. He ishomesick. Will you write me an order for his release?" The Secretaryreplied that it had become an impression among rich men's sons that theycould take an oath of service to the U. S. Government, and break it assoon as their fathers were ready, through the influence of wealth, tosecure their release. He was opposed to such an idea, he said; and, therefore, though he was very sorry, he could not grant Dr. Talmage'srequest. The Doctor immediately took a chair in the office, and saidfirmly: "I shall not leave this office, Mr. Secretary, until you writeout an order releasing my son. "

The hour for luncheon came. The Secretary invited the Doctor to lunchwith him. "I shall not leave this office, Mr. Secretary, until I getthat order, " was the Doctor's reply. The Secretary of the Navy left theoffice; after an absence of an hour and a half, he returned and foundDr. Talmage still sitting in the same place. The afternoon passed. Dinner time came round. "Dr. Talmage, will you not honour me by comingup to my house to dine, and staying with us over night?" asked theSecretary. "I shall not leave this office until you write out that orderreleasing my son, Mr. Secretary, " was the calm, persistent reply. TheSecretary departed. The building was empty, save for a watchman, to whomthe Secretary said in passing, "There is a gentleman in my room. When hewishes to leave let him out of the building. "

About nine o'clock at night the Secretary became anxious. Telephoneswere not common then, so he went down to the office to investigate; andsitting there in the place where he had been all day was Dr. Talmage. The order was written that night. This incident was told me by a friendof the Doctor's. There can be no doubt that Dr. Talmage was justified inthis demand of paternal love and sympathy, since numbers of suchconcessions had been made by the Secretary and his predecessors. Hisdaring and his pertinacity were overwhelming forces of his genius. 

In the winter months of this year I enjoyed another lecturing tour withhim through Canada and the West. The lecture bureau that arranged histours must have counted on his herculean strength, for frequently he hadto travel twenty-four hours at a stretch to keep his engagements. Occasionally he was paid in cash at the end of the lecture an amountfixed by the lecture bureau. I have seen him with perhaps $2, 000 inbills and gold stuffed away carelessly in his pocket, as if money weremerely some curious specimen of no special value. Sometimes he wouldreceive his fee in a cheque, and, as happened once in a small Westerntown, he would have very little money with him. I remember an occasionof this kind, because it was amusing. The cheque had been given theDoctor as usual at the end of his lecture. It was about eleven at night, and we were compelled to take a midnight train out to reach his nextplace of engagement. At the hotel where we stayed they did not havemoney enough to cash the cheque. We walked up the street to the otherhotel, but found there an equal lack of the circulating medium. It was abitter cold night. 

"Here we are out in the world without a roof over our heads, Eleanor, "said the Doctor, merrily. "What a cold world it is to the unfortunate. "Finally Dr. Talmage went to the ticket office of the railroad andexplained the situation to the young man in charge. "I can't give youtickets, but I will buy them for you, and you can send me the money, "the clerk said promptly. As we had an all-day ride before us and adrawing room to secure, the amount was not inconsiderable. I think itwas on this trip that William Jennings Bryan got on the train andenlivened the journey for us. The stories he and the Doctor hammered outof the long hours of travel were entertaining. We exchanged invitationsto the dining car so as not to stop the flow of conversation between Mr. Bryan and the Doctor. We would invite him to lunch, and Mr. Bryan wouldask us to dinner, or _vice versâ_, so that the social amenities weredelightfully extended to keep us in mutual enjoyment of the trip. Dr. Talmage and myself agreed that Mr. Bryan's success on the platform wasmuch enhanced by his wonderful voice. The Doctor said he had never heardso exquisite a speaking voice in a man as Mr. Bryan's. He always spokein eloquent support of the masses, denouncing the trusts with vehemence. 

Travelling was always a kind of luxury to me, when we were not obligedto stop over at some wretched hotel. The Pullman cars were palatial incomfort compared to the hotels we had to enter. But Dr. Talmage wasalways satisfied; no hotel, however poor, could alter the cheerfulnessof his temperament. 

In January, 1901, Queen Victoria died, and Dr. Talmage's eulogy went farand wide. I quote again from my scrap-book a part of his comment on thisworld event:

"While Queen Victoria has been the friend of all art, all literature, all science, all invention, all reform, her reign will be mostremembered for all time, all eternity, as the reign of Christianity. Beginning with that scene at 5 o'clock in the morning in KensingtonPalace, where she asked the Archbishop of Canterbury to pray for her, and they knelt down imploring Divine guidance until her last hour, notonly in the sublime liturgy of her established Church, but on alloccasions, she has directly or indirectly declared: 'I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth, and in Jesus Christ, Hisonly begotten Son. '

"The Queen's book, so much criticised at the time of its appearance, some saying that it was skilfully done, and some saying that the privateaffairs of a household ought not to have been exposed, was neverthelessa book of rare usefulness, from the fact that it showed that God wasacknowledged in all her life, and that 'Rock of Ages' was not an unusualsong at Windsor Castle. 

"I believe that no throne since the throne of David and the throne ofHezekiah and the throne of Esther, has been in such constant touch withthe throne of heaven as the throne of Victoria. Sixty-three years ofwomanhood enthroned!"

In March of 1901 Dr. Talmage inaugurated a series of Twentieth CenturyRevival Meetings in the Academy of Music, in New York. It was a greatGospel campaign in which thousands were powerfully impressed for life. The Doctor seemed to have made a new start in a defined evangelical planof saving the world. Indeed, _to save_ was his great watchword, to savesinners, but most of all to save men from becoming sinners. One of hisfamous themes--and thousands remember his burning words--was "The ThreeGreatest Things to Do--Save a Man, Save a Woman, Save a Child. " Therewas a certain anxiety in my mind about Dr. Talmage in this sixty-eighthyear of his life, and I used to tell him that he had reached the top ofall religious obligations as he himself felt them, that there wasnothing greater for him to do, and that he might now move with softermeasure to the inspired impulses of his life. But he never delayed, henever tarried, he never waited. He marched eagerly ahead, as if themilestones of his life stretched many years beyond. 

Our social life in Washington was subservient to Dr. Talmage's reign ofpreaching. We never accepted invitations without the privilege ofqualifying our acceptance, making them subject to the Doctor's religiousduties. The privilege was gracefully acknowledged by all our friends. Wewere away from Washington, too, a great deal. In the spring of thisyear, 1901, the Doctor made a lecturing tour through the South, that wasfull of oratorical triumphs for him, but no less marked by delightfulsocial incidents. There was a series of dinners and receptions in hishonour that I shall never forget, in those beautiful homes ofMississippi, Alabama, and Tennessee. Because of his Gospel pilgrimage ofmany years in these places, Dr. Talmage had grown to be a household godamong them. 

When winter had shed his garland of snow over nature, or when we wereknee deep in summer's verdure and flowers, East Hampton was the Doctor'sheadquarters. From there we made our summer trips. It was after a shortseason at East Hampton in the summer of 1901, that the Doctor went toOcean Grove, where he delivered a Fourth of July oration, the enormousauditorium being crowded to its utmost capacity. A few days later wewent to Buffalo, where, in a large tent standing in the Expositionground, Dr. Talmage lectured, his powerful voice triumphing over thefireworks that, from a place near by, went booming up through theheavens. After a series of Chautauqua lectures through Michigan andWisconsin, the Doctor finished his course at Lake Port, Maryland, nearpicturesque Deer Park. These are merely casual recollections, too briefto serve otherwise than as evidence of Dr. Talmage's tremendous industryand energy. 

In September, 1901, came the assassination of President McKinley. Dr. Talmage had an engagement to preach at Ocean Grove the day following thedisaster. On our arrival at the West End Hotel, Long Branch, the Doctorwent in to register while we remained in the carriage at the door. Suddenly he came out, and I could see that he was very much agitated. Hehad just received the news of the tragedy. 

"I cannot preach to-morrow, " he said. "This is too horrible. McKinleyhas been shot. What shall I do?" And he stood there utterly stunned;unable to think. "Well, we will stop at the hotel to-night, at anyrate, " I said, "let us go in. "

Later the Doctor tried to explain to those in charge at Ocean Grove thathe could not preach, but they prevailed upon him to deliver the sermonhe had with him, which he did, prefacing it with appropriate remarksabout the national disaster of the hour. 

The following telegram was immediately sent to the Chief of the Nation, cut off so ruthlessly in his career of honour and usefulness:--

 "Long Branch, September 6th. 

 "President McKinley, Buffalo, N. Y. 

 "The Nation is in prayer for your recovery. You will be nearer and dearer to the people than ever before after you have passed this crisis. Mrs. Talmage joins me in sympathy. 

 "T. DEWITT TALMAGE. "

After the death of the President the Doctor preached his sermon "OurDead President" for the first time in the little church at East Hampton, where it had been written in his study. In October the Doctor was calledupon to preach at the obsequies of the Rev. Dr. Sunderland, for manyyears pastor of the First Presbyterian Church in Washington. What a longseason of obsequies Dr. Talmage solemnised! And yet, with what supremeoptimism he defied the unseen arrow in his own life that came to piercehim with such suddenness in April, 1902. 

