contributors in those days, not a solitary one survives.  In May, 1860, My first article appeared in the New York Evangelist, and during these forty-two years I have tested the patience of its readers by imposing on them more than eighteen hundred of my lubrications.  As I was preparing one of my earliest articles, I happened to spy the blossoms of the catalpa tree before my window, and for want of a title I headed it “Under the Catalpa.”  The tree flourishes still, and bids fair to blossom after the hand that pens these lines has turned to dust.  I need not recapitulate the names of all the many journals to which I have sent contributions,—­many of which have been republished in Great Britain, Australia and other parts of the civilized world.  I once gave to my friend, Mr. Arthur B. Cook, the eminent stenographer, some statistics of the number of my articles, and the various journals in which they had appeared in this and other countries.  He made an estimate of the extent of their publication, and then said to me:  “It would be within bounds to say that your four thousand articles have been printed in at least two hundred millions of copies.”  The production of these articles involved no small labor, but has brought its own reward.  To enter a multitude of homes week after week; to converse with the inmates about many of the most vital questions in morals and religion; to speak words of guidance to the perplexed; of comfort to the troubled, and of exhortation to the saints and to the sinful—­all these involved a solemn responsibility.  That this life-work with the pen has not been without fruit I gratefully acknowledge.  When a group of railway employees, at a station in England, gathered around me to tender their thanks for spiritual help afforded them by my articles, I felt repaid for hours of extra labor spent in preaching through the press.

My first attempt at book-making was during my ministry at Trenton, New Jersey, when I published a small volume entitled “Stray Arrows.”  This was followed at different times by several volumes of an experimental and devotional character.  In the spring of 1867 one of our beautiful twin boys, at the age of four and a half years, was taken from us by a very brief and violent attack of scarlet fever.  We received a large number of tender letters of condolence, which gave us so much comfort that my wife suggested that they should be printed with the hope that they might be equally comforting to other people in affliction.  I accordingly selected a number of them, added the simple story of our precious child’s short career, and handed the package to my beloved friend and publisher, the late Mr. Peter Carter, with the request that they be printed for private distribution.  He urged, after reading them, that I should allow him to publish them, which he did under the title of “The Empty Crib, a Book of Consolation.”  That simple story of a sweet child’s life has travelled widely over the world and made our little “Georgie”