Van Nest
Talmage, devoted his life to them. I believed, as my brother did, that
they were a great nation.

When he went, my last brother went. Stunned was I until I staggered
through the corridors of the hotel in London, England, when the news
came that John was dead. If I should say all that I felt I would declare
that since Paul the Apostle to the Gentiles a more faithful or
consecrated man has not lifted his voice in the dark places of
heathenism. I said it while he was alive, and might as well say it now
that he is dead. He was the hero of our family. He did not go to China
to spend his days because no one in America wanted to hear him preach.
At the time of his first going to China he had a call to succeed in
Brooklyn, N.Y., the Rev. Dr. Broadhead, the Chrysostom of the American
pulpit, a call at a large salary; and there would have been nothing
impossible to my brother in the way of religious work or Christian
achievement had he tarried in his native land. But nothing could detain
him from the work to which God called him long before he became a
Christian.

My reason for writing that anomalous statement is that, when a small boy
in Sabbath-school, he read a library book, "The Life of Henry Martin."
He said to my mother, "I am going to be a missionary." The remark at the
time made no special impression. Years after that passed on before his
conversion; but when the grace of God appeared to him, and he had
entered his studies for the Gospel ministry, he said one day, "Mother,
do you remember that years ago I said, 'I am going to be a missionary'?"
She replied, "Yes, I remember it." "Well," said he, "I am going to keep
my promise." How well he kept it millions of souls on earth and in
Heaven have long since heard. When the roll of martyrs is called before
the throne, the name of John Van Nest Talmage will be called. He worked
himself to death in the cause of the world's evangelisation. His heart,
his brain, his hand, his voice, his muscles, his nerves could do no
more. He sleeps in the cemetery of Somerville, N.J., so near his father
and mother that he will face them when he arises in the resurrection of
the just, and, amid a crowd of his kindred now sleeping on the right of
them and on the left of them, will feel the thrill of the trumpet that
wakes the dead.

You could get nothing from my brother at all. Ask him a question to
evoke what he had done for God and the Church, and his lips were as
tightly shut as t