The reporter looks over my shoulder and sees other letters.
"A young minister writes to say that his congregation is leaving him. How shall he get his people back? An old sailor scrawls on a piece of yellow paper that he is bound for the China seas and he wants a copy of each of Dr. Talmage's sermons sent to his old wife in New Bedford, Mass., while he is gone. Here is a letter in a schoolgirl's hand. She has had a quarrel with her first lover and he has left her in a huff. How can she get him back? Another letter is from the senior member of one of the biggest commercial houses in Brooklyn. It is brief, but it gives the good doctor pleasure. The writer tells him how thoroughly he enjoyed the sermon last Sunday. The next letter is from the driver of a horse car. He has been discharged. His children go to Dr. Talmage's Sunday School. Is that not enough to show that the father is reliable and steady, and will not the preacher go at once to the superintendent of the car line and have him reinstated. Here is a perfumed note from a young mother who wants her child baptised. There are invitations to go here and there, and to speak in various cities. Young men write for advice: One with the commercial instinct strongly developed, wants to know if the ministry pays? Still another letter is from a patent medicine house, asking if the preacher will not write an endorsement of a new cure for rheumatism. Other writers take the preacher to task for some utterance in the pulpit that did not please them. Either he was too lenient or too severe. A young man wants to get married and writes to know what it will cost to tie the knot. A New York actress, who has been an attendant for several Sundays at the Tabernacle, writes to say that she is so well pleased with the sermons that she would be glad if she could come earlier on Sunday morning, but she is so tired when Saturday night comes that she can't get up early. Would it be asking too much to have a seat reserved for her until she arrived!"
A maid in a "white cap" comes to the door and informs me that a "roomful of people" are waiting to see me downstairs. It is the usual routine of my morning's work, when I receive all who come to me for advice and consolation. The reporter regards it, however, as an event, and writes about it in this way:—
"Visitors to the Talmage mansion are ushered through a broad hall into the great preacher's back parlour. They begin to arrive frequently before breakfast, and the bell rings till long after the house is closed for the night. There are men and women of all races, some richly dressed, some fashionably, some very poorly. Many of them had never spoken a word to Dr. Talmage before. They think that Talmage has only to strike the rock to bring forth a stream of shining coins. He steps into their midst pleasantly.
"'Well, young man,' he says to a youth of seventeen, who stands before him. He offers the boy his hand and shakes it heartily.
"'I don't suppose you know me,' says the lad, 'but I'm in your Sunday School. Mother thinks I should go to work and I have come to you for advice.'
"Then follows in whispers a brief conversation about the boy himself, his parents, his education and mode of life.
"'Now,' says the preacher, leading him by the hand to the door, 'get a letter from your mother, and also one from your Sunday School teacher, and one from your Day School teacher, and bring them to me. If they are satisfactory I will give you a letter to a warm friend of mine who is one of the largest dry goods merchants in New York. If you are able, bright, and honest he will employ you. If you are faithful you may some day be a member of the firm. All the world is before you, lad. Be honest, have courage. Roll up your sleeves and go to work and you will succeed. Goodbye!' and the door closes.
"The next caller is an old woman who wants the popular pastor to get her husband work in the Navy Yard. No sooner is she disposed of, with a word of comfort, than a spruce-looking young man steps forward. He is a book agent, and his glib tongue runs so fast that the preacher subscribes for his book without looking at it. As the agent retires a shy young girl comes forward and asks for the preacher's autograph. It is given cheerfully. Two old ladies of bustling activity have come to ask for advice about opening a soup kitchen for the poor. A middle-aged man pours out a sad story of woe. He is a hard-working carpenter. His only daughter is inclined to be wayward. Would Dr. Talmage come round and talk to her?
"Finally, all the callers have been heard except one young man who sits in a corner of the room toying with his hat. He has waited patiently so that he might have the preacher all alone. He rises as Dr. Talmage walks over to him.