ary Presbyterian Church, on the corner of Powell and Geary
Streets. Never had I seen such a crowd before. As we made our way to
the church, we found the adjoining streets packed so solidly with people
that we had to call a policeman to make an opening for us. Once inside,
we saw the church rapidly filling, till at last, as a means of
protection, the doors were locked against the surging crowd. But Dr.
Talmage had scarcely begun his sermon when the doors were literally
broken down by the crowd outside. Quick to see the danger the Doctor
sent out word to the people that he would speak in Union Square
immediately after the church service. This had the desired effect, and
the great crowd waited patiently for him a block away till nine o'clock.
It was rather a raw evening because of a fog that had come up from the
sea, and for this reason the Doctor asked permission to keep his hat on
while he talked from the band stand. It was the first time I ever heard
him speak out of doors, and I was amazed to hear how clearly every word
travelled, and with what precision his voice carried the exact effect.
It was a coincidence that the theme of his sermon should have been,
"There is plenty of room in Heaven."

The tremendous enthusiasm, the almost worshipful interest with which he
was received, could easily have spoiled any man, but with Dr. Talmage
such an ovation as we had witnessed seemed only to intensify the
simplicity of his character. He lost his identity in the elements of
inspiration, and when he had finished preaching it was not to himself
but to the power that had been given him, he gave all the credit of his
influence. He was always simple, direct, unpretentious.

During a short stay in Chicago Dr. Talmage preached in his son's church,
and then hurried home to begin his duties in his own church. Duty was
the Doctor's master key; with it he locked himself away from the
mediocre, and unlocked his way to ultimate freedom of religious
impulse. For a long while he had formed a habit of preaching without
recompense, as he would have desired to do all his life, because he felt
that the power of preaching was a gift from God, a trust to be
transmitted without cost to the people. He never missed preaching on
Sunday, paying his own expenses to whatever pulpit he was invited to
occupy. There were so many invitations that he was usually able to
choose. It was this conviction that led to his ultimate resignation from
his church in Wash