Chapter X: Part 10

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, my sister Mary. The place is gradually submitting to modern notions, but East Hampton, whether in its antiquated shape or epauletted and frilled and decorated by the hand of modern enterprise, has always been to me a semi-Paradise.

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

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

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

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

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

"This morning, passing through Frankfort, Kentucky, on my way from Lexington, at the close of a preaching and lecturing tour of nearly three weeks, I am reminded of a most royal visit that I had here at Frankfort as the guest of Governor Blackburn, at the gubernatorial mansion about ten years ago.

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

"At Lexington a brusque man got on our car, and we entered with him into vigorous conversation. I did not hear his name on introduction, and I felt rather sorry that the Governor should have invited him into our charming seclusion. But the stranger became such an entertainer as a colloquialist, and demonstrated such extraordinary intellectuality, I began to wonder who he was, and I addressed him, saying, "Sir, I did not hear your name when you were introduced." He replied, 'My name is Beck--Senator Beck.' Then and there began one of the most entertaining friendships of my life. Great Scotch soul! Beck came a poor boy from Scotland to America, hired himself out for farm work in Kentucky, discovered to his employer a fondness for reading, was offered free access to his employer's large library, and marched right up into education 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 "The Divinity of the Scriptures." Directly in front of me, and with most intense look, whether of disapprobation or approval I knew not, sat the Senator. On the train back to Lexington, where he took me in his carriage on a long ride amid the scenes of Clayiana, he told me the sermon had re-established his faith in Christianity, for he had been brought up to believe the Bible as most of the people in Scotland believe it. But I did not know all that transpired that day at High Bridge until after the Senator was dead, and I was in Lexington, and visited his grave at the cemetery where he sleeps amid the mighty Kentuckians who have adorned their State.

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

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

President Arthur was coming through Lexington on his way to open an Exposition at Louisville. Governor Blackburn was to go to Lexington to receive him and make a speech. The Governor read me the speech in the State House before leaving Frankfort, and asked for my criticism. It was an excellent speech about which I made only one criticism, and that concerning a sentence in which he praised the beautiful women and the fine horses of Kentucky. I suggested that he put the human and the equine subjects of his admiration in different sentences, and this suggestion he adopted.

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

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

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

It is a satisfaction to be kindly treated by the prominent characters of your own time. I confess to a feeling of pleasure when General Grant, at the Memorial Services at Greenwood--I think the last public meeting he ever attended, and where I delivered the Memorial Address on Decoration Day--said that he had read with interest everything that appeared connected 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 of the winds of displeasure, there always came to me encouraging echoes from somewhere. I find among my papers at this time a telegram from the Russian 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 imperial ceremonies, with a magnificent solid gold tea service from the Emperor Alexander III. These were the sort of appreciative incidents so often happening in my life that infused my work with encouragements.

The months preceding the close of my ministry in Brooklyn developed a remarkable interest shown among those to whom my name had become a symbol of the Gospel message. There was a universal, world-wide recognition of my work. Many regretted my decision to leave the Brooklyn Tabernacle, some doubted that I actually intended to do so, others foretold a more brilliant future for me in the open trail of Gospel service they expected me to follow.

All this enthusiasm expressed by my friends of the world culminated in a celebration festival given in honour of the twenty-fifth anniversary of my pastorate in Brooklyn. The movement spread all over the country and to Europe. It was decided to make the occasion a sort of International reception, 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 it who knew me, but whom I had never seen. I had made preparations to start on May 14, and the dates set for this jubilee were arranged on the eve of my farewell. I was about to make a complete circuit of the globe, and whatever my friends expected me to do otherwise I approached this occasion with a very definite conclusion that it would be my farewell to Brooklyn.

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

The church had been decorated with the stars and stripes, with gold and purple. 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 on the great organ, by Henry Eyre Brown, our organist, of an original composition written by him and called, in compliment to the occasion, "The Talmage Silver Anniversary March." On the speaker's platform with me were Mayor Schieren, of Brooklyn, Mr. Barnard Peters, Rev. Father Sylvester 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--an undenominational gathering of good men. There is, perhaps, no better way to record my own impressions of this event than to quote the words with which I replied to the complimentary speeches of this oration. They recall, 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 speakers was the Hon. William M. Evarts, ex-Secretary of State, who, though advanced in years, honoured us with his presence and an address. Senator Walsh, of Georgia, spoke for the South; ex-Congressman Joseph C. Hendrix of 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 he became President), from Mr. Gladstone, from Rev. Joseph Parker, and among others from London, the following cable, which I shall always prize among the greatest testimonials of the broad Gospel purpose in England--

"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 I was to start on what Dr. Gregg described as "A walk among the people of my congregation" around the world.