The Doctor had been a good traveller, and he was fond of travelling;but, toward the end of his life, there were moments when he felt itsfatiguing influences. He never complained or appeared apprehensive, butI remember the first time he showed any weariness of spirit. I almostrecall his words: "I have written so much about everything, that now itbecomes difficult for me to write. I am tired. " It frightened me to hearhim say this, he was so wonderful in endurance and strength; and I couldnot shake off the effect that this first sign of his declining yearsmade upon me. He was then sixty-nine years old, and the last of thetwelve children, save his sister. 

The last sermon he ever wrote was preached in February, 1902. The textof this was from Psalms xxxiii. 2: "Sing unto Him with the Psaltery, andan instrument of ten strings. " This was David's harp of gratitude andpraise. After some introductory paragraphs on the harp, its age, thevarieties of this "most consecrated of all instruments, " its"tenderness, " its place in "the richest symbolism of the HolyScriptures, " he writes: "David's harp had ten strings, and, when hisgreat soul was afire with the theme, his sympathetic voice, accompaniedby exquisite vibrations of the chords, must have been overpowering. .. . The simple fact is that the most of us, if we praise the Lord at all, play upon one string or two strings, or three strings, when we ought totake a harp fully chorded, and with glad fingers sweep all the strings. Instead of being grateful for here and there a blessing we happen tothink of, we ought to rehearse all our blessings, and obey theinjunction of my text to sing unto Him with an instrument of tenstrings. " "Have you ever thanked God for delightsome food?" he asks; andfor sight for "the eye, the window of our immortal nature, the gatethrough which all colours march, the picture gallery of the soul?" Heenumerates other blessings--hearing, sleep, the gift of reason, thebeauties of nature, friends. "I now come, " he continues, "to the tenthand last. I mention it last that it may be more memorable--heavenlyanticipation. By the grace of God we are going to move into a place somuch better than this, that on arriving we will wonder that we were forso many years so loath to make the transfer. After we have seen Christface to face, and rejoiced over our departed kindred, there are somemighty spirits we will want to meet soon after we pass through thegates. " As his graphic pen depicts the scene--the meeting with David andthe great ones of Scripture, "the heroes and heroines who gave theirlives for the truth, the Gospel proclaimers, the great Christian poets, all the departed Christian men and women of whatever age or nation"--heseems to have already a foretaste of the wonderful vision so soon toopen to his eyes. "Now, " he concludes, "take down your harp of tenstrings and sweep all the chords. Let us make less complaint and offermore thanks; render less dirge and more cantata. Take paper and pen andwrite in long columns your blessings. .. . Set your misfortunes to music, as David opened his dark sayings on a harp. .. . Blessing, and honour andglory and power be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne and unto theLamb for ever. Amen!"

I recall that when Dr. Talmage first read this sermon to me in hisstudy, he said: "That is the best I can do; I shall never write a bettersermon. " I have been told that when a man says he has reached thetopmost effort of his abilities, it presages his end, and the march ofevents seemed to verify the axiom. 

Dr. Talmage's last journey came about through the invitation of theMexican minister in Washington. The latter met Dr. Talmage at dinner, and on hearing that he had never preached in Mexico he urged him to gothere. When the Doctor's plans had all been made, some friends tried todissuade him from going, secretly fearing, perhaps, the tax it would beon his strength. Yet there was no evidence at this time to support theirfears, and the Doctor himself would have been the last to listen to anywarning. He was very busy during the few days that preceded ourdeparture from Washington in attending the meetings of the Committee ofdistinguished clergymen who were in session to revise the creed of thePresbyterian Church. 

The day before we left for Mexico, the Doctor told me he desired toentertain these gentlemen, as had been his custom during all importantgatherings of representative churchmen who visited Washington. He was ingreat spirits. His ideas of a social affair were definite and generous, as we discovered that day, much to our amusement. 

"Eleanor, " he said, "I feel as though I would like to have thesegentlemen to luncheon at my house to-morrow. Can you arrange it? I couldnot possibly leave Washington without showing them some specialcourtesy. Now, I want a real meal, something to sit down to. None ofyour floating oysters, or little daubs of meat in pastry, but real food, whole turkeys, four or five of them--a substantial meal. " The Doctor'srespect for chicken patties, creamed oysters, and the usual buffetreception luncheon, was clearly not very great. 

The luncheon was given at 1. 30 on the day appointed; the distinguishedguests all came, two by two, into our house. A few weeks later, theycame again in a body, two by two, into the house of mourning. 

Besides the visiting clergy, Dr. Talmage had also invited for thisluncheon other representative men of Washington. It was the last socialgathering which the Doctor ever attended in his own home, and perhapsfor that reason becomes a significant event in my memory. After the resthad departed, Dr. Henry Van Dyke remained for an hour or two to talkwith my husband in his study. Dr. Talmage so often referred to the greatpleasure this long interview had given him, that I am sure it was one ofthe supreme enjoyments of his last spiritual milestone. 

The night before we left Washington an incident occurred that directlyconcerns these pages. We had gone down into the basement of the house tolook for some papers the Doctor kept there in the safe, and in takingthem out he picked up the manuscript of his autobiography. As we wentupstairs I said to the Doctor, "What a pity that you have not completedit entirely. "

The Doctor replied, "All the obscure part of my life is written here, and a great part of the rest of it. When I return from Mexico I willfinish it. If anything should happen, however, it can be completed fromscrapbooks and other data. "

We went into his study and the Doctor had just begun to read it to mewhen we were interrupted by a call from Senator Hanna. Dr. Talmageparticularly admired Senator Hanna, and, as they were great friends, theautobiography was forgotten for the rest of the evening. Knowing thatthe Doctor was about to leave Washington the Senator had come to wishhim goodby, and to urge him to visit his brother at Thomasville, Georgia, where we were to stop on our way to Mexico. I remember SenatorHanna said to the Doctor, "You will find the place very pretty; we own agood deal of property there, so much so that it could easily be calledHannaville. " The next morning we started for the City of Mexico, goingdirect to Charleston, where the Doctor preached. He was entertained agood deal there, and we witnessed the opening of the CharlestonExposition. 

From Charleston we went to Thomasville, Georgia, where we spent a week, during which time the Doctor preached and lectured twice at nearbyplaces. It was here that we met the first accident of our journey. Justas we were steaming into Thomasville we ran into a train ahead, andthere was some loss of life and great damage. Fortunately we were in thelast Pullman car of the train. I have always believed that the shock ofthis accident was the beginning of the end for Dr. Talmage. He showed nofear, and he gave every assistance possible to others; but, in thetension of the moment, in his own self-restraint for the sake ofothers, I think that he overtaxed his strength more than he realised. Inever wanted to see a train again, and begged the Doctor to let usremain in Thomasville the rest of our lives. The next morning, however, Dr. Talmage started out on a preaching engagement in the neighbourhoodby train, but we remained behind. Our stay in Thomasville was made veryenjoyable by the relatives of Senator Hanna, whose beautiful estateswere a series of landscape pictures I shall always remember. Althoughthe Doctor was obliged to be away on lecturing engagements three timesduring the week he enjoyed the drives about Thomasville with us while hewas there. Our destination after leaving Thomasville was New Orleans, where Dr. Talmage was received as if he had been a national character. He was welcomed by a distinguished deputation with the utmostcordiality. _The Christian Herald_ said of this occasion: "When he wenton the following Sunday to the First Presbyterian Church he found agreat multitude assembled, the large building densely packed within anda much vaster gathering out of doors unable to obtain admittance. Thousands went away disappointed. He spoke with even more than usualforce and conviction. " Never were we more royally entertained or fêtedthan we were here. From New Orleans we went to San Antonio, where westopped off for two or three days' sight-seeing. The Doctor was urged topreach and lecture while he was there; but he excused himself on theground of a previous engagement, promising, however, to lecture in SanAntonio on his return trip to Washington. 

On our way from San Antonio to the City of Mexico our train ran into oneof the sand-storms, for which the Mexican country is famous at certaintimes of the year; and we were at a standstill on a side track at asmall station for twenty-four hours. The food was execrable, the windand sand were choking, and the whole experience trying in the extreme. We were warned against thieves of the neighbourhood, and, during thenight we were locked in the cars to ensure the safety of our belongings. In spite of these precautions a shawl which the Doctor valued, becauseit had been presented to him by the citizens of Melbourne, Australia, was stolen during the night through an open window. They were notbashful those thieves of the sandstorm. From a private car attached tothe rear of our train they stole a refrigerator bodily off the platform. 

The Doctor had long been suffering from his throat, and all theseannoyances had the effect of increasing the painful symptoms to such adegree that when we finally got into the city of Mexico on Saturday, March 1st, it was necessary to call a physician. Dr. Talmage had broughtwith him a number of letters of introduction from Washington to peoplein the City of Mexico, but the Mexican minister had written ahead of us, and on the day we arrived people left their cards and extendedinvitations that promised to keep us socially busy every day of ourweek's visit. 

