"I believe in Santa Claus. Haven't I listened when I was a boy and almost heard those bells on the reindeer; haven't I seen the marks in the 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 children should be allowed to believe in the beautiful mythical tale. It never hurt anyone, and I think one of the saddest memories of my childhood is of a day when an older brother told me there was no Santa Claus. I didn't believe him at first, and afterwards when I saw those delightful mysterious bundles being sneaked into the house, way down deep in my heart I believed that Santa Claus as well as my father and mother had something 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 a secretary. We were fortunate in securing a young lady who was an exquisite pianist. In the evening she would play Liszt's rhapsodies for the Doctor, who enjoyed the Hungarian composer most of all. He said to me 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 year was a musical box, which he kept in his study.
The three months preceding our trip to Europe were spent in the usual busy turmoil of social and public life. In truth we were very full of our plans for the European tour, which was to be devoted to preaching by Dr. Talmage, and to show me the places he had seen and people he had met on previous visits. There was something significant in the welcome and the ovations which my husband received over there. Neither the Doctor nor myself ever dreamed that it would be his farewell visit. And yet it seems to me now that he was received everywhere in Europe as if they expected it to be his last.
I must confess that we looked forward to our jaunt across the water so eagerly that the events of the preceding months did not seem very important. 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 resident of the town we were in. It had been so with Dr. Talmage for years. He always refused, however, because he felt that his time was too imperative a taskmaster. For thirty years he had never visited anyone over night, until he went to my brother's house in Pittsburg. But we were constantly meeting old friends of his, friends of many years, in every stopping place of our journeys. I remember particularly one of these characteristic meetings which took place in New York, where the Doctor, had gone to preach one Sunday. We had just entered the Waldorf Hotel, where we were stopping, when a little man stepped up to the Doctor and began picking money off his coat. He seemed to find it all over him. Dr. Talmage laughed, and introduced me to Marshall P. Wilder.
"Dr. Talmage started me in life," said Mr. Wilder, and proceeded to tell me how the Doctor had filled him with optimism and success. He was always doing this, gripping young men by the shoulders and shaking them into healthful life. And then men of political or national prominence were always seeking him out, to gain a little dynamic energy and balance from the Doctor's storehouse of experience and philosophy. He was a giant of helpfulness and inspiration, to everyone who came into contact with him.
In January we dined with Governor Stone at the executive mansion in Harrisburg, where Dr. Talmage went to preach, and on our return from Europe Governor Stone insisted upon giving us a great reception and welcome. Of course, those years were stirring and enjoyable, and never to be forgotten. The reflected glory is a personal pleasure after all.
In April, 1900, we sailed on the "Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse" bound for London. The two points of interest the Doctor insisted upon making in Europe were the North Cape, to see the Midnight Sun, and the Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau. Hundreds of invitations had been sent to him to preach abroad, many of which he accepted, but he could not be persuaded to 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, Miss Rebekah 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 how he escaped the tortures of mal-de-mer, from which he had always suffered. It was a family secret. Once, when crossing with Mrs. Vanderbilt, she had given Dr. Talmage an opium plaster, which was absolute 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., going to the hotel somewhat the worse for wear. Temporarily we stopped at the Langham, moving later to the Metropole. Before lunch the same day the Doctor drove to Westminster Abbey to see the grave of Gladstone. It was his first thought, his first duty. It had been his custom for many years to visit the graves of his friends whenever he could be near them. It was a characteristic impulse of Dr. Talmage's to follow to the edge of eternity those whom he had known and liked. When he was asked in England what he had come to do there, he said:
"I am visiting Europe with the hope of reviving old friendships and stimulating those who have helped me in the old gospel of kindness."