The long journey, in which years seemed compressed into days, at last came to a close. The train pulled up in Washington, and our own physician, Dr. Magruder, met us at the station. Dr. Talmage was borne into his home in a chair, and upstairs into his bedroom, where already the angel of death had entered to welcome and guard him, though, alas! we knew it not, and still hoped against hope. Occasional rallies took place; but evidences of cerebral inflammation appeared, and the patient sank 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 would have been the universal interest and sympathy shown from all parts of the world.
Readers will pardon me if I reproduce from The Christian Herald a record of the last scene. It is hard "to take down the folded shadows of our bereavement" and hold it even to the gaze of friends.
"After a painful illness, lasting several weeks, America's best-beloved preacher, the Reverend Thomas DeWitt Talmage, passed from earth to the life above, on April 12th, 1902. Ever since his return from Mexico, where he was prostrated by a sudden attack which rapidly assumed the form of cerebral congestion, he had lain in the sick chamber of his Washington home, surrounded by his family and cared for by the most skilful physicians. Each day brought its alternate hopes and fears. Much of the time was passed in unconsciousness; but there were intervals when, even amid his sufferings, he could speak to and recognise those around him. No murmur or complaint came from his lips; he bore his suffering bravely, sustained by a Higher Power. The message had come which sooner or later comes to all, and the aged servant of God was ready to go; he had been ready all his life.
"Occasional rallies took place, raising hopes which were quickly abandoned. From April 5th to April 12th these rallies occurred at frequent intervals, always followed by a condition of increased depression, more or less augmented fever and partial unconsciousness. On Saturday, April 12th, a great change became apparent. For many hours the patient had been unconscious. As the day wore on, it became evident that he could not live through another night. All of Dr. Talmage's family—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, were gathered in the chamber of death. Dr. G.L. Magruder, the principal physician, was also in attendance at the last. At 9.25 o'clock p.m., the soul took flight from the inanimate clay, and the spirit of the world's greatest 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 ministrations until the eyes of the beloved one were closed in death. A brief excerpt from his address at the Memorial Service of the Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage held at the Eastern Presbyterian Church, Washington, may not be unacceptable 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 we compress the ocean into a dewdrop? No more is it possible to condense into one brief hour what is due to the memory of our beloved and illustrious friend. His moral courage was only equalled by his giant frame and physical strength. He was made of the very stuff that martyrs are made of: one of the most remarkable individualities of our time. A man of no negative qualities, aggressive and positive.
"His whole soul was full of convictions of right and duty. A firm friend, a man of ready recognition, a human magnet in his focalising power. He was true in every deed, and never needed a veil to be drawn.... If, as his personal friend for more than twenty years, I should attempt to open up the treasures of his real greatness, where shall we find more of those sterling virtues that poets have sung, artists portrayed, and historians commended? He was truly a great man—a man of God!
"The last years of his life were full of happiness in the living companionship of her who so sadly mourns his departure. He frequently spoke to me of the great inspiration brought into these years by her ceaseless devotion to all his plans and work, making what was burdensome in his accumulating literary duties a pleasure.... The last fond look of recognition was given to his beloved wife, and the last word that fell from his lips, when far down in the valley, was the sweetest music to his ears—'Eleanor.'