The Doctor was ailing a little, I thought, but not seriously. He had aslight cold. Although he had planned to preach only in the PresbyterianChurch a week from our arrival, the people of the other Protestantdenominations urged him with such importunity that he agreed to preachfor them on the first Sunday, the day after our arrival. This was anunexpected strain on Dr. Talmage after a very trying journey; but henever could refuse to preach, no matter how great his fatigue. On thefollowing Tuesday a luncheon was given Dr. Talmage by General PorfirioDiaz, the President of the Mexican Republic, at his palace inChapultepec. The Doctor enjoyed a long audience with the aged statesman, during which the mutual interests and prospects of the two countrieswere freely discussed, President Diaz manifesting himself, as always, afriend and admirer of our government and people. During the afternoon acold wind had come up, and the drive home increased the Doctor'sindisposition, so that he was obliged to confine himself to his room. Still he was up and about, and we felt no alarm whatever. On Thursdaynight, he complained of a pain at the base of his brain, and at aboutfour in the morning I was awakened by him:--

"Eleanor, " he said, "I seem to be very ill; I believe I am dying. " Theshock was very great, it was such a rare thing for him to be ill. Wesent for the best American physician in the city of Mexico, Dr. Shields, who diagnosed the Doctor's case as _grippe_. He at once allayed myfears, assuring me that it would not be serious. 

Dr. Talmage had promised to lecture on Friday, March 7th, and we hadsome trouble to prevent him from keeping this engagement. Dr. Shieldsinsisted that Dr. Talmage should not leave his room, declaring that theexertion would be too much for him. Not until Dr. Shields had assuredDr. Talmage that the people could be notified by special handbills andthe newspapers would he consent to break the engagement. 

On Friday night Dr. Talmage grew worse; and finally he asked to be takenhome, personally making arrangements with Dr. Shields to travel with usas far as the Mexican border, as my knowledge of Spanish was verylimited. Eventually it became necessary for Dr. Shields to go all theway with us. In the great sorrow that the people of Mexico felt over thesudden illness of Dr. Talmage, their regret at his cancelled engagementswas swallowed up, and there was one great wave of sympathy which touchedus not a little. 

The journey to Washington was a painful one. Dr. Talmage kept growingworse. All day long he lay on the couch before me in our drawing-room onthe train, saying nothing--under the constant care of the physician. Telegrams and letters followed the patient all the way from Mexico tothe Capital city. At every station silent, awe-stricken crowds weregathered to question of the state of the beloved sufferer. In NewOrleans we had to stay over a day, so as to secure accommodation on thetrain to Washington. While there many messages of condolence were leftat the hotel, a party of ladies calling especially to thank me for the"great care I was taking of their Dr. Talmage. "

On our route to the national city, I remember the Doctor drew me downbeside him to speak to me. He was then extremely weak and his voice wasvery low: "Eleanor, I believe this is death, " he said. 

The long journey, in which years seemed compressed into days, at lastcame to a close. The train pulled up in Washington, and our ownphysician, Dr. Magruder, met us at the station. Dr. Talmage was borneinto his home in a chair, and upstairs into his bedroom, where alreadythe angel of death had entered to welcome and guard him, though, alas!we knew it not, and still hoped against hope. Occasional rallies tookplace; but evidences of cerebral inflammation appeared, and the patientsank into a state of unconsciousness, which was only a prelude to death. Bulletins were given to the public daily by the attending physicians;and if aught could have assuaged the anguish of such moments it wouldhave been the universal interest and sympathy shown from all parts ofthe world. 

Readers will pardon me if I reproduce from _The Christian Herald_ arecord of the last scene. It is hard "to take down the folded shadows ofour bereavement" and hold it even to the gaze of friends. 

"After a painful illness, lasting several weeks, America's best-belovedpreacher, the Reverend Thomas DeWitt Talmage, passed from earth to thelife above, on April 12th, 1902. Ever since his return from Mexico, where he was prostrated by a sudden attack which rapidly assumed theform of cerebral congestion, he had lain in the sick chamber of hisWashington home, surrounded by his family and cared for by the mostskilful physicians. Each day brought its alternate hopes and fears. Muchof the time was passed in unconsciousness; but there were intervalswhen, even amid his sufferings, he could speak to and recognise thosearound him. No murmur or complaint came from his lips; he bore hissuffering bravely, sustained by a Higher Power. The message had comewhich sooner or later comes to all, and the aged servant of God wasready to go; he had been ready all his life. 

"Occasional rallies took place, raising hopes which were quicklyabandoned. From April 5th to April 12th these rallies occurred atfrequent intervals, always followed by a condition of increaseddepression, more or less augmented fever and partial unconsciousness. OnSaturday, April 12th, a great change became apparent. For many hours thepatient had been unconscious. As the day wore on, it became evident thathe could not live through another night. All of Dr. Talmage'sfamily--his wife, his son, the Rev. Frank DeWitt Talmage, of Chicago;Mrs. Warren G. Smith and Mrs. Daniel Mangam, of Brooklyn; Mrs. Allen E. Donnan, of Richmond; and Mrs. Clarence Wycoff and Miss Talmage, weregathered in the chamber of death. Dr. G. L. Magruder, the principalphysician, was also in attendance at the last. At 9. 25 o'clock p. M. , thesoul took flight from the inanimate clay, and the spirit of the world'sgreatest preacher was released. "

The Rev. T. Chalmers Easton, an old and valued friend of Dr. Talmage, was in frequent attendance upon him, and never ceased his ministrationsuntil the eyes of the beloved one were closed in death. A brief excerptfrom his address at the Memorial Service of the Rev. T. DeWitt Talmageheld at the Eastern Presbyterian Church, Washington, may not beunacceptable to the reader:

"A truly great man or eloquent orator does not die--

 'And is he dead whose glorious mind Lifts thine on high? To live in hearts we leave behind Is not to die. '

"What shall we say of the prince in Israel who has left us? Can wecompress the ocean into a dewdrop? No more is it possible to condenseinto one brief hour what is due to the memory of our beloved andillustrious friend. His moral courage was only equalled by his giantframe and physical strength. He was made of the very stuff that martyrsare made of: one of the most remarkable individualities of our time. Aman of no negative qualities, aggressive and positive. 

"His whole soul was full of convictions of right and duty. A firmfriend, a man of ready recognition, a human magnet in his focalisingpower. He was true in every deed, and never needed a veil to bedrawn. .. . If, as his personal friend for more than twenty years, Ishould attempt to open up the treasures of his real greatness, whereshall we find more of those sterling virtues that poets have sung, artists portrayed, and historians commended? He was truly a great man--aman of God!

"The last years of his life were full of happiness in the livingcompanionship of her who so sadly mourns his departure. He frequentlyspoke to me of the great inspiration brought into these years by herceaseless devotion to all his plans and work, making what was burdensomein his accumulating literary duties a pleasure. .. . The last fond look ofrecognition was given to his beloved wife, and the last word that fellfrom his lips, when far down in the valley, was the sweetest music tohis ears--'Eleanor. '

"It was said once by an eminent writer that when Abraham Lincoln, theforest-born liberator, entered Heaven, he threw down at God's thronethree million yokes as the trophies of his great act of emancipation; asgreat as that was, I think it was small, indeed, compared with the tensof thousands of souls Talmage redeemed from the yokes of sin and shameby the glorious Gospel preached with such fervour and power of the HolyGhost. What a mighty army stood ready to greet him at the gates of theheavenly city as the warrior passed in to be crowned by his Sovereignand King!"

The funeral services were held at the Church of the Covenant, Washington, on April 15th. The ceremony began at 5 p. M. , with the "DeadMarch from Saul, " and lasted considerably over an hour. The coffinrested immediately in front of the pulpit, and over it was a massive bedof violets. On a silver plate was the inscription:

 THOMAS DEWITT TALMAGE, JANUARY 7TH, 1832-APRIL 12TH, 1902

The floral offerings were numerous, including a wreath of white rosesand lilies of the valley sent by President and Mrs. Roosevelt. Theofficiating clergymen were the Rev. Dr. T. S. Hamlin, pastor of theChurch; the Rev. Dr. T. Chalmers Easton, of Washington; and the Rev. Drs. S. J. Nicols, and James Demarest, of Brooklyn. A male quartettesang: "Lead, Kindly Light, " a favourite hymn of Dr. Talmage; "Beyond theSmiling and the Weeping"; and "It is well with my Soul. " The addressesof the Reverend Doctors were eulogistic of the dead preacher, of whomthey had been intimate friends for more than a quarter of a century. Thebody lay in state four hours, during which thousands passed in reviewaround it. 

At midnight the remains of Dr. Talmage were conveyed by private train toBrooklyn, where the burial took place in Greenwood Cemetery. The funeral_cortége_ arrived about ten o'clock in the morning; hundreds werealready in the cemetery, waiting to behold the last rites paid to onethey revered and loved. The Episcopal burial service was read by theRev. Dr. Howard Suydam, an old friend and classmate of Dr. Talmage, whomade a brief address, and concluded the simple ceremonies by the recitalof the Lord's Prayer. 