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

THE SEVENTEENTH MILESTONE

1895-1898

Among the mysteries that are in every man's life, more or less influencing his course, is the mystery of disaster that comes upon him noiselessly, suddenly, horribly. The destruction of the New Tabernacle by a fire which started in the organ loft was one of these mysteries that will never be revealed this side of eternity. The destruction of any church, no matter how large or how popular, does not destroy our faith in God. Great as the disaster had been, much greater was the mercy of Divine mystery that prevented a worse calamity in the loss of human life. The fire was discovered just after the morning service, and everyone had left the building but myself, Mrs. Talmage, the organist, and one or two personal friends. We were standing in the centre aisle of the church when a puff of smoke suddenly came out of the space behind the organ. In less than fifteen minutes from that discovery the huge pipe organ was a raging furnace, and I personally narrowly escaped the falling debris by the rear door of my church study. The flags and decoration which had been put up for the jubilee celebration had not been moved, and they whetted the appetite of the flames. It was all significant to me of one thing chiefly, that at some points of my life I had been given no choice. At these places of surprise in my life there was never any doubt about what I had to do. God's way is very clear and visible when the Divine purpose is intended for you.

I had delivered that morning my farewell sermon before departing on a long journey around the world. My prayer, in which the silent sympathy of a vast congregation joined me, had invoked the Divine protection and blessing upon us, upon all who were present at that time, upon all who had participated in the great jubilee service of the preceding week. On the tablets of memory I had recalled all the kindnesses that had been shown our church by other churches and other pastors on that occasion. The general feeling of my prayer had been an outpouring of heartfelt gratitude for myself and my flock. As I have said before, God speaks loudest in the thunder of our experiences. There were several narrow escapes, for the fire spread with great rapidity, but, fortunately, all escaped from the doomed building in time. Mr. Frederick W. Lawrence and Mr. T.E. Matthews, both of them trustees of the church, were exposed to serious danger and their escape was providential. Mr. Lawrence crept out on his hands and knees to the open air, and Mr. Matthews was almost suffocated when he reached the street.

The flames spread rapidly in the neighbourhood and destroyed the Hotel Regent, adjoining the church. At my home that day there were many messages of sympathy and condolence brought to me, and neighbouring churches sent committees to tender the use of their pulpits. In the afternoon the Tabernacle trustees met at my house and submitted the following 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 impulse of gratitude I replied in like sympathy. I thanked them, and remembering that I had buried their dead, baptised their children and married the young, my heart was with them. I sincerely felt then, and perhaps I always did feel, that I would rather serve them than any other people on the face of the earth. It was my conclusion that if the trustees could fulfil 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, the day following the disaster. Before leaving, however, I dictated the following communication to my friends and the friends of my ministry everywhere:--

"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 the front steps of my home in Brooklyn, N.Y. The sensation of leaving for a journey around the world was not all bright anticipation. The miles to be travelled were numerous, the seas to be crossed treacherous, the solemnities outnumbered the expectations. My family accompanied me to the railroad train, and my thought was should we ever meet again? The climatic changes, the ships, the shoals, the hurricanes, the bridges, the cars, the epidemics, the possibilities hinder any positiveness of prophecy. I remembered the consoling remark at my reception a few evenings ago, made by the Hon. William M. Evarts.

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

The timbers of our destroyed church were still smoking when I left home. Three great churches had been consumed. Why this series of huge calamities I knew not. Had I not made all the arrangements for departure, and been assured by the trustees of my church that they would take all further responsibilities upon themselves, I would have postponed my intended tour or adjourned it for ever; but all whom I consulted told me that now was the time to go, so I turned my face towards the Golden Gate.

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

I returned to the United States in the autumn of 1894 and entered actively into a campaign of preaching wherever a pulpit was available. Of course there was much curiosity and interest to know how I was going to pursue my Gospel work, having resigned my pastorate in Brooklyn. On Sunday, January 6, 1895, I commenced a series of afternoon Gospel meetings in the Academy of Music, New York, every Sunday. Because the pastors of other churches had written me that an afternoon service was the only one that would not interfere with their regular services, I selected that time, otherwise I would much have preferred the morning or the evening. I decided to go to New York because for many years friends over there had been begging me to come. I regarded it as absurd and improbable to expect the people of Brooklyn to build a fourth Tabernacle, so I went in the direction that I felt would give me the largest opportunity in the world.

