It was difficult for Dr. Talmage to assimilate the social obligations of life with the broader demands of his life mission, which seemed to constantly extend and increase in scope into the far distances of the world.  More and more evident it became that the candlestick of his religious doctrine could no longer be maintained in one church, or in one pulpit.  The necessity of breaking engagements out of town so as to be in Washington every Sunday became irksome to him.  He felt that he could do better in the purposes of his usefulness as a preacher if he were to bear the candle of his Gospel in a candlestick he could carry everywhere himself.  I confess that I was not sorry when he reached this decision and submitted his resignation to the First Presbyterian Church in the spring of 1899, after our return from a short vacation in Florida.

On our trip South I remember Admiral Schley was on the train with us part of the way.  The Admiral told the Doctor the whole story of the Santiago victory, and commented upon the official investigation of the affair.  My husband was very fond of him, and his comment was summed up in his reassuring answer to the Admiral—­“But you were there.”

It was during our stay in Florida that Dr. Talmage and Joseph Jefferson, the actor, renewed their acquaintance.  The Doctor never saw him act because he had made it a rule after he entered the ministry in his youth never to go to the theatre to see a play.  In crossing the ocean he had frequently appeared with stage celebrities, at the usual entertainments given on board ship for the benefit of seamen, and in this way had made some friends among actors.  He was particularly fond of Madame Modjeska, whom he had met on the steamer, and whose character and spirit he greatly admired.

Jefferson was a great fisherman, and most of his day was spent on the water or on the pier.  There we used to meet him, and he and Dr. Talmage would exchange reminiscences, serious and ludicrous.  One of the Doctor’s favourite stories was an account of a terrific fight he saw in India, between a mongoose and a cobra.  Mr. Jefferson also had a story, a sort of parody of this, which described a man in delirium tremens watching in imaginary terror a similar fight.  Years before this, when the Doctor had delivered his famous sermon in Brooklyn against the stage, Jefferson was among the actors who went to hear him.  Recalling this incident, Mr. Jefferson said:—­

“When I entered that church to hear your sermon, Doctor, I hated you.  When I left the church, I loved you.”  He talked very little of the theatre, and seemed to regard his stage career with less importance than he did his love of painting.  He never grew tired of this subject.

When we were leaving Palm Beach, Mr. Jefferson said to me, “I know Dr. Talmage won’t come and see me act, but when I am in Washington I will send you a box, and I hope the Doctor will let you come.”