Tributes were paid to the illustrious dead all over the civilised world, and in many languages; while thousands of letters of condolence andtelegrams assured the family in those days of affliction that humanhearts were throbbing with ours and fain would comfort us. One wrotefeelingly:

"When Dr. Talmage described the Heavenly Jerusalem, he seemed to feelall the ecstatic fervour of a Bernard of Cluny, writing:

 'For thee, O dear, dear Country! Mine eyes their vigils keep; For very love beholding Thy holy name, they weep. '"

And it seems to me that I cannot better close this altogether unworthysketch of Dr. Talmage than by offering the reader as a partingremembrance, in its simple beauty, his "Celestial Dream":

"One night, lying on my lounge when very tired, my children all aroundme in full romp and hilarity and laughter, half awake and half asleep, Idreamed this dream: I was in a far country. It was not in Persia, although more than oriental luxuries crowned the cities. It was not thetropics, although more than tropical fruitfulness filled the gardens. Itwas not Italy, although more than Italian softness filled the air. And Iwandered around looking for thorns and nettles, but I found that none ofthem grew there; and I saw the sun rise and watched to see it set, butit set not. And I saw people in holiday attire, and I said, 'When willthey put off all this, and put on workman's garb, and again delve in themine or swelter at the forge?' But they never put off the holidayattire. 

"And I wandered in the suburbs of the city to find the place where thedead sleep, and I looked all along the line of the beautiful hills, theplace where the dead might most blissfully sleep, and I saw towers andcastles, but not a mausoleum or a monument or a white slab was to beseen. And I went into the chapel of the great town, and I said: 'Wheredo the poor worship, and where are the benches on which they sit?' Andthe answer was made me, 'We have no poor in this country. '

"And then I wandered out to find the hovels of the destitute, and Ifound mansions of amber and ivory and gold; but not a tear could I see, not a sigh could I hear; and I was bewildered, and I sat down under thebranches of a great tree, and I said, 'Where am I, and whence comes allthis scene?' And then out from among the leaves and up the flowery pathsand across the bright streams, there came a beautiful group throngingall about me, and as I saw them come I thought I knew their step, and asthey shouted I thought I knew their voices, but they were so gloriouslyarrayed in apparel such as I had never before witnessed, that I bowed asstranger to stranger. But when again they clapped their hands andshouted 'Welcome! Welcome!' the mystery all vanished, and I found thattime had gone and eternity had come, and we were all together again inour new home in Heaven. 

"And I looked around, and I said, 'Are we all here?' And the voices ofmany generations responded, 'All here!' And while tears of gladness wereraining down our cheeks, and the branches of the Lebanon cedars wereclapping their hands, and the towers of the great city were chimingtheir welcome, we all together began to leap and shout and sing, 'Home, home, home, home!'"

INDEX

Abbott, Emma, her bequest to the Brooklyn Tabernacle, 244; character, 244. Aberdeen, Lord and Lady, 299. Adams, Edwin, 71. Adams, John, his administration, 8. Adler, Dr. , 118. Agnus, General Felix, 223. Alba, 368. Albany, intemperance, 45; bribery, 46; lobbyists driven out, 132. Alice, Princess, her death, 90. Allen, Barbara, case of, 82. "America, " s. S. , length of voyage, 135. Ames, Coates, 74. Amoy, 19. Anarchists, execution of, 198. Anglo-American Commission, members of the, 325. Annapolis, 326. Arkell, W. J. , 224. Arthur, Chester A. , elected President, 115; relinquishes office, 143; at Lexington, 188, 278; his death, 188. Astor, Mrs. William, 55; her death, 200; will, 200. Atlantic, passage across, reduction, 99. Austen, Colonel, 221, 241. Avery, Miss Mary, her marriage, 25 _note_. 

Baden-baden, 388. Bakewell, 351. Ball club, a ministerial, 49. Banks, Rev. Dr. Louis Albert, 281. Barnes, Rev. Alfred, 48. Barnes, General Alfred C. , 241. Barnes, Alfred S. , 207. Bartholdi statue, 149, 150. Baskenridge, 4. Bayne, John, heroism of, 134. Beaconsfield, Lord, 104; amount given for his "Endymion, " 107, 109. Beck, Senator, 276. Bedloe's Island, 149. Beecher, Rev. Henry Ward, his views on theology, 119; celebration of his fortieth year of pastoral service, 186; character of his discourses, 187. Belfast, 391. Belgium, King Leopold of, in Paris, 388. Belleville, Reformed Church at, 18. Bellows, Rev. Dr. , 116. Benton, Thomas H. , 104. Berg, Rev. Dr. , 48. Bergh, Professor Henry, his defence of animals, 100; opposition to vivisection, 100; his death, 208. Berlin, 374. Bethune, George W. , 186. Betting, practice of, in America, 147. Bible, Higher Criticism, 253. Bill, Buffalo, 261. Bird, Mrs. , 244. Birds, the slaughter of, 184. Birmingham, 267. Birmingham, Alabama, cyclone at, 340. Blackburn, Governor, 275; his reception of Dr. Talmage, 276; speech, 278. Blackburn, Mrs. , 278. Blaine, James G. , candidate for the Presidency, 138; reports against, 138; his vigour and exhaustion, 139; reception at the White House, 144; cartoons of, 175. Boardman, Rev. Dr. , 48. Bobolinks, number of, killed, 184. Bobrinsky, Count, 263, 283. Boer War, 347. Bond, Mr. , 72. Bonnet & Co. , failure of, 76. Bonynge, Mrs. , 261. Boody, Hon. David A. , 241, 281. Boston, conflagration of 1872, 231; Union Church of 49. Bound Brook, 9. Bowery Mission, anniversary, 395. Bowles, Samuel, 131. Brainerd, Dr. , 38. Branch, F. H. , 269. Brewer, Justice, 337. Brewers' Association, demand, 162. Bribery, practice of, 165-167. Briggs, Dr. , 245. Brighton Beach, races at, 147. Broadhead, Rev. Dr. , 91. Brooklyn, corrupt condition, 64, 69, 75; custom of carrying firearms, 75; standard of commerce, 75; Bill for a new city charter, 78; number crossing the ferries, 78; Lafayette Avenue railroad scheme, 79, 88; police force, 82; management of public taxes, 82; spread of communism, 83; reign of terror, 87; bridge, 99; cost, 120; opened, 122; improvement in local administration, 99; number of pastors, 120; pool rooms opened, 147; railway strike, 167; establishment of a labour exchange, 167; new jail, 175; pulpit builders, 186; committee of investigation, 193; ovation on the return of Dr. Talmage, 241. Brooklyn, the central Church of, 49, 50, 53; alterations, 57. Brooklyn Tabernacle, the first, 55; dedication, 3, 61, 62, 249; enlarged, 62; rededication, 62; amount of collections, 62, 63; burnt down, 65, 229, 231, 284-286; size of the new, 67, 252; law-suit, 94; prosperity, 162; appeal for funds to rebuild, 232; trustees, 233; subscribers, 234; consecration of the ground, 234; cost, 242; position, 242; rent of pews, 243; corner-stone laid, 245; contents, 245; opened, 249; financial difficulties, 268; celebration festival of the 25th anniversary of Dr. Talmage's pastorate, 280-283; letter from the Trustees, 287. Brooks, Erastus, 131. Brooks, Phillips, 261, 272. Brower, Commissioner George V. , 241. Brown, Henry Eyre, 281. Brown, Dr. John, 60. Brown, Dr. , amount of his salary, 247. Brown, Senator, of Georgia, 110. Bryan, William Jennings, 406; his wonderful voice, 406. Bryant, William Cullen, his death, 85; incident of, 85; "Thanatopsis, " 86; his noble character, 86. Buchanan, James, President, his reply cablegram to Queen Victoria, 250. Buckley, Dr. , 120. Buffalo, 408. Bunker Hill, 156. Burnside, Senator, 115. Burr, Aaron, his infamy, 8. Burrows, Senator, 337. Bush, Dr. , his advice to students, 208. Bushnell, Giles F. , 234. Butler, Ben F. , nominated Governor of Massachusetts, 88; candidate for the Presidency, 121. Butter, Rev. T. G. , 62. Byrnes, Inspector, at the Press Club, 223. 

Cable service, a cheaper, 135. Cablegram, the first, 250. Campbell, Superintendent, 81. Canada, 326, 405. Canton, Ohio, 306. Carey, Senator, 256; at Cheyenne, 104. Carleton, Will, 317. Carlisle, Mr. , 128. Carlyle, Thomas, his house, 97; portrait, 98; library, 98; death-bed, 110; his opinion of Americans, 184. Carnegie, Andrew, his gift of a library to Washington, 335. Carpenter, Samuel, 223. Carroll, Mr. , 102. Carson, Rev. Dr. John F. , 281. Carson, Joseph E. , 234. Cartwright, Sir Richard, 325. Case, James S. , 224. Catlin, General, 157. "Central-America, " sinks, 134. Chambers, Rev. Dr. , 3. Chapin, Mayor, 241. Charleston, 414; earthquake at, 178. Chase, Salmon P. , his death, 188. Chatsworth, 353-355. Chattanooga, 339. Chelsea, 97. Cheyenne, 104; fashions in, 106. Chicago, 99; Calvary Church of, 49; spread of communism, 83; railway strike, 167; execution of anarchists, 198; conflagration of 1871, 231. Chili, war with Peru, 117. Chinese, legislative effort to exclude, 90; exclusion of, 173; dress, 173; immigration Bill, 304. Chloroform, first use of, 207, 356. Choate, Mr. , 360. Cholera, experiments on, 162. _Christian Herald_, extract from, on the illness and death of Dr. Talmage, 419. Christiania, 365. Chrysanthemum, rage for the, 158. Church fairs, pastoral letter against, 72:Cincinnati, 276; differences in clock time, 189. "City of Paris, " 235. "City of Rome, " 133. Civil War, 38; result, 42, 74. Clarion, Mdme, 72. Clay, Henry, 104; his death, 188. Clement, Judge, 241. Cleveland, Grover, candidate, 117; elected Governor of New York, 121; candidate for the Presidency, 138; elected, 140; his mother's Bible, 144; reception of Mr. Blaine, 144; cartoons, 175; marriage, 176; his exercise of the right of veto, 180; tour, 198; message to Congress, 200; his intercourse with Dr. Talmage, 301-306; attack of rheumatism, 303; objections to the Chinese Immigration Bill, 304; attacks against, 306. Cleveland, Mrs. , 297; her characteristics, 300, 301. Cleveland, Miss Rose, 300. Clinton, DeWitt, 102. Coates, A. E. , 234. Cockerill, Col. John A. , at the Press Club, 223. Colfax, Schuyler, 141. Collier, Judge, 363. Collier, Miss Rebekah, 346; her diary, 350. Collins, Mr. And Mrs. John, 261. Collyer, Dr. Robert, amount of his salary, 247. Colorado springs, 320. Colquitt, Senator, 256. Commons, House of, dynamite explosion, 142. Communism, theory of, 83. Coney Island, 147, 179. Conkling, Senator Roscoe, his opposition to the Silver Bill, 80; characteristics, 209; death, 209. Constantinople, earthquake, 191. Converse, Charles Cravat, 50. Coombs, Mr. , 257. Cooper, Fenimore, 85. Cooper, Peter, 55, 57, 70. Copenhagen, 363Corbit, Rev. William P. , 33-35. Cork, 391. Coronado Beach, 320, 322. Corrigan, Archbishop, 191. Courtney, Judge, 241. Cox, Rev. Dr. Samuel H. , 186. Cox, Mr. , 128; appointed minister to Turkey, 146; his nicknames, 146. Cradle, the family, 2. Creeds, revision of the, 244. Crosby, Dr. , his ecclesiastical trial, 101. Croy, Peter, 17. Crystal Palace, banquet given to Dr. Talmage at, 267. Cuba, victory in, 320. Culver, John Y. , 241. Curry, Daniel, 196. 

Dana, Richard Henry, his death, 93; literary works, 94. Daniel, Senator, 256. Darling, Charles S. , 233, 269. Davenport, E. L. , 71. Davis, Jefferson, 339. Davis, Sir Louis, 325. Deer Park, 409. Demarest, Rev. Dr. James, at the funeral of Dr. Talmage, 422. Democratic party, 46. Denmark, the national flower "Golden Rain, " 363. Denmark, Crown Prince and Princess of, receive Dr. Talmage, 364. Denver, 99, 320; its age, 105; picture galleries, 106. Depau, Mr. , his bequest to religion, 194. Depew, Chauncey M. , 223. Derbyshire, 351. Dewey, Admiral, 348. DeWitt, Dr. , 187. DeWitt, Gasherie, 31. Diaz, Gen. Porfirio, President of Mexico, 417; his interview with Dr. Talmage, 417. Dickens, Charles, result of insomnia, 62. Dickey, Dr. , 374. Dilke, Sir Charles, 179. Divorce, views on, 237. Dix, John A. , 102. Dix, Dr. Morgan, amount of his salary, 247. Dixon, Rev. A. C. , 281. Dodge, William E. , 55, 57. Donnan, Mrs. Allen E. , 420. Doty, Ethan Allen, 224. "Dow Junior's Patent Sermons, " 16. Dowling, Rev. Dr. John, 26. "Dream, The Celestial, " sketch, 423. Due West, 338. Duncan, John, 31. Duncan, William, 31. 

"Earth Girdled, The, " publication of, 289. Earthquake at Charleston, 178; Constantinople, 191. East Hampton, 57, 274, 338, 408. Eastern, Rev. T. Chalmers, on the death of Dr. Talmage, 420; at his funeral, 422. Edinburgh, 60, 97, 356. Edison, Prof. Thomas, 89. Education, views on, 152. Ellis, Hon. E. J. , 81. Erskine Theological College, Due West, 338. Evarts, Hon. William M. , 283, 288. Ewer, Rev. Dr. , 123. 

Fairbanks, Vice-president, 337. Fairchild, Benjamin L. , 234. Falls, Samuel B. , 38. Far-Rockaway, First Presbyterian Church at, 229. Farwell, Senator, 261. Faulkner, Senator, 325. Ferguson, James B. , 269. Ferron, Dr. , his experiments with cholera, 162. Field, Cyrus W. , lays the cable, 249. Field, Chief Justice, his death, 336. Finney, Dr. , his revival meetings, 4. Fish, Rev. Dr. , 29. Fish, Hamilton, Secretary to General Grant, 70. Fiske, Steven, 223. "Florida, " disaster of, 133. Flower, Roswell P. , 223. Folger, Mr. , 117. Food, adulteration of, 131. Foster, John, 53. Fox, George L. , 71. Fox, G. V. , 266. Frankfort, Kentucky, 275. Franklin, Benjamin, 173. Frazer, Dr. , 120. Free trade question, 128. Freeman, Mr. , 94. Frelinghuysen, Dominie, 149. Frelinghuysen, Frederick, 149. Frelinghuysen, Frederick T. , 115, 144; his death, 149. Frelinghuysen, Gen. John, 149. Frelinghuysen, Senator Theodore, 149. Fulton Ferry, new bridge at, 99. Funk, Dr. , 157. 

Gallagher, Dr. , 120. Gallows, death by the, 198. Gambling Pool Bill, protest against, 194. Gambetta, 122. Garcelon, Governor, 102. Garfield, President, his election, 106; attempt on his life, 111, 112; views on Mormonism, 113; reforms, 113; result of his death, 113; sermons, 114; characteristics, 115. Garfield, Mrs. , amount subscribed, 145. Gateville, 9. Gedney, Judge, 224. Geogheghan, the poet, 224. George, Henry, 223. Gettysburg, battle of, 38. Gilbert, Judge, 193. Gilmore, Pat, 224. Gladstone, Mrs. , 240; her portrait, 240; illness, 357. Gladstone, Mrs. Herbert, 357. Gladstone, Rt. Hon. W. E. , 104, 150; his policy of Home Rule for Ireland, 173, 239; reception of Dr. Talmage, 236; American stories, 237; view on divorce, 237; religion, 238; library, 240; congratulations, 284. Glasgow, 355. Goldsmith, Oliver, his struggles as an author, 108. Gordon, Senator, 256. Gorman, Senator, 331. Gough, John B. , his gift of oratory, 164; dramatic power, 164. Gould, Jay, 172. Grace, Mr. , Mayor of New York, 121. Grain, failure of, in Europe, 103; blockade in the United States, 103. Grant, General, President, 92, 279; his pension, 145; malady, 145, 148. Grant, Mayor, at the Press Club, 223. Greeley, Horace, 131, 175; his sufferings from insomnia, 62. Greenport, 50 _note_. Greenwood cemetery, 422. Greenwood, Judge, 199. Greer, Dr. , amount of his salary, 247. Gregg, Rev. Dr. , 281. Grévy, President, his resignation, 200. Grier, Dr. , President of the Erskine Theological College, Due West, 338. Grinnell, Moses H. , 57. Guiteau, assassinates President Garfield, 113. 

Haddon Hall, 351-353; romance of, 352. Hagerstown, 221. Hall, Rev. Dr. , 154. Hall, Dr. John, amount of his salary, 247. Hall, Rev. Dr. Newman, 97; at the Mansion House, 260. Hall, Robert, 53. Halstead, Murat, 283. Hamilton, Rev. J. Benson, 241. Hamilton Club, 224. Hamlin, Rev. Dr. T. S. , at the funeral of Dr. Talmage, 422. Hampton, Governor Wade, 81. Hancock, John, 173. Handy, Moses P. , 223. Hanna, Rev. Dr. , his death, 254. Hanna, Senator, 414. Hardman, Dr. , 21, his method of examining Dr. Talmage, 22. Harlan, Justice, 337. Harper, E. B. , 224. Harrisburg, 396; intemperance, 45; bribery, 46. Harrison, President Benjamin, 257. Harrison, Rev. Leon, 241. Harrison, William Henry, 114, 257. Hatch, A. S. , President of the New York Exchange, 135. Hatch, Rufus, 224. Hawarden, 236, 357. Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 107. Hayes, President, 70; character of his message, 74. Hazlitt, William, his struggles as an author, 108. Helsingfors, 368. Henderson, Mr. , 321. Hendricks, Thomas A. , Vice-president, 158; his character, 159; invulnerability to attacks, 159; religious views, 160. Hendrix, Joseph C. , 124, 241, 283. Hermann, 223. Herschel, Lord, 325; his illness and death, 326. Hewitt, Abram S. , elected Mayor of New York, 188. Hicks-Lord case, 76. High Bridge, 275, 276. Hill, Rev. Dr. John Wesley, 396. Hill, Rowland, 97. Hill, Senator, 105. Hilton, Judge Henry, 116, 223. Holy Land, 235. Holyrood Palace, 59. Home Missionary meeting, in Carnegie Hall, 305. Howard, Joseph, 224. Howell, Mayor, his report on the condition of Brooklyn, 81. Hudson, 37. Hugo, Victor, 107. Hull, Isaac, 125. Huntington, Dr. , amount of his salary, 247. Hutchinson, Dr. Joseph, 196. Hydrophobia, inoculations against, 162. 

India, famine in, 298. Indiana, elections, 124. Ingersoll, Colonel Robert, 70. Inness, Fred, 221. Insomnia, sufferings from, 62. Iowa, prohibition in, 193. Ireland, Home Rule for, 173, 239. Irish Channel, crossing the, 391. Irving, Washington, 85; "Knickerbocker, " 94; appointed Minister to Spain, 146. Isle of Wight, 389. 

Jackson, Gen. Andrew, 156. Jaehne, Mr. , his incarceration, 175. Jamaica, Long Island, synodical trial at, 101. James, General, his reforms in the Post Office, 113. Jamestown, 339. Jefferson, Joseph, 332. Jefferson, Thomas, inaugurated, 174. Jews, persecution of, in Russia, 118; settle in America, 119. Johnson, Andrew, President, charges against, 157. Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 53; his epitaph, 210. Johnstown, result of the flood at, 228. 

"Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse, " 346. Kansas, 193; its age, 105; prohibition in, 193. Katrine, Loch, 356. Kean, Edmund, 71. Keeley, Dr. Leslie, 254. Keller, John W. , 224. Kennedy, Dr. , 187. Killarney lakes, 391. King, Gen. Horatio C. , 224, 241. Kingsley, Mr. , 207. Kinsella, Thomas, 100, 130. Kintore, Earl of, 298, 356. Klondike, arrival of gold-diggers from, 321. Knox, E. M. , 234. Knox, John, his grave, 355. Knox, J. Amory, 224, 234. Krebs, Dr. , 187. 

Lafayette Avenue, railroad scheme, defeat of, 79. Lake Port, Maryland, 409. Lamb, Col. Albert P. , 224. Lamb, Charles, on the adulteration of food, 131. Lambert, Dr. , case of, 75. Lang, Anton, takes part in the Passion Play, 380. Langtry, Mrs. , 391. Lansing, Rev. Dr. I. J. , 283. Laurence, Amos, 55. Laurier, Sir Wilfred, 325. Lawrence, E. H. , 233. Lawrence, F. W. , 286. Leadville, its age, 105; number of telephones, 105; vigilance committee, 106. Leamington, 358. Lectures, fees for, 40. Lee, General, his invasion of Pennsylvania, 38. Leeds, collection at, 97. Lennox, James, 55, 194. Leslie, Frank, the pioneer of pictorial journalism, 102. Lexington, 188, 275, 276. Liberty, statue of, 148-150. Lies, system of, 197. Lincoln, Abraham, 37; violation of his sepulchre, 161; his letter, 397. Lincoln, Robert, Secretary of War, 113. Lind, Jenny, 14. Lindsay, Rev. E. P. , 338. Liverpool, 357; addresses given at, 97. Locke, Commissioner of Appeals, 107. Lodge, Henry Cabot, 224. Lomond, Loch, 355. London, Lord Mayor of, his banquet at the Mansion House, 260. Long Island, 229. Los Angeles, 322. Louisiana, State of, 80. Low, Seth, Mayor of Brooklyn, 121, 133. Lowell, James Russell, 145. Lowndes, Governor, 326. Lyle, Lady, 389. 

Macaulay, Lord, 188. Mackenzie, Dr. , his death, 254. Mackey, Mrs. , 261. Mackinaw Island, 339. Madison, 273. Magruder, Dr. G. L. , 418, 420. Maine, outbreak in, 102. Malone, Rev. Father Sylvester, 281. Manchester, Cavendish Chapel, 348. Manderson, Senator, 256; his Bill for the arbitration of strikes, 172. Mangam, Mrs. Daniel, 420. Manning, Daniel, his death, 200. Marietta, Ohio, 317. Marriages, number of elopements, 137. Martin, Mrs. Bradley, 261. Martin, Pauline E. , 234. Mathews, Charles, his death, 85; story of, 85. Matthews, T. E. , 286. McAdam, Judge David, 224. McCauley, Jerry, 136. McCormick, Cyrus, 194. McDonald, Senator, 261. McElroy, Dr. , 187. McGlynn, Father, 191. McKean, John, 125. McKinley, President, his congratulations, 284; election, 306; friendship with Dr. Talmage, 330; assassination, 409. McLean, Alexander, 233. McLean, Andrew, 241. McLeod, Rev. Donald, installed pastor of the First Presbyterian Church in Washington, 341. Mead, W. D. , 269. Memphis, 339. Mendes, Rabbi F. De Sol, 281. Merigens, George T. , 38. Mershon, Rev. S. L. , 57, 274. Mexico, 416. Michigan, 339, 409. Middlebrook, New Jersey, 1. Minado, 320. Ministers, amount of salaries, in the United States, 63. Minneapolis, 99. Mitchell, Dr. , 120. Mitford, 108. Modjeska, Mdme. , 332. Molière, the comedian, 72. Monona Lake, 273. Monroe Doctrine, 304. Montauk Point, purchase of, 99. Montreal, 326. Moore, Charles A. , 224. Moore, DeWitt, 39, 43. Morey, forgeries, 106. Morrisey, John, 69. Moscow, 374. Mott, Lucretia, the quakeress, 106. Munich, 375. Murphy, Mr. , 207. 

Nagle, Dr. , 224. Nansen, the explorer, 365. Napier, Lord, his story of a wounded soldier, 239. Nashville, 339. Neilson, Judge Joseph, 133, 193, 204. New, Mrs. , 261. New Brunswick Theological Seminary, 15. New Orleans, 340, 415, 418; victory, 8. New York, corrupt condition, 64; 69; spread of Communism, 83; Historical Society, gift to the library, 109; Passion Play, attempt to present, 121; pool rooms opened, 147; conflagration of 1835, 231; revival meetings, 407. New York University, 14. "New York, " 258. Newark, 19. Newspaper reporter, day with a, 211-220. Newspapers, reduction in the price, 123. Newstead Abbey, 349. Newton, Lady, 361. Newton, Sir Alfred, Lord Mayor, 361. Nichols, Governor, 81. Nicols, Rev. Dr. S. J. , at the funeral of Dr. Talmage, 422. Nightingale, Florence, note from, 359; receives Dr. Talmage, 360. North Cape, view from, of the Midnight Sun, 365, 366. North River, first steamer, 8. Northern Pacific Railroad Co. , 126. Nottingham, 260; Albert Hall, 348. Nutting, A. J. , 234. 

Oakley, Rev. Mr. , 51. Ober-Ammergau Passion Play, 375; impressions of, 375-388; actors, 378. Ocean Grove, 408. "Oceanic, " 391. Ochiltree, Colonel Tom, 261; at the Press Club, 223. Ogden, 104Ohio, elections, 124; River, 276. Olcott, George M. , 224. Omaha, 99, 104; picture galleries, 106. Osborne, Truman, 16. "Our Dead President, " sermon on, 410. 

