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."

T. DE WITT TALMAGE

AS I KNEW HIM

FIRST MILESTONE

1832-1845

Our family Bible, in the record just between the Old and the New
Testaments, has this entry: "Thomas DeWitt, Born January 7, 1832." I was
the youngest of a family of twelve children, all of whom lived to grow
up except the first, and she was an invalid child.

I was the child of old age. My nativity, I am told, was not heartily
welcomed, for the family was already within one of a dozen, and the
means of support were not superabundant. I arrived at Middlebrook, New
Jersey, while my father kept the toll-gate, at which business the older
children helped him, but I was too small to be of service. I have no
memory of residence there, except the day of departure, and that only
emphasised by the fact that we left an old cat which had purred her way
into my affections, and separation from her was my first sorrow, so far
as I can remember.

In that home at Middlebrook, an