k before me.

Over nine churches in my own country, and several in England, had made
very enthusiastic offers to me to accept a permanent pastoral
obligation. For some reason or other I became more and more convinced,
however, that the divine intention in my life from this time on would be
different from any previous plan. The only reason that I declined to
accept these offers was because there was enough work for me to do
outside a permanent pulpit.

My literary work became extensive in its demand upon my time, and my
weekly sermons were like a sacred obligation that I could not forego. I
never found any difficulty in finding a pulpit from which to preach
every Sunday of my life. There were some ministers who preferred to
sandwich me in between regular hours of worship, if possible, so as to
maintain the even course of their way and avoid the crowds. I never
could avoid them and I never wanted to. I was never nervous, as many
people are, of a crowded place--of a panic.

The sudden excitement to which we give the name of "panic" is almost
always senseless and without foundation, whether this panic be a wild
rush in the money market or the stampede of an audience down the aisles
and out of the windows. My advice to my family when they are in a
congregation of people suddenly seized upon by a determination to get
out right away, and to get out regardless as to whether others are able
to get out, is to sit quiet on the supposition that nothing has
happened, or is going to happen.

I have been in a large number of panics, and in all the cases nothing
occurred except a demonstration of frenzy. One night in the Academy of
Music, Brooklyn, while my congregation were worshipping there, at the
time we were rebuilding one of our churches, there occurred a wild
panic. There was a sound that gave the impression that the galleries
were giving way under the immense throngs of people. I had been
preaching about ten minutes when at the alarming sound aforesaid, the
whole audience rose to their feet except those who fainted. Hundreds of
voices were in full shriek. Before me I saw strong men swoon. The
organist fled the platform. In an avalanche people went down the stairs.
A young man left his hat and overcoat and sweetheart, and took a leap
for life, and it is doubtful whether he ever found his hat or coat,
although, I suppose, he did recover his sweetheart. Terrorisation
reigned. I shouted at the top of my voice, "Sit down!" but i