Word: beechers
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...rule, did not like him. After a period of years he found himself at Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, the pastor of a flock of golden sheep, from whose charge he derived a yearly income of $20,000, even now a generous stipend for any preacher. No doubt Henry Ward Beecher deserved such recompense for his services; he was called the most eloquent preacher since St. Paul; women fainted when he shouted and roared. Not content with the homage he had already received, he must enlarge his influence; with this in mind he began to publish in a religious weekly, the Inde...
...this man Preacher Beecher seemed as splendid almost as God. To Preacher Beecher, Theodore Tilton's idolatry was comforting; even more comforting was the idolatry of Elizabeth Tilton. Often he would go to see this lady. Some times her husband was present; more, often not. At last Elizabeth confessed to Theodore a monstrous thing. Theodore Tilton, afterwards, was not so ready to bow down to Henry Ward Beecher; finally, after resentments had smouldered and gathered for five years, he brought suit against the clergyman for alienation of his wife's affection...
There began then an uproar in the U. S. press such as can scarcely be imagined in these days when even the finest flower of the clergy cannot presume to the importance which then belonged to Henry Ward Beecher. The parishioners of Plymouth Church supported their leader, who before a court met specific charges of adultery with a stupid sarcasm. Finally after 112 days of trial, Mr. Beecher's jury disagreed and he was allowed to go free. There was, however, little disagreement in the minds of the public. For the name of the greatest preacher since St. Paul...
...thus did the Henry Ward Beecher...
After his trial and tribulations Preacher Beecher went back to his pulpit where for a few more years he continued to function. Theodore Tilton went to France; there he was playing chess when a newspaper man handed him a cable which said, "BEECHER DEAD. INTERVIEW TILTON." For a long time Mr. Tilton stared out at the streets of Paris, gay with spring. Then he turned back to his chess board and said to the man he was playing with, "I beg your pardon ... is it my move?" The Book. To fit a name which is now not well remembered, even...