The Rev. T. De Witt Talmage,
D.D.
David and Catherine Talmage—parents
of Dr. T. De Witt Talmage
Dr. Talmage in his first
church, Belleville, new Jersey
Dr. Talmage as chaplain of
the thirteenth regiment of new
York
the third Brooklyn tabernacle
the first Presbyterian church,
Washington, D.C.
Dr. And Mrs. T. De Witt Talmage
facsimile of president Abraham
Lincoln’s letter
I write this story of my life, first of all for my
children. How much would I now give for a full
account of my father’s life written by his own
hand! That which merely goes from lip to ear is
apt to be soon forgotten. The generations move
on so rapidly that events become confused. I
said to my son, “Do you remember that time in
Philadelphia, during the war, when I received a telegram
saying several hundred wounded soldiers would arrive
next day, and we suddenly extemporised a hospital
and all turned in to the help of the suffering soldiers?”
My son’s reply was, “My memory of that
occurrence is not very distinct, as it took place
six years before I was born.” The fact is
that we think our 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 like to read about what I have been
doing, thinking, enjoying, and hoping all these years;
for through the publication of my entire Sermons, as
has again and again been demonstrated, I have been
brought into contact with the minds of more people,
and for a longer time, than most men. This I
mean not in boast, but as a reason for thinking that
this autobiography may have some attention outside
of my own circle, and I mention it also in gratitude
to God, Who has for so long a time given me this unlimited
and 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, or two
children to be alike. This infinite variety of
character and experience makes the story of any life
interesting, if that story be clearly and accurately
told.
I am now in the full play of my faculties, and without
any apprehension of early departure, not having had
any portents, nor seen the moon over my left shoulder,
nor had a salt-cellar upset, nor seen a bat fly into
the window, nor heard a cricket chirp from the hearth,
nor been one of thirteen persons at a table.
But my common sense, and the family record, and the
almanac tell me it must be “towards evening.”