I continued to reside in Brooklyn pending future plans. I liked Brooklyn immensely--not only the people of my own former parish, but prominent people of all churches and denominations there are my warm personal friends. Any particular church in which I preached thereafter was only the candlestick. In different parts of the world my sermons were published in more than ten million copies every week. How many readers saw them no one can say positively. Those sermons came back to me in book form in almost every language of Europe.

My arrangements at the Academy of Music were not the final plans for my Gospel work. I expected, however, to gather from these Gospel meetings sufficient 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 made very enthusiastic offers to me to accept a permanent pastoral obligation. For some reason or other I became more and more convinced, however, that the divine intention in my life from this time on would be different from any previous plan. The only reason that I declined to accept these offers was because there was enough work for me to do outside a permanent pulpit.

My literary work became extensive in its demand upon my time, and my weekly sermons were like a sacred obligation that I could not forego. I never found any difficulty in finding a pulpit from which to preach every Sunday of my life. There were some ministers who preferred to sandwich me in between regular hours of worship, if possible, so as to maintain the even course of their way and avoid the crowds. I never could avoid them and I never wanted to. I was never nervous, as many people are, of a crowded place--of a panic.

The sudden excitement to which we give the name of "panic" is almost always senseless and without foundation, whether this panic be a wild rush in the money market or the stampede of an audience down the aisles and out of the windows. My advice to my family when they are in a congregation of people suddenly seized upon by a determination to get out right away, and to get out regardless as to whether others are able to get out, is to sit quiet on the supposition that nothing has happened, or is going to happen.

I have been in a large number of panics, and in all the cases nothing occurred except a demonstration of frenzy. One night in the Academy of Music, Brooklyn, while my congregation were worshipping there, at the time we were rebuilding one of our churches, there occurred a wild panic. There was a sound that gave the impression that the galleries were giving way under the immense throngs of people. I had been preaching about ten minutes when at the alarming sound aforesaid, the whole audience rose to their feet except those who fainted. Hundreds of voices were in full shriek. Before me I saw strong men swoon. The organist fled the platform. In an avalanche people went down the stairs. A young man left his hat and overcoat and sweetheart, and took a leap for life, and it is doubtful whether he ever found his hat or coat, although, I suppose, he did recover his sweetheart. Terrorisation reigned. I shouted at the top of my voice, "Sit down!" but it was a cricket addressing a cyclone. Had it not been that the audience for the most part were so completely packed in, there must have been a great loss of life in the struggle. Hoping to calm the multitude I began to sing the long meter doxology, but struck it at such a high pitch that by the time I came to the second line I broke down. I then called to a gentleman in the orchestra whom I knew could sing well: "Thompson, can't you sing better than that?" whereupon he started the doxology again. By the time we came to the second line scores of voices had joined, and by the time we came to the third line hundreds of voices enlisted, and the last line marshalled thousands. Before the last line was reached I cried out, "As I was saying when you interrupted me," and then went on with my sermon. The cause of the panic was the sliding of the snow from one part of the roof of the Academy to another part. That was all. But no one who was present that night will ever forget the horrors of the scene.

On the following Wednesday I was in the large upper room of the college at Lewisburg, Pa.; I was about to address the students. No more people could get into this room, which was on the second or third storey. The President of the college was introducing me when some inflammable Christmas greens, which had some six months before been wound around a pillar in the centre of the room, took fire, and from floor to ceiling there was a pillar of flame. Instantly the place was turned from a jolly commencement scene, in which beauty and learning and congratulation commingled, into a raving bedlam of fright and uproar. The panic of the previous Sunday night in the Academy of Music, Brooklyn, had schooled me for the occasion, and I saw at a glance that when the Christmas greens were through burning all would be well.

One of the professors said to me, "You seem to be the only composed person present." I replied, "Yes, I got prepared for this by something which I saw last Sunday in Brooklyn."

So I give my advice: On occasions of panic, sit still; in 999 cases out of a thousand there is nothing the matter.