Packer, Asa D. , 194. Paine, Tom, 71. Palmer, A. M. , 261. Panics, view on, 290-293. Paris, 60, 236; Exposition of 1900, 362, 388. Parker; Rev. Dr. Joseph, 259; his description of Dr. Talmage's sermon, 259; congratulations, 284. Parkhurst, Dr. , 258; amount of his salary, 247. Parnell, C. S. , in New York, 102; triumph on his return to England, 163. Passaic River, 29. Pasteur, Dr. , his inoculations against hydrophobia, 162. Patten, Dr. , 120. Paxton, Dr. , amount of his salary, 247. Payne, Mr. , his song "Home, Sweet Home, " 108. Peabody, George, his will, 73. Peace Jubilee, a national, 43. Peck, General, defence of, 362. Penn, William, 156. Pennsylvania, invasion, 38; election, 124. Peru, war with Chili, 117. Peterhof, Palace of, 370. Peters, Barnard, 281. Phelps, Mr. , 145. Philadelphia, Second Reformed Church of, 37. Phillips, Wendell, 127. Pierce, Dr. , 369. Pierce, Mrs. , 370. Pierce. President, opens the World's Fair, 195. Pierce, Senator, his Bill for a new city charter for Brooklyn, 78. Piermont, 25. Pilgrim Fathers, in New England, 156. Pius IX. , Pope, 77. Policies, International, lecture on, 322. Polk, Mrs. , her pension, 145. Pollock, Robert, ex-Governor, 22; report of his speech, 41. "Pomerania, " s. S. , loss of, 89. Pomeroy, Rev. C. S. , 51. Pond, Major, 96. Poor, problem of the, 143. Potomac, the, 38. Pratt, Judge C. R. , 133, 224. Prayer, the influence of, 148. Prentice, Mr. , 207. Press Club, dinners at, 223. Pressly, Rev. David P. , 338. Preston, William C. , 104. Pretoria, capture of, 361. Prime, Rev. Dr. , 71. Princeton, 301. 

Queenstown, 391. 

Railway strike, 166. Rainsford, Dr. , amount of his salary, 247. Randall, Mr. , 128. Raymond, Henry J. , 131. Reed, Joseph, 166. Reed, Speaker, 337. "Rehypothication, " crime of, 76. Reid, Dr. , 120. Republican party, 46. Reynolds, Judge, 193. Rhode Island, 115. Richards, Rev. Dr. , 27. Ridgeway, James W. , 124. Riley, his "Universal Philosophy, " 107. River and Harbour Bill, 143. Robinson, Lincoln, 102. Robinson, William E. , 241, 253. Roche, Rev. Spencer F. , 281. Rockport, new cable landed at, 135. Rockwell, Rev. J. E. , 50. Roebling, Mr. , 207. Roosevelt, Theodore, 224, 422. Roosevelt, Mrs. , 422. Rosa, Parepa, 43. Roswell, Mr. , 205. Ruskin, John, 261; his literary works, 262. Russia, 263; defeats Turkey, 77; persecution of the Jews, 118; famine, 264. Russia, Alexander III. ; Czar of, receives Dr. Talmage, 263-266; gift to him, 280. Russia, Nicholas II. , Czar of, receives Dr. Talmage, 371. Russia, Czarina of, receives Mrs. Talmage, 371; her appearance, 371. Russia, Dowager Empress of, receives Dr. Talmage, 372. Russia, Nicholas, Grand Duke, 264. 

Sacramento, 104; picture galleries, 106. Sage, Russell, his loan to Brooklyn Tabernacle, 268. Sailors, character of, 133. St. Louis railway strike, 167. Salt Lake City, 104, 320. Salvation Army, meetings in Brooklyn, 222. San Antonio, 415. San Francisco, 322; the first Presbyterian Church of, 49; its age, 105; picture galleries, 106; amount paid by Chinese, 174. Sand, George, character of her writings, 64. Sanderson, driver of the stage coach, 11. Sand-storm, a Mexican, 415. Sanitary Protective League, organisation of, 143. Santa Barbara, 322. Saratoga, 319. Scenery Chapel, 97. Schenck, Dr. Noah Hunt, 141. Schieren, Major, 281. Schiller, the famous comedian, 72. "Schiller, " the, sinks, 134. Schley, Admiral, 332, 336. Schroeder, Frederick A. , 99, 224. Schuylkill River, 25 _note_. Scott, Rev. James W. , 22; his kindness to Dr. Talmage, 22-24; death, 24. Scudder, Dr. , 120. Seattle, 321. Seavey, George L. , 135; his gift to the library of the Historical Society, New York, 109. Seward, William H. , 102; his death, 188. Shafter, General, 336. Shaftesbury, Lord, his funeral, 155; last public act, 155; President of various societies, 156. Shannon, Patrick, 69. Sharon Springs, 57. Sharpsburg, 221. Sheepshead Bay, races at, 147. Sheffield, 357. Shelbyville, 160. Sheridan, Mr. And Mrs. , 108. Sherman, James, 97. Sherman, John, 256, 284. Sherman, Gen. William T. , 242. Shields, Dr. , 417; attends Dr. Talmage, 417; accompanies him home, 418. Siberia, 263. Silver Bill, passed, 80. Simpson, Bishop, 136. Simpson, Sir Herbert, 356. Simpson, Sir James Y. , his use of chloroform, 207, 356. Skillman, Dr. , 11. Slater, Mr. , 194. Slocum, General, 133. Smith, Charles Emory, 223. Smith, Rev. J. Hyatt, 189; his life of self-sacrifice, 190. Smith, Mrs. Warren G. , 420. Somerville, 3, 9. Soudan war, 146. Soulard, A. L. , 268. Southampton, 347. South Carolina, 81. Spain, war with the United States, 320; investigation into, 336. Speer, Dr. Samuel Thayer, 186. Spencer, Dr. , 54. Spencer, Rev. W. Ichabod, 186. Spring, Dr. Gardiner, 54, 187. Spurgeon, Rev. Charles H. , 253; his death, 254. Stafford, Marshal, 241. Stanley, Dean, 116. Staten Island, 161. Stead, Mr. , his crusade against crime, 153. Steele, Dr. , 120. Steele, Commissioner of stamps, 107. Stephens, Alexander H. , 80. Stevens, Mrs. Paran, 261. Stevens, W. , 30. Stewart, Samuel B. , 116. Stillman, Benjamin A. , 224. Stockholm, Immanuel Church, 367. Stone, Rev. Dr. , 187. Stone, Governor, 337, 346. Storrs, Rev. R. S. , pastor of the Church of Pilgrims, 186. Stranahan, J. S. T. , 120, 133, 224. Stratford-on-Avon, 358; the "Red Horse Hotel, " 97. Strikes, 167; Bill for the arbitration of, 172. Stuart, Francis H. , 234. Stuart, George H. , 38. Sullivan-Ryan prize fight, 117. Summerfield, Dr. John, 187. Sunderland, Rev. Dr. Byron W. , 294, 410. Suydam, Rev. Dr. Howard, at the burial of Dr. Talmage, 422. Swansea, 267, 389. Sweden, 367. Swenson, Mr. , 364. Syracuse, 35. 

Talmage, Catherine, her character, 3; conversion, 5; covenant with her neighbours, 5; death, 6. Talmage, Daisy, 50 _note_. Talmage, Daniel, 10. Talmage, David, his Christian principles, 3; conversion, 5; mode of conducting prayer-meetings, 6; fearlessness, 7; sheriff, 7; scenes of his life, 8; death, 9; sons, 9. Talmage, Edith, 50 _note_. Talmage, Mrs. Eleanor, her Biographical Sketch of Dr. Talmage, 311; first meeting, 313; marriage, 314; accompanies him in his travels, 315, 319; attends his lectures, 316; held up in Yellowstone Park, 320; received by the Czarina, 371; dedicates the Wood Green Wesleyan Church, 390. Talmage, Rev. Frank DeWitt, 50 _note_, 420. Talmage, Rev. Goyn, 9. Talmage, Rev. James R. , 9. Talmage, Jehiel, his conversion, 5. Talmage, Jessie, 25 _note_. Talmage, Rev. John Van Nest, 9; missionary at Amoy, 19; devotion to the Chinese, 91; death, 91; reticence, 92; work, 93. Talmage, Mrs. Mary, 25 _note_. Talmage, Maud, 50 _note_, 346, 355, 420. Talmage, May, 50 _note_, 235. Talmage, Mrs. Susan, 50 _note_, 235. Talmage, Thomas DeWitt, his birth, 1; ancestors, 2; father, 3; mother, 3; the family Bible, 3; conversion of his grand-parents and parents, 4; home, 9; childhood, 10; early religious tendencies, 10; at New York University, 14; New Brunswick Theological Seminary, 19; conversion, 16; first sermon, 19; ordination, 21-23; pastorate at Belleville, 25; marriage, 25 _note_; children, 25 _note_, 50 _note_; his first baptism, 26; first pastoral visitation, 27; first funeral, 29; pastorate at Syracuse, 35; first literary lecture, 36; call to Philadelphia, 37; amounts received for his lectures, 40, 96; at the National peace jubilee, 43; his fear of indolence, 48; ministerial ball club, 49; second marriage, 50 _note_; call to Brooklyn, 50; installed, 51; charges against, 51, 58, 94; character of his sermons, 53, 58, 315, 323, 395; establishes the first Brooklyn Tabernacle, 55; vacations at East Hampton, 57, 274, 338, 408; visits to Europe, 59, 153, 258, 346; impressions on hearing the organ at Freyburg, 59; meeting with Dr. John Brown, 60; in Paris, 60, 362, 388; sermons, 62, 220, 273, 286, 290, 296, 323, 336, 348, 356, 358, 359, 389, 396, 410-412; on the size of the heavenly Jerusalem, 66; his opinion of Church fairs, 72; lecturing tours, 80, 84, 143, 159, 297, 326, 339, 348, 405, 408; opposes the effort to exclude the Chinese, 90; death of his brother John, 91; Gospel meetings, 96, 289; visits to the house of T. Carlyle, 97; trip to the West, 104, 172, 189; views on betting, 147; on education, 152; his numerous letters, 153-155; on the demands of Society, 169-171; views on war, 181; at Lexington, 188; protest against the Gambling Pool Bill, 194; proposal of a World's Fair, 195; on execution by electricity, 198; advocates free trade, 200; advice on books, 202-204; a day with a newspaper reporter, 212-220; his study, 212, 328; correspondence, 213-215; visitors, 215-218; appearance, 218, 343; pastoral visit, 219; chaplain of the "Old Thirteenth" Regiment, 221; his income, 221, 225, 246; dinners at the Press Club, 223; at the Hamilton Club, 224; restlessness, 226; mode of life, 226, 329; squib on, 228; on the result of the flood at Johnstown, 228; on the lessons learnt from conflagrations, 231; appeal for funds, 232; consecration of the ground, 234; his visit to the Holy Land, 235; attack of influenza, 236; visit to Mr. Gladstone, 236-241; ovation on his return home, 241; on the revision of Creeds, 244; lays the corner stone, 245; editor of periodicals, 245, 398; critics, 246; shaves his whiskers, 248; on the Higher Criticism of the Bible, 253; preaching tours in England, 258, 267; views on dreaming, 258; sermons in the City Temple, 259; at Nottingham, 260; at the Mansion House, 260, 361; visits John Ruskin, 261; reception in Russia, 263; audience of the Czar Alexander, 263-266; donation of his salary, 269; resignation, 270, 293, 333; voyages across the ocean, 275, 346; visit to Governor Blackburn, 275-279; meeting with Senator Beck, 276; presentation of a gold tea-service, 280; 25th anniversary of his pastorate, 280-283; his speech, 282; messages of congratulation, 284; journey round the world, 288; "The Earth Girdled, " 289; his views on panics, 290-293; accepts the call to Washington, 294-296; installed, 297; reception at the White House, 297; intercourse with Mr. And Mrs. Cleveland, 300-306; interview with Major McKinley, 307; his characteristics, 312, 315, 317, 343, 402-406; magnetic influence, 313; third marriage, 314; cheerfulness, 315, 324; mode of travelling, 315; his lectures, 316, 348, 396; love of flowers, 318; in Yellowstone Park, 320; lecture on International Policies, 322; his sense of duty, 323; methodical habits, 329; friendship with President McKinley, 330; publication of his sermons, 334, 398; his dinner parties, 337; at Due West, 338; love of music, 344; views on the Boer War, 347; visits Newstead Abbey, 349; Haddon Hall, 352; Chatsworth, 353; Scotland, 355-357; Hawarden, 357; "The American Spurgeon, " 358; his power as an orator, 358; interview with Florence Nightingale, 360; at Copenhagen, 363; received by the Crown Prince of Denmark, 364; ascends North Cape, 366; preaches in Stockholm, 367; at St. Petersburg, 368; received by the Czar Nicholas, 371; the Dowager Empress, 372; at Berlin, 374; his impressions of the Passion Play, 375-388; at Baden-baden, 388; preaches in John Wesley's Chapel, 388; in Ireland, 391; return to America, 391; his vigour and enthusiasm for his work, 393; welcome at Brooklyn, 397; style of his writings, 399; personal mail, 399; simple tastes, 400; libraries, 401; reverence for the Bible, 401; sense of humour, 403; will power, 403; perseverance, 403-405; eulogy on Queen Victoria, 406; inaugurates Revival meetings, 407; his last sermon, 410-412; in a railway accident, 414; in Mexico, 416; audience with President Diaz, 417; his illness, 417-420; journey home, 418; death, 420; funeral service, 421; burial, 422; tributes to, 422; his "Celestial Dream, " 423. Tappen, Arthur, 56. Tariff Reform question, 128, 255; protective, 200. Taylor, Alfred, 179. Taylor, Bayard, his career, 90; number of his books, 90; death, 90. Taylor, Rev. Dr. Benjamin C. , 25. Taylor, Robert, 179. Taylor, Dr. William M. , amount of his salary, 247. Taylor, Zachary, 114. Tenney, Judge, 94. Tennyson, Lord, 156. Terhune, Rev. E. P. , 241. Thomas, Capt. , heroism of, 134. Thomasville, 414; accident at, 414. Thompson, Dr. C. C. , amount of his salary, 247. Thompson, Rev. Charles L. , 283. Thompson, Mr. , Secretary of the Navy, 404. Thurber, Frank B. , private secretary to President Cleveland, 224, 303, 305. Tierney, Judge, 133. Tolstoi, Count, 263. Tracey, General, 133, 283. Trenton, intemperance, 45; bribery, 46. Tröndhjem, 365. Tucker, Dr. Harrison A. , 233. Turkey, defeated by Russia, 77. Tyler, Mrs. , her pension, 145. Tyng, Rev. Stephen H. , 62; his sufferings from insomnia, 62. 

"Uncle John's Place, " 9. United States, the Civil War, 38; result, 42, 74; intemperance, 44; bribery, 45, 165-167; salaries of ministers, 63; spread of communism, 83; fever for spending money, 83; predictions of disaster in 1878, 88; legislative effort to exclude the Chinese, 90; commercial frauds, 93; pacification of North and South, 113; purchase of grain, 103; surplus for export, 103; blockade, 103; republican candidates for the Presidency, 104; quality of the new Senators, 109; interference in foreign affairs, 117; celebration of centennials, 124; adulteration of food, 131; number of elopements, 137; problem of the poor, 143; practice of betting, 147; demands of Society, 169-171; the working people, 171; number of weddings, 176; sports, 177; mania for rebuilding, 178; fashions, 183; slaughter of birds, 184; system of taxation, 197; of lies, 197; war with Spain, 320. Unrequited services, sermon on, 356, 359. 

Van Buren, cartoons of, 175. Vanderbilt, Cornelius, his will, 73, 161; gift to a medical institute, 141; death, 160; protection of his remains, 161. Vanderbilt, Mrs. , her remedy against sea-sickness, 347. Van Dyke, Rev. Dr. Henry 51, 413. Van Nest, John, 10. Van Rensselaer, Mr. And Mrs. , 30. Van Vranken, Rev. Dr. , 18. Vicksburg, victory at, 38. Victoria, Queen, character of her reign, 78; first cablegram, 250; her death, 406. Vienna, 375. Villard, Henry, 126. Vinton, Rev. Dr. , 187. Volapük, the study of, 205. Vredenburgh, John, 17. 

Wadsworth, Rev. Charles, 48. Wales, Prince of, at Chatsworth, 354. Walker, Dr. Mary, her appearance, 331. Wall Street, failure of 1884, 134. Wallace, William Copeland, 224. Walsh, Senator, 283. Ward, Ferdinand, 134. Ward, Dr. Samuel, 19, 30. Warner, B. H. , 335. Wars, number of, in 1885, 146; cost, 158; character, 181. Warsaw, 374. Washington, intemperance, 45; bribery, 46; Silver Bill passed, 80; number of appropriation Bills, 117; improvements, 255; First Presbyterian Church at, 294; library presented to, 335; Pan-Presbyterian Council, 341. Washington, George, 173; his burial, 8. Watterson, Henry, 255. Webb, James Watson, 131. Webster, Daniel, 86, 104; monument erected to, 128; his death, 188. Webster, Lily, her baptism, 26. Webster, Noah, his dictionary, 76, 107. Weed, Thurlow, 131. Wesley, John, 52; caricatures of, 53. Westminster Hall, dynamite outrage, 142. Wheeler, General, 336. White, Chief Justice, 208. White, Doc, 224. White, Henry Kirke, 258. White, Mr. , 361. Whitefield, George, caricature of his preaching, 52. Whitney, ex-Mayor, 241. Whittemore, Miss Susan C. , her marriage, 50 _note_. Whittier, John Greenleaf, 251; poem, 252. Wilber, Mark D. , 241. Wilder, Marshall P. , 346. Williams, General and Mrs. , 261. Williams, William B. , 224. Wills, number of disputes over, 142. Wilson, Henry, his death, 188. Windom, Secretary, 113. Winslow, Hon. John, 224, 281. Wisconsin, 409. Witherspoon, Dr. , advice from, 154. Wolfe, Miss, 55; her bequest to the Church, 194. Wood Green Wesleyan Church, dedication of, 390. Wood, John, 233, 269. Woodford, Gen. Stewart L. , 133, 224. Woodruff, T. L. , 224. Woodward, Mr. , 157. World's Fair, 195. Wrench, Dr. , 351, 353. Wright, Silas, 102. Württemberg, 374. Wycoff, Mrs. Clarence, 420. Wyndham, Mr. , 368. 

Yellow fever, scourge of, 87. Yellowstone Park, 320. 

Zanesville, 317. Zwink, John, takes part in the Passion Play, 380; character of his acting, 381. 

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