I was not released from my pastorate of the Brooklyn Tabernacle by the Brooklyn Presbytery until December, 1894, after my return from abroad. Some explanation was demanded of me by members of the Presbytery for my decision to relinquish my pastorate, and I read the following statement which I had carefully prepared. It concerns these pages because it is explanatory 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 Church in Washington. My work was to be an association with the Rev. Dr. Byron W. Sunderland, the President's pastor. It was Dr. Sunderland's desire that 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 I advocated a joint pastorate. There were invitations from all parts of the world for me to preach at this time. I had calls from churches in Melbourne, 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. All these cities, in fact, promised to build big churches for me if I would go 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 following dispatch 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 is delightful. President Cleveland was a personal friend, as were many of the public men, and I regarded my call to Washington as a national opportunity. It had been my custom in the past, when I was very tired from overwork, to visit Washington for two or three days, stopping at one of the hotels, to get a thorough rest. For a long time I was really undecided what to do, I had so many invitations to take up my home and life work in different cities. While preaching was to be the main work for the rest of my life, my arrangements were so understood by my church in Washington that I could continue my lecture engagements.

I delivered a farewell sermon before leaving for Washington, at the Lafayette Avenue Presbyterian Church, in Brooklyn, before an audience of five 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 of self-control. I could not stop the flow of tears that came with the closing paragraph. The words are merely the outward sign of my inner feelings:

"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!"

I was installed in the First Presbyterian Church in Washington on October 23, 1895. My first sermon in the new pulpit in Washington was preached to a crowded church, with an overflow of over three thousand persons in the street outside. The text of my sermon was, "All Heaven is looking on."

In a few days, by exchange of my Brooklyn property, I had obtained the house 1402 Massachusetts Avenue, in Washington, for my home. It had at one time been the Spanish Legation, and was in a delightful part of the city. Shortly after my arrival in Washington I received my first introduction at the White House, with my daughters, to Mrs. Cleveland. Our reception was cordial and gracious in the extreme. I had engaged a suite of rooms at the Arlington Hotel for a year. We remained there till our lease was up before entering our new home. There was a desire among members of the congregation of the First Presbyterian Church to have me preach at the morning as well as the evening services. With three ministers attached to one church there was some difficulty in the arrangement of the sermons. Eventually it was decided that I should preach morning and evening.

In 1896 I made an extensive lecturing tour, in which I discussed my impressions of the world trip I had recently made.

The world was getting better in spite of contrasting opinions from men who had thought about it. God never launched a failure.

In 1897 I made an appeal for aid for the famine in India. I always believed it was possible to evangelise India.

My life in Washington was not different from its former course. I had known many prominent people of this country, and some of the great men of other lands.

I had known all the Presidents of the United States since Buchanan. I had known Mr. Gladstone, all the more prominent men in the bishoprics, and in high commercial, financial and religious position. I had been presented 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 in London in 1879. I found his family delightful Christian people, and the Countess and their daughters are very lovely. The Earl presided at two of my meetings. He took me to see some of his midnight charities--one of them called the "House of Lords" and the other the "House of Commons," both of them asylums for old and helpless men. We parted about two o'clock in the morning in the streets of London. As we bade each other good-bye he said, "Send me a stick of American wood and I will send you a stick." His arrived in America, and is now in my possession, a shepherd's crook; but before the cane I purchased for him reached Scotland the good Earl had departed this life. I was not surprised to hear of his decease. I said to my wife in London, "We will never see the Earl again in this world. He is ripe for Heaven, and will soon be taken." He attended the House of Lords during the week, and almost every Sabbath preached in some chapel or church.

I shall not forget the exciting night I met him. I was getting out of a carriage at the door of a church in London where I was to lecture when a ruffian struck at me, crying, "He that believeth not shall be damned." The scoundrel's blow would have demolished me but for the fact that a bystander put out his arm and arrested the blow. From that scene I was ushered into the ante-room of the church where the Earl of Kintore was awaiting my arrival. From that hour we formed a friendship. He had been a continuous reader of my sermons, and that fact made an introduction easy. I have from him five or six letters.

Lord and Lady Aberdeen had us at their house in London in the summer of 1892. Most gracious and delightful people they are. I was to speak at Haddo House, their estate in Scotland, at a great philanthropic meeting, but I was detained in St. Petersburg, Russia, by an invitation of the Emperor, and could not get to Scotland in time. Glad am I that the Earl is coming to Canada to be Governor-General. He and the Countess will do Canada 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 important appointment--I have had opportunity to say plauditory things of them in vast 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 years pastorate in Washington, I find some notes that may be interesting. I transmit them to the printed page exactly as I find them written on paper:

"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: