Rensselaer Union, Volume 6, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 August 1874 — THE TILTON-BEECHER SCANDAL. [ARTICLE]

THE TILTON-BEECHER SCANDAL.

-Statements Before the Committee of Messrs. Moulton and Beeche£. On the 13th the Investigating Committee of Plymouth Church furnished for publication the full text of Francis D. Moulton’s statement before the committee on the 10th. It is as follows: Gentlemen op the Committee— When I was last before yon 1 stated that I would, at your request., produce such documents tin I had. and make such statement of facts as had come to my knowledge, on the subject of yonr inquiry- i fully intended so to do, and have prepared my statement of facts, as sustained by the documents, and made an exhibition of papers that have come, in any way, into my possession, bearing on the controversy between the parties. That statement must, of course, bear with more or less force upon one or the other of them. On mature reflection, aided by the advice of my most valued friends, 1 have reconsidered that determination,' and am obliged to say to you that I feel compelled, from a sense of duty to the parties, to my relation to the controversy, and to myself, neither to make the statement nor to produce the documents. When I first became a party to this unhappy controversy between Beecher and Tilton I had no personal knowledge, nor any document in my possession, which would affect either. Everything that I know of fact, or have received ol papers, has come to me in the most sacred confidence, to be used for the purpose of composing and settling all the difficulties between them, and of preventing so far as possible any knowledge of their private affairs being brought to public notice. For this purpose all their matters have been intrusted to me, and to none other. If I should now use them, it would he not for the purpose of peace and reconciliation, hut to voluntarily take part in a controversy which they have seen lit to renew between themselves. How faithfully, earnestly, and honestly I have labored to do my duty to the parties, for peace, they both know. The question for me to settle for myself, and no other, is, now, Ought I to do anything to aid either party in the renewed controversy, by the use of that which I received and have used only to promote harmony? On mv honor and conscience I think I ought not; and, at the risk of whatever of misconstruction and vituperation may come upon me, I must adhere to the dictates of my own judgment, and preserve at least my own* self-respect. I call atten--440n-4vgivm to the fact Oiat yours is a—werffvoluntary tribunal, and that whatever I dohere is done by a voluntary, and not compelled, witness. Whether before any tribunal having the power to compel the production of testimony and statement of fact I shall ever produce tkese_ papers, or give any of these confidential statements, I reserve to myself to judge of the emergency, which I hope may never come. Against my wish, as I never have been in sympathy with a renewal of this conflict, a part* of these documents have been given to the public. In so far as confidence in regard to them has ceased, it is hut iust, tlmrefore, and-due-to the parties that -the Whole of those documents, portions of which, only have been given, shall he put into your hands. In response to the thricerenewed request of the committee, I have, therefore, copies of them which I produce here and place in the hands of the committee, with the hope and request that, after they have been examined by them, thev may be returned to me. If any controversy shall arise as to the authenticity of tho copies or of the documents, on that point I shall hoia myself open to speak. With this exception—except in defense of honor and the uprightness of my course in all this unfortunate and unhappy business, the purity and candor of which I appeal to the eonsciences of both parties to sustain, I do not propose. and hope I may never he called upon here-' alter, to speak, either as 'to facts, or to produce any paper that I have received from either ot the parties involved herein. Fkancis D. Moulton. During the cross-examination an attempt was made to induce Mr. Moulton to modify tlie determination indicated above, but without success. Copies of the letters referred to were presented to the committee and one of the members was authorized to authenticate them by comparison with the originals. MR. BEECHER'S EXPLANATORY STATEMENT. On the 13th Mr. Beecher appeared before the committee and gave explicit, comprehensive and solemn denial of the charges made by Theodore Tilton against him, and made a detailed explanatory statement of the facts substantially given below: Mr. Beecher said that four years ago Theodore Tilton fell from one of the most prominent positions in America, and became the associate and representative of Victoria WoOdhull and her cause. By his folly he had become bankrupt in reputation, occupation and resources. The brief outline of the interior history which would follow was the history of liis attempts to employ Mr. Beecher to reinstate him in business, restore liis reputation and place him agajn upon the eminence lrom which he had fallen, lie could.‘in the light of recent developments, see that Mr. Tilton is and has been from the beginning of this difficulty a selfish and reckless pursuing a plan of mingled good and hatred, and weaving about him a network of suspicions, misunderstandings, plots and lies to which his own innocent words and acts, and even his thoughts of kindness, had been made to contribute. That Mr. Beecher was blind so long to the real motive of the intrigue going on around him, lie said was due to the multiplicity of his public engagements and the complete surrender of tho ufi’afHnto the hands gs Mr: Moulton. lie was only too glad to he relieved from considering the details of the wretched complications, the origin and fact of which remain, in spite of all friendly intorventiott. a perpetual burden to his soul, ft was plain io him now that it was not until Tilton had fallen into disgrace and lost liis salary, that he thought it necessary to assail him with charges which he pretended t’o have had in mind for six iliohfhs. The alleged domestic often selvas very easily and quickly put aside in order that he Miiight, through friends, he used to extract from Mr. Boweii $7,000. Mr. Tilton then signed an agreement of peace ami concord, which was accepted by Mr. Beecher as sincere. He believed that the modifications of that agreement insisted upon bf Mr. Tilton were really made to give him an opportunity foF future operations upon ;uid against him (Beecher). So long as Tilton was, or thought he was, on the road to success his conduct was friendly. But when, with a peculiar genius for blunders, be fell into new complications and difficulties, it became liis policy to bring coercion to bear upon Beecher's honor. coiisi ience and affections for the purpose of extricating himself at "liis expense. , He was not blind to Tilton’s faults, but resolved to look on him favorably and hopefully, lie had been for years laboring earnestly aiid desperately for his salvation, and had been trying Jd make him as great as he conceived himself to be. To retnrn to prosperity and public confidentv one wiio patronl/.ed disreputable people and doctrines; refused to separate himself Iron! them, and ascribed to Beecher's ageucy the increasing ruin which he was persistently bringing upon himself -it was hard to do anything for such a man. He might as well have tried to fill a sieve with water. In the latter stage of their history Tilton liSited ayd created difficulties apparently for no other purpose than to drive him to fresh exeltions. In regard to Mr. Moulton’s connection with the affair Mr. Beecher said : Mr. Moulton came to me first as the schoolmate and frleml of Mr. Tilton, determined to reinstate him. i always suspected, without regard to my interests; hut on further acquaintance with me he undertook and promised to serve his frientu without doing wrong to me. He said he saw ctearly how this was to he done so as to restore neacc-'and harmony to Mr. Tilton’s koine, and bring ty a happy end all misunderstandings. Many thfflcs which he counseled I absolutely re* fused, but I never doubted his professed friendship for me. after friendship had'grown up between us. and whatever he wished me to do I did, unless It seemed to me wrong. My .confidence in him was the onlv element that seemed secure iu this confusion of tormenting perplexities. To him 1 wrote freely iu this troublous time, while I, felt that secret machinations were going* on around live, and the echoes of the vilest slanders concerning me were heard iu unexpected quarters. When some of my near relations were set against me, and the tattle of a crowd of malicious women, hostile to me on other grounds, wdS* borne to my ears ; Mhen I had lost the last remnant of faith in Theomfre, or hope for him; when 1 heard Q >vith unspeakable remorse that everything t had done to stay his destruction had made matters %'orse and worse, and that my attempt to keep him from a public trial* involving such a flow of scandal as has now been let loose, had been used by him to luring up new troubles; that his unhappy wife was, under his dictation, slgniug papers and rocantationa. and 1 know not what; that, in short, everything was breaking up, aud the destruction from whicn I had sought to savo the-family was likely to be emptied ou other families, the church, the community, with infinite horrors of woejor me; that my own was buried under heaps aud heaps of rubbish, aud nobody but my professed friend—if even he—could save us; iu his assurances that he could still do so 1 had at

least so much faith as to maintalu, under these terrible trials, the eilcnco Which h 6 enjoined. Not until Mr. Tilton, having attempted thron'ph Frank Carpenter to raise money from my friends, openly assaulted me in the letter to Dr. Bacon, did I break that silence, save by a simple denial of slanderous rumors against me, a year before, when, on tlie appearance of the first open attack from Mr. J’tlton, I immediately, without consulting Moulton, called for a thorough investigation, w ith a committee of my church. I am not responsible for the delay, the publicity or the details of that investigation. All the’harm which I hare so long dreaded, and have so earnestly striven to avoid, lias come to pass. I could not. further prevent It without a full surrender of honor and truth. Tlie time lias arrived when I can freely speak ill vindication of myself. Mr. Beecher continued l>y stating that he labored under groat disadvantages in making liis ‘statement, liis memory of dates aud details was Hot as clear and tenacious as memory of states of mind, and now, with the necessity of explaining actions and letters resulting from complex influences, apparent at the time nc found himself in a [losition where he knew his innocence without icing able to prove it with detailed explanations. He was one upon whom trouble worked inwardly, makinjfhhn outwardly silent but reverberating in the chambers of his soul; and when at length he did speak, it was like a pent-up flood aud pours without measure or moderation. He inherited a tendency to hypochondria, and in certain moods of reaction the world becomes black, and he saw despairingly. If he should speak us he felt he should give false colors and exaggerated proportions to every thing. Some of his letlers to Moulton reflected this morbid feeling With the above preliminary review, Mr. Beeclier proceeded with his narrative: Mr. Tilton was first known .to me ns the reSorter of my sermons. When, about 1861, Drs. neon. Storrs and Thompson resigned their places I became editor of the Independent , to which I had been from its start a contributor. One of the inducements held out to me was that ,Mr„ Tilton should be -my assistant and relieve me wholly from rontmu office work. In this relation i became very much attached to him. August was my vacation month, but my family repaired to mv farm in Juno and July and remained there during September and October. My labors confining me to the cite, I took my meals in the families of friends, amt from year to year I became so familiar with their children and houses that I went in and out daily almost as in my own house. Mr. Tilton often alluded to this habit and urged me to do the saftic by his house, lie would often speak iu extravagant terms of his wife's esteem and aflection—for me. After I began to visit his house, lie sought to make itattractive. He urged me to brine mv papers down there, and use the study to do my writing in. ns it was not pleasant to write at the office or the Independent. When I went to England in 1863 Mr. Tilton took temF ovary charge of the Independent. On my return, paved the way for him to take sole charge of it, my name remaining for a year, and he then becoming the responsible editor. Friendly relations continued until 1866, when tlie violent assault made upon me by Mr. Tilton in the Independent. on account of my Cleveland letter, and the temporary discontinuation of the publication of my sermons iu that paper, broke off mv connection wifli it. Although Mr. Tilton and I remained personally on good terms, yet there was a coolness between us on all matters of polities. Our social relations were very kindly, and as late as 1868-9, at liis request, I sat to Page some fifty times for a portrait. It was here that I first met and talked with Moulton. During this whole period I never received from Mr. Tilton or any member of his family the slightest hint that there was any dissatisfaction with my familiar relations to his household. As late, I think, as the winter of 1860, when going upon an extended lecturing tour he said, " I wish you would look in often, and see that Libby is not lonesome, or docs not want anything.” or words to that effect. Never, bv sign or word, did Mr. Tilton complain of my visits to his family, until he began to fear that the Independent would be taken from him; nor did he break out into violence until on the eve of dispossession from both the papers—the Independent and the Brooklyn Union— owned by Mr. Bowen. During these years of intimacy in Tilton’s family, I was treated as a father or elder brother. Children were born: -children died; they learned to love me and to frolic with me as if I was one of themselves. I loved them and I had for Mrs. Tilton 4 true and honest regard. She seemed to me an affectionate mother, a devoted wife, looking up to her huahand as one far above the common race of men, and turning to me with artless familiarity, and with entire confidence. Childish iu appearance, she was childlike in nature, and I would as soon have, misconceived the confidence of the little girls as the unstudied affectionjvhicli she showed me. Delicate Hi health, with seif-cheerful air, she was boundless in her sympathy for those in trouble, and labored beyond her strength for the poor. She had the charge, at onetime, ofJhe married women's class at the Bethel Mission School, aud they perfectly worshiped her there. I gave Mrs, Tilton copies of my books when published. I sometimes sent down from the farm flowers to be distributed among a dozen or more families; and she occasionally shared. Tlie only present of value I ever gave her was on my return from Europe, in 1863, w hen I distributed souvenirs of my journey to some fifty or more persons, and to her I gave a simple brooch of little intrinsic value. So far from supposing that my presence and influence" was' alienating -Mrs.- —Tilton —from her family relations. I thought, on the contrary, that it was giving her strength and encouraging her to hold fast upon a man evidently sliding into dangerous associations and liable to hi immersed by unusual self conceit. I regarded Mr. Tilton as in a very critical period of his life, andnsed to think it fortunate that he had good home influences about him. During the lute years of our friendship Mrs. Tilton spoke very 'mournfully to me about the tendency of her husband to great laxity of doctrine in religion and morals. She giive me to understand that he denied the divinity of Christ, the inspiration of the Scriptures, and most of the articles of the orthodux fuith: while his views as to the sanctity of marriage relations were undergoing constant change in the direction of free love. In the latter part ot July, 1870. Mrs. Tilton was sick: and at her request 1 visited tier. She seemed much depressed, hut gave me no hint of any trouble having reference to me. I cheered her the best I conld. and prayed with her just before leaving. This was our last interview before trouble broke out in the fitmily- I describe it because it was the last, and its character has a bearing upon a later part of my story. Concerning all my other visits it is sufficient to say that at no interview which ever took place between Mrs. Tilton and mysclfjdid anythingoccnr which might not have occurred with perfect propriety between a brother and sister—between a rather and child—between a man of honor and the wife of his dearest friend. Nor did anything ever happen which she or I sought to conceal from her husband. • Some years before any open trouble between Mr. Tilton andmykelf. liis doctrines, as Set forth in the leaders of tlie Independent, aroused a storm of indignation among representative.Cungregationalists in the West, and, as the paper was still very largely supposed to be my organ, I was,written to on the subject. 111 reply I indignantly disclaimed all responsibility for the views expressed by Tilton. This led to the starting of the Advance in Chicago. to supersede the Independent in the Northwest; and Mr. Bowen was made toWcel that Tilton's management was seriously injuring the business; and Tilton may have felt'that- his position was being undermined, by opponents of liis views, witli whom lie subsequently pretended to believe 1 was in league. Vague intimations of his feeling hard toward me I ascribed to this misconception. I had really taken no step to harm him. After Mrs. Tilton s return from the West. in. December, 1870. a young girl whom Mrs, Tilton had taken into the family, educated and treated like an own child—her testimony, I understand, is before the committee—was. sent to me with an urgent request that I would visit Mrs. Tilton at her mother's. She said that Mrs. Tilton had left her home and gone to her mother's, in consequence of ill-treat-fiient of her husband. She then gave-an account pf what she had seen of cruelty and abuse on the part of her husband that shocked me. and vet more when, with downcast look, she said that Mr. Tilton had visited her chamber in the night amt nought her consent to his wishes. I immediately visited Mrs. Tilton, at her mother’s, and received ail account of her home-life, aud-of the despotism of her husband, and of the management of a woman w hom he had made housekeeper, which seems like a nightmare dream. The question was whether she should go back or separate forever from her husband. I asked permission to bring my wife to see them, whose judgment iu atl domestic relations 1 thought better tlian my own, aud accordingly a second visit was made. The-result of the interview was that my wife was extremely indignant toward Mr. Tilton, and declared that no consideration on earth would induce her to remain an hour with a imiu who had treated her with an hundreth part of such insalt and cruelty. I felt as strongly as she did. but hesitated, as I always do. at giving advice iti favor of a separation. It was agreed that my wife should givp her final advice at another visit. The next day, when readV to go. She wished a final word: bnt there was companv, and the children were present: and sol wrote on a scrap of paper: "11001100 to think that vour view is right, and that a separation aiulgt settlement or support will be wisest, aud that, iu his present desperate state* httt presence near him is far more likely to produce hatred than her absence.'’ ; t Mrs. Tilton did not teTT me that my presence had anything to do with this trouble, nor did she let me know that in the July previous he had extorted from her a confession of. excessive affection for me. „ On the evening of Dec: *7, 1870, Mr. Bowen, on

hie way home, called at my houee and httAded me a letter from Mr. Tilton. It wa», an nearly aa I Can remember. In fhc following terms: “Heniiv Ward Beecheu—For reason* which you explicitly know, and which I forbear to state, I demand that you withdraw from the pulpit and quit Brooklyn aa a residence. ” Theodore Tilton.” I read it over twice, and turned to Bowen and said: “This man is crazy. This is sheer insanity," and other like words. Mr. Bowen professed to be ignorant of its contents, and I handed him the letter to rend. W r e at once fell into a conversation about Tilton. He gave me some account of the reasons why he had reduced him from the editorship of the Independent to a subordinate position of contributor, viz.: that Mr. Tilton's religious and social views were ruining the paper; but. he said that, as soon as it was known that he hud so fatbroken with Tilton, there came pouring in upon him so many stories of Tilton’s private life and habits that fie was overwhelmed, and that he was now considering whether he could consistently retain him on the Brooklyn Union or as chief contributor to the Independent. He narrated the story of the affair at Winsted, Conn., some like stories from the Northwest, and charges brOnght against Tilton in his own office. Without doubt he believed these allegations, and so did I. The other facts, previously stated to me, seemed a full corroboration. We conversed for some time. Mr. Bowen wishing my opinion, it was frankly given. I did not see how he could maintain former relations w ith Mr. Tilton. The substance of the full conversation was that Tilton's inordinate vanity, his fatal facility for blundering—for which he had a genius—and ostentations independence in his own opinions, and general impracticahleness, would keep the Union at disagreement with the political party for whose services it. was published; and now, added to all the revelations of these promiscuous immoralities, would make his connection with either paper fatal to its interests. 1 spoke strongly and emphatically, under the great provocation of his threatening letter to me and the revelation I had just had concerning his domestic affairs. Mr. Bowen derided the letter of Tilton’s which he had bronght to me, and said earnestly that if trouble came of it I might rely on his friendship. I learned afterward, in the further qnarrel ending in Tilton’s peremptory expulsion from Bowen’s service, that this conversation was told to Mr. Tilton. I believe that Bowen had an interview and received some further information about. Mr. Tilton from my wife, to whom I had referred hint. Although I have no doubt that Mr. Tilton would have lost his place nt any rate, I have also no doubt that my influence was decisive, and precipitated bis filial overthrow. When T came to think it all over I felt very unhappy at the contemplation of Mr. Tilton's impending disaster. I had loved him much, and at one time he seemed '.‘.ke a son to me. It now appears that on the 29th of December, 1870, Mr. Tilton, having learned that I had replied to Ills threatening letter by expressing sncli an opinion as to set Mr. Bowen Anally against him, and bring him face to face with immediate ruin, extorted from his wife, then suffering from a severe illness, a document incriminating mu, and prepared an elaborate attack upon me. On Tuesday evening, December, 1870, about 7 o'clock, - Francis IT, Moulton called at my honse, and with intense earnestness said: “ I wish you to go with me to see Mr. Tilton.” I replied that I could not then, ns I was just going to my prayer-meeting. With most positive manner he said: ’• You must go. Somebody will take care of the meeting.” I went with him, not knowing what trouble had agitated him, but vaguely thinking that I might now learn.the solution or the recent threatening letter. On the way I asked what was the reason of this visit; to which be replied that Mr. Tilton would inform me, or words to that effect. On entering the house Mr. Moulton locked the door, saying something about not. being Interrupted. ifo requested me to gcr.into the front chamber,’ over the parlor. I was tinder the impression that Mr. Tilton was going to pour out upon me his anger for colleagning with Bowen, and for the advice of separation given to his wife. I wished Mr. Moulton to be with me as a witness, but lie insisted that I should go by myself. Mr. Tilton received me coldly but calmly. Xfter u word or two. standing in front, of me with a memorandum in his hand, he began an oration. He said in an unfriendly spirit that I had sought his downfall; bad spread injurious rumors, about him; was using my place and influence to undermine him; had advised Mr. Bowen to dismiss him, and much more that I cannot remember. He then declared that I had Injured him in his family relations: had joined with ills imdber-in-law in producing discord in his house; had advised a separation; had alienated Ills wife's affections from him; had led her to love me inore than any other being; had corrupted her moral nature and taught her to be insincere, lyingand hypocritical ; andeiided by charging that I had made wicked firoposals to her. Until he reached this I had isfened with some eontempt, under the impression that he was attempting to bully me. But with the last charge he produced a paper purporting to be a certified statement of a previous confession made to him by his wife of her love for me, and-that I had made proposals to her of an improper nature. He said that this confession had been made to him in July, six months previous; that his sense of honor and affection would not permit any such document to remain ill existence; that he hod burned the original,,.and should now destroy the only copy: and he then tore the paper into small pieces. If I had been shocked at such a statement. I was absolutely thunderstruck when he closed the interview by requesting me to repair at once to his house, where, lie said, Elizabeth was waiting for me. and learn from,her,Ups the truth of his stories, in so far as they coimqtrmid her. This fell like a thnnderbolt oil me. Could, U be possible that litS wife, whom 1 regarded as the type of morakgoodness. should have made such»faW and atrocious statements? And yet, if she had not, how wonhl he dare to send me to her for confirmation of his charges? I went forth like a sleep-walker. I believe that Moulton went with me to the door of Tilton's btuisC. -Tho-liousekeeper—the- same -woman of whom Mrs. Tilton had complained—seemed to have been Instructed by him; for she evidently expected me, and showed tne at once to Mrs. Tilton's room. Mrs. Tilton lay upon her bed,- white as marble, with closed eye’s, as in a trance, and with her hand* upon her bosom, palm to palm, like one in prayer. As I look back npon It, the plctnre ls like some forms carved in marble that I had seen npon mbnnmenls in Europe. She made no motion, and gave no sign or recognition of my presence. I sat down near her and said: Elizabeth, Theodore has been making very serious charges against me, and sends me to you for confirmation,” She made no reply or sign, yet it was plain that she was conscious and listening. I repeated some of his statetberits, that I had brought discord to the family; Imd alienated her from him; had sought to break up the family and usurped his influence; and then, as well as I could, I added that he said that 1 made improper suggestions to her, and that she had admitted this fact to him last July. I said: •'Elizabeth, have you made such statements to hint?” She made no answer. I repeated the question. Tears ran down Iter cheeks, and she very slightly bowed her head In acquiescence. I said: •• You cannot mean that you have stated all he has charged?” She opened her eyes and began in a slow and feeble way to explain how sick she had been; howwearied out with importunity; that he had confessed his own alien loves, and said that he coHld not britr to think that she was beWer than he; - that she'might win him to reformation if she would confess that she had loved me more than him, and that they wonld repent and go on with flit tire concord. 1 cannot give her language; but only the tenor of her representations. I received them impatiently. I spoke to her in strongest language of her course. I said to her, •‘Have I ever used any improper advances tp von?” She said -No." Then I asked, “Why did vou say so to your husband?" She seemed deeply distressed. -My friend (by that designation she almost always called me), I am sorry, but I could not help it. What can I do?" I tout her she could state in writing what she now told me. She beckoned for her writing materials, which 1 handed her from her secretary standing near by, and she sat up in bed and wrote a brief Counter-statement, lu a sort of postscript she denied explicitly that I had ever offered any improper solicitation to her, that being the only charge made against me by Mr. Tilton or sustained bv the statement about the confession w hich he’had read to me. I dreamed of no worse charge at that time—that was horrible enough. The mere thought that he could make it. and could have extorted any evidence on which to base it. was enough to take aw ay my senses. Neither nr consclonsness of its ntter falsehood nor Mrs. Tilton’s retraction ot her part in It could remove the shock from my heart. Indeed, her admission to me that she had stated, under anv circumstances, to her husband so wicked a falsehood, was the crowning blow of-all. It seemed to me as if she was going to die, that her mind was overthrown, and that 1 was in some dreadful wav mixed up in it, and might be left, by her death, with this terrible accusation hanging over me. I larued like one in a dream to Mr. Moulton's house, where I said very little and soou went home * * * It has been said that I confessed guilt and expressed remorse. This is utterly false. Ia it likely that, with Mrs. Tilton’s retraction ita my pocket, I should have thus stultified myself? On the next day, at evening, Mr. Moulton called at my honse and came up Into my bedroom. He said that Mrs. Tilton, on her husband's return to her after our* Interview, had informed him what she bad done, and that I bad her retraction. Moulton expostulated with me. He said that retraction, under the circumstances, would not mend matters, but only awaken afresh

discord between husband and wife, and do great Injury to Mrs. Tilton,’without helping me. Mrs. Tilton, he said, had already recanted in writing the rctractlon made to me, and of course there might be no end to such contradictions. Meanwhile Tilton had destroyed his wife’s first letter acknowledging the confession, and Mr. Moulton claimed that I had taken a mean advantage and made dishonorable ,nse of Theodore’s request that I should visit her, obtaining from her a written contradiction to a document not In existence. He said that all the difficulties could be settled witbont any such paper, and that I ought to give it np. He was tinder great excitement. He made no verbal threats, bnt he opened his overcoat and, with some empatic remarks, showed a pistol, which afterward he took ont and laid on the bureau near which he stood. I gave the paper to him, and, after a few moments’ talk, he left Within a day or two after this Mr. Monlton made the third visit, and this time we repaired to my stndy, in the third story of my honse. Before speaking of this interview it is right that I should allude to the suffering through which I had gone dnring the previous day, the cause of which was the strange change in Mrs. Tilton. Nothing had seemed to me more certain during all my acquaintance with her than that she was singularly simple, truthful and honorable. Deceit seemed absolutely foreign to her nature; and yet she had stated to her husband those strange and awful falsehoods. She had not, when daily I called and prayed with her, given me the slightest hint—l will not say of snch accusations, but even that there was any serious family difficulty. She had suddenly, in December, called me and my wife to a consultation looking to a possible separation from her husband, still leaving me Ignorant that she had put into his hands such a weapon against me. I was bewildered with a tlonble consciousness of a saintly woman commnnicating a very needless treachery to her friend and pastor. My distress was boundless. I did not for a moment feel, however, that she was blameworthy, as would ordinarily be thought, bnt supposed that she had been overborne by weakness and shattered in mind until she scarcely knew what she did, and was no longer responsible for her acts. My sonl went out to her In pity. I blamed myself for want of prudence and foresight, for I thought that all this had been the result of her undue affection for me. I had a profound feeling that I would bear any blame rand take any punishment if that poor child could only emerge from this clond and be put hack into the happiness from which I had been, as I thought, if not the cause, the occasion of withdrawing her. If my own daughter nad been in a similar case my grief at her calamity the anger ams fory^i >f Ti 1 ton, ?apprehended that this charge was made by him, and, supported by the accusation of his wife, was to be at once published and pressed agajnst me; and If it was, I had nothing but my simple word of denial to interpose against It. In my then morbid condition of mind I thought that this charge, although entirely untrue, might result in great disaster, if not in absolute ruin. The great interests which were entirely dependent on me. the church which I had built up. the book which I was writing, my own immediate family, my brother’s name—now -engaged In the ministry—my sister's —the name of which I hoped might live after tne and be in some slight degree a source of strength and encouragement to those who should succeed tne—and above all, the cause for which I had devoted my life, seemed imperiled. It seemed to me that mv life’s work was to end abruptly, Mr. Monlton was apparently affected by ,my soliloquy, for Hr was that rather than a conversation. ’He said that if Tilton conld really lie persnaded of the friendliness ot my feeling toward him, he was sure that there wonld be no trouble in procuring a reconciliation. I gave him leave to state to Theodore my feelings. He proposed that I should write a letter. I declined, but said that he could report our Interview- He then prepared to make a memorandum of the talk, and sat down at my table and took down, aa I supposed, a condensed report of my talk; for I went on still pouring ont my wounded feelings over the great desolation in Tilton's family. It waa not a dictation of sentence after sentence, he a mere amanuensis, and I composing for him. Mr. Monlton was putting into his own shape parts of that which I was saying in my own manner, with profuse explanations. This paper of Momton’s was a mere memorandum of points to be used by him In setting forth my feelings. That it contains matter and points derived from me is without doubt", but they were put into sentences by him and expressed as he understood them—not as my'WOrds, but as hints 'of my figures and letters to be used by him in conversing with Tilton. He did not read the letter to me, nor did I read it; nor have I ever seen it or heard it read, that I remember, until the publication of Tilton’s recent documents: and now reading it, I seeln it thoughts that point to the matter of my discourse, but it is not my paper, nor are those my sentences, nor is it a coitwt report of what I said. It is a mere string of bints, hastily made by an unpracticed writer, as helps to his memory, in representing to Tilton how I felt toward his family. If more than this be claimed—if it be set forth ns in any proper sense my letter—l then disown it and denounce it. Some of its sentences, and particularly that iu which I am made to say that I had obtained Mrs. Tilton's forgiveness, I never could have said, even in substance. I had not obtained or asked any forgiveness from her, and nobody pretended that I had done so. Neither conld I ever have said that I bumbled myself before Tilton ns before God. except in the sense that both to God and tt> the man I thought I had deeply injured I humbled myself, as I certainly did. Bnt It is useless to nnalyze a paper prepared as this was. The remainder of my plain statement concerning it will be its besi comment. This document was written upon separate half-sheets of large letterpaper. After it was finished Moulton asked me If I would sign it. I said no, it was not my letter, lie replied that it wonld have more weight if I would in some way indicate that he was authorized to explain my sentiments. I took my pen, and at some distance below the writing, and upon the lower margin, TThdfearted that I had committed the document in trust to Moulton, and I signed the line thus written by me. * A few words as to its frirther fate. Mr. Monlton, of his own accord, said that after using it he would in two or three days bring the memorandum back to me, and he cautioned me about disclosing in any way that there was a difficulty between Mr. Tilton and me, as it would be injurious to Tilton to hare it known that 1 had quarreled with him, as well as tp me to have minors set afloat. I did not trouble myself about it until more than a year afterward. When Tilton began to write np his case and was looking np documents, I wondered what was in the old memorandum. and desired to see it for greater certainty. So one day I suddenly asked Moulton for that memorandum, and said', “Y’ou promised to return it to me,” He seemed confhsed for a moment, and said. “ Did I?" ' “Certainly,” I answered. He replied t hat .the paper had been, destroyed. On, my patting* thi; question again, he said that the paper was burned up long ago; and during the next two years, In various conversations, of his own accord, he spoke of it as destroyed. I had never asked for nor authorized the destruction of this paper; bnt I was not allowed to know that the document was in existence until a distinguished editor in New York, within a few weeks past, assured me that Mr. Monlton had shown him the original, and that he had my slgnatnre to be sore of its genuineness. I knew that there was a copy of it since this statement wag in preparation. While I rdje'et this memorandum as my work, ot an accurate condensation of my statement, it does Undoubtedly correctly represent that 1 was iu profound sorrow, and that I blamedqnyself with great severity for the disasters of the .Tilton family. I feed not then the light that I now have. There was much then that weighed heavily upon mv heart and conscience which now only weighs oti mv heart. An agonized family, whose inmates had been my friends, greatly beloved; the husband ruined in worldly prospects; the household crumbling to pieces; the woman, by long sickness and suffering either corrupted, to deceit, as her husband alleges, or so brbken in mind aa to bo irresponsible, and either way it was her enthusiasm for her pastor, as I was made to beiieve, ‘that was the germ and beginning of her trouble, it was for me to have forestalled and prevented the mischief. My age and experience in the world should have put me on my guard. I could not at that time tell what was true and what was not true of all the considerations urged upon me by Tilton and Moulton. There was a gulf Before me in which lay those who had been warm friends; and they alleged that I had helped to plunge them therein. That seemed enough to fill my eoul with sorrow and aßguieb. Soon after this I met Mr. Tilton at Moulton's house. Either Monlton was sick orwas very late iu rising, for he was in bed. The subject of my feelings and condnet toward Tilton was Introduced I made a statement of the motive* under which 1 had acted iu counseling Bowen; of my feelings toward Tilton’s family, disclaiming witu horror the thought of wropg, and expressing a desire to do whatever lay In human power to remedy any evil I had occasioned, and to reunite his family. . _ , , , Tilton was silent and sullen. He played toe part of an injured man; but Moulton said to Tilton, with intense earnestness: ‘‘That la all that a gentleman can say, and you ought to accept It as an honorable basis of reconciliation. This he repeated two or three times, and Tilton a countenance cheered under Monlton s strong talk. We shook hands and parted tea friendly way. Hot very long afterward Tilton asked me to his house, and raid that he should be glad to have the good Old times renewed. Ido not remember whether I ever took a -meal after that under hie roof; hut 1 certainly

w«* InvlM by him to renew my visits as formerly. I never resumed my intimacy with the fami ly; bnt Once or twice I went there soon after iny reconciliation with Tilton, and at his reqnest. 1 particularly remember a scene which took place at his house when he talked about his wife and •me in a veiy gracious mood. He began by mourning his sorrows. He was very desolate,- the fn♦nre seemed quite dark. After impressing n* with his great patience, he grew generous; praised ■m to his wife, saying that I had taken npon myself all the blame of past troubles, and had honorably exculpated her, telling me that his wilts, likewise, had behaved very magnanimously; had blamed herself, and declared that I was blameless; and he closed his homily with increasing hope and cheer, saving that, deep as was hi* misery, ho did not know but it would work out in future a more cheerful life than he had before. I restrained my smiles at the absurdity of the thing, well content to have it evaporate so, and even thinking he was generous in his way. This seemed to me the end of trouble. 1 supposed Tilton had given up the ideaof intentional wrong on my part, and forgiven my unintentional wrong. I plainly understand now. what I did not then suspect. - that mv trouble of mind was to be kept alive and nourished so that I might be used to act on my friend Bowen the money which Tilton claimed to be due as compensation for his expulsion from the two newspapers. • * * • * * * Moulton lost no occasion of presenting to me tne kindest view of Tilton's character, and. on the other hand, he complained that Mrs. Tilton did not trust her husband or him. and did not assist him in his effort to help Theodore. 1 knew that shc i distrusted Moultou, and felt bitterly hurt by the treatment of her husband. I was urged to use my influence with her to inspire con fidence in Moulton, and to lead her to take a kinder view of Theodore. Accordingly, at the instance of Mr. Moulton, three letters were written on the same day (Feb. 7, 1871). on one common purpose, to be shown to Mrs. Tilton, and to reconcile her to her husband; and iffy letter to her of that date was designed to effect the fur ther or collateral purpose of giving her confidence in Mr. Moulton. This will be obvious from the reading of the letters. in my letter to Mrs. Tilton I allnded to the fact that I did not expect, when I saw her last, to be alive many days. That statement stands connected with a series of symptoms which I first experienced in 1856. I went through the Fremont campaign, speaking in the open air three hours at a time, three davs in a week. On renewing my literary labors I felt that I must have given way. I very seriously thought that I was to have apoplexy or paralysis, or something of that kind. On two or three occasions, while preaching, I should have fallen in the pulpit if I had not held on to the table. Verv often I came near falling in the streets. During the last fifteen years I have gone into the pulpit, I suppose, a hundred times with a very strong impression that I should never come out of it alive. I have preached more sermons tbaifafiy human bring would believe when I felt all the while that, whatever lhad to say tomv people, I must say it then, or I would never have another chance to use it. If I had consulted a physician his first advice would have been. ‘*You must stop work:” hut I was in such a situation that I could not even stop work. In 1863 I came again into the same condition, jnstbefore going to England: and it was one of those reasons why I was wishing to go. The war was at its height. I carried ray country in my heart. I had the in charge, anil was working, preachiug and lecturing con tiniuiuy. 1 knew I was likelv to be prostrated again. In December, 1870. the sudden shock —of—these troubles brought —on —ngnin —rtresc~ symptoms in a more violent form. I was very much depressed in mind, and all the more because it was one of those things that I could not sav anything about. I was silent with everybody. During the last four vears these symptoms had been repeatedly brought on bv mv intense work, carried forward on the underlying bases of so much sorrow and trouble. M v friends will bear witness that, in the pulpit, I have verv frequently alluded to my expectation of sudden death. I feel that I have more than once already been near a stroke that w ould have killed or paralyzed me: and I carry the thought with me now, as I have so often carried it in years before. This trouble began to assume the daily thought of death as a door which might open for me at any moment out of all cares and labors into welcome rest. My earnest desire to avoid a public accusation and the evils which must necessarily flow from it. and which now have resulted from it, has been one of the leading motives that must explain mv action during these four years with reference to this matter.

It was in such a sore and distressing condition that Moulton found me. His ilianner was kind and sincere. He seemed, however, to be convinced that I had been seeking Tilton's downfall; that 1 had leagued with Mr. How T en agaihsfMm, -and bv advice canie near destroying his family. I did not need any argument or persuasion to induce me to do and say anything which would remedy the injury, of wliich I then believed I had eertaiuly been the occasion, if not the actual cause; but Moulton nrged that I had wronged Tilton so—the wrong meant, his means of support suddenly taken away, his reputation, his family destroyed, aid that I had done it. He assured me of his own know ledge that the stories which I had heard of Tilton's impurities of life, and which I had bcHeyea and repeated to Mr. Bowen, were all false, and that Tilton had been faithful to his wife. I wasJ persuaded into the belief of what he said, and felt convicted of slander in its meanest form. He~drew the picture olTilton, wronged in reputation. position, purse, shattered in his family, where he would otherwise have fomid a refuge, and at the same time looking upon me. out of his d.ggP. distress^while I was abounding in friends, most popular, and with ample means. He drew' that picture: mv prosperity, overflowing and abounding. and Tilton's ntter degradation. I was most intensely excited. Indeed, I felt that mv mind was in danger of giving away. I walked up and down the room, pouring forth my heart in the most unrestrained grief and bitterness of selfaccusation. telling What my ideas were of the obligations of friendship, and of the sacredness of households, denying, h'owever, an intentional w rong. Seeing that if I had been the cause, however remotely, of that which I then beheld. I never could forgive myself, and heaping all the blame on my bead, the case as Ti then appeared to my eyes was strongly against me. My old friend and fellow -worker had been dispossessed of his eminent place and influence, and I had counseled it; his family had well nigh been broken up, and I had aavised it; his wife had been long sick and broken in health and body, and I, as"l fully believed, had been the c nise of ail this wreck by continuing that blind h *edlcssness and friendship which had beguiled her heart and had roused her husband into a fury of ealonsy, although not caused bv any intentional act of mine; and should I coldly defend myself? Should I hold her up to contempt, as having -thrust her affections upon me. nnsought ? ghould I tread upon the man and his household, in their great adversity? I gave vent to my feelings without measure. I disclaimed, with great earnestness, any intent to harm Theodore in his home or his business, and. with inexplicable sorrow. I both blamed and defended Mrs. Tilton in one breath. * * * * * * * Jin May, 1871, Mrs. Woodhull advertised a forthcoming article. shadowing an account of the disturbance in Mr. Tilton's family, but without nsing names. It was delaved.-ostensiblv by Mr. Tilton's influence with Mrs! Woodhull. until November. 1872. During this suspension of her publication she became the heroine of Mr. Moulton a;id Mr. Tilton. She was made welcome to both houses, with the toleration but not the cordial consent of their wives. I heaird the most extravagant eulogies upon her. She was represented as a genius, bom and reared among rude influences, but only needed to be surrounded by refined society Us ' show a noble aiid commanding nature. I did not know much about her, and. though my impressions were unfavorable, her real character was not then really known to.the world. I met her three times. At the first interview she was gracious-; at the second she w;as cold and haughty, but at the third she was angry and threatened, for I had peremptorily refused to preside at the lecture' she was about to give at Steinway Hall. The most strenuous efforts had been made by both Tilton and Moulton to induce me to preside at this lecture and to identify myself publicly with Mrs. Woodhull. It was represented to me that I need not, in so doing, expressly give assent to her doctrines, especially regard to r the marriage relation, upon frhich point she was beginning to be more explicit in opposi t ton - t 0.... the views which I. in common with all Christian men, entertained; but it was plausibly urged that I could preside at the lecture and introduce her upon the simple ground-of advocating free speech and liberty of debate; but. as I understood that she was about to avow doctrines which I abhor. I w T ould not be induced by this plausible argument to give her public countenance, and, alter continuing to urge me up to the verv dav of the meeting, without any distinct threats but*with the obvious intimation that my personal safety would be better secured by taking this advice. Mr. Tilton himself went over to New York and presided at the meeting, where Mrs. Woodhull gave vent, as I understand, for the first time in public, to a full exposition of her free-love doctrines. * * * * * * When Theodore, by lecturing or otherwise, was prosperons. he was very genial and affectionate to me. Whenever he met with rebuff and was in pecuniary trouble, he scowled threatening!v*upon me as the author of his troubles; and Moulton himself seemed at times to accuse me of indifference to Tilton’s misfortunes. »*lt~waß in the midst of complications like these, may be, that a fiart of these events happened. Shortly afterward, n a thoroughly worried and depressive mood, discouraged by the apparent helplessness of extricating Tilton from his difficulties, or of saving his family from the blight wliich he has since fastened upon it with even more destructive effect upon ito members than I then feared, I wrote a letter to Moulton, of w hich Tilton has given extracts even mqre wickedly garbled than his other quotations; for he has represented two extracts from his letter.as constituting points of two separate letters ana has artfully given the impression that they were written in or after June, 1873, whereas this letter was dated Feb. 5, 1872. He further says that this letter was written for the purpose of bidftgafeows tobim. I had no idea of such a thing being done, as the letter shbws plainly enough on its face, and did not authorize any such use of that letter, which was supposed bv me to be written and received in the most sacred confidence. lam now informed an inspection of the original would doubtless refresh mv memory but this Mr. Moul-

Shortly after the foregoing letter was written Mr. Tilton returned to the city thoroughly discourSgift! with the result of his lecturing tour. The Gofdei i Age, which had then been established for about twelve months, had not succeeded, and was understood to be losing money. His pecuniary obligations were pressing, aud although his claim against Bowen for violating his two contracts had a year previously been put under the exclusive control of Moulton, with a view of settlement, it had not as yet been effected. About this time Mr. Moulton, who was sick, sent for me and showed me a galley proof of the article prepared by Mr. Tilton ffpf the Golden Age , and which has since been published in the Brooklyn papers, in which he embodied a copy of a letter written bv him to Mr. Bowen, dated Jan. 1. ifeTl. in which he charged Bowen with making scandalous accusations against my moral character. This was the first time that 1 had ever seen these charges, and 1 had never heard ot them except by mere rumor, Mr. Bowen never having at any time said a word to rae/pn the subject. I was amazed at the proposed publication. 1 did not then understand the real object of giving circulation to such slan- : ders. My firm impressiou was that Mr. Tilton designed, under cover of an attack upon me, in the name of another, to open the way for the publication of his own pretended personal grievances. I protested against the publication in the strongest terms, but was informed that it was not intended as a hostile act to myself, blit to Mr. Bowen. I did not the less insist upon my protest ag'ainst this publication. On its being shown to Mr. Bowen I said I would think it over, and perhaps write something. This was Friday or Saturday. The covenant appeared on Friday morning, and the alarm was sounded on me immediately that’Theodore would do something- dreadful if not restrained. On Sunday I had made up mv mind to w rite To Mr. Moulton the letter, garbled extracts of which are given in Mr. Tilton's statement. * * ***** After detailing his efforts to prevent the scandal being made public Mr. Beecher continued: I was so determined to carry out my pledges to Moulton for him, and do all in human pow er to save him even from himself, that 1 was ready to resign, if that would stop the scandal. I wrote a letter of resignation, not referring to the charges against me, nut declaring that I had striven for years to maintain secrecy concerning a scandal aftectin" a family in the church; and that, as I ,had failed, Therewith resigned. This letter was never sehT. A little calmer thought showed me how futile it w ould be to stop the trouble—-a mere useless sacrifice; but I showed it to Mr, Moulton, and possibly he copied it. I have found the original of it in mv house. If I could at this moment remember any of the other letters I have written to Mr. Moulton I would do so. If he has reserved .all my effusions of feeling he must have a large collection. I wish him to bring them all before the committee. I should have been glad to get such hints as they may contain to refresh my recollection of facts ami .sequences.- I have no fearof their full apd fair publication, for. though they would doubtless make, a sad exposure of my weakness, grief and despondency, they do not contain a line confessing such guilt as has been charged upon me. or a word inconsistent with my innocence, nor any other spirit than that of a generous remorse over a great and irreparable evil. But, however intense and numerous may he these expressions of grief, they* cannot possiblyroverstate the anxiety which I constantly felt tor the future, the perils of which, it is now clear, I did not exaggerate; nor the sorrow and remorse which 1 felt, - originally, on account of the injury which, I supposed, I had unwittingly done to a beloved family, and. afterward, for the greater injury which, I became satisfied, I hacl done by my 1 unwise, blind, and useless efforts to remedy that injury, only, as it proved, at the expense of my mvn name, the happiness of my own family, and the ‘peace of my own church. Gentlemen of the committee, in the note requesting your appointment I asked that you should make full investigation of all sources of information. You are witnesses that 1 have in no wav influenced or interfered w ith your proceedings or duties. I have wished the* investigation to be so searching that nothing would unsettle its results. I have nothing to gam by any policy of suppression or compromise. For four years I have borne and suffered enough, and w ill not go a step further. I will be free. I will not walk under a rod- or yoke. If any man would do me a favor, lot him tell* all he knows now. It is not mine to lay down the law of honor in regard to the use of other persons’ confidential communications; but in so far as my own writings are concerned, there is not a letter or document which 1 am afraid to have exhibited; and I authorize any and call upon any living person to produce, and print, forthwith, whatever writings they have, of any source whatever. It is time, for the sake of decency and public morals, that thiri matter should be brought to an end. It is an open pooF of corruption, exhaling deadly vapors. For six weeks the nation has risen up and sat down upon scandal. Not a great war nor a revolution could more have filled the newspapers than this question of domestic trouble, magnified a thousand-fold, and, like a sore spot in the human body, drawing to itself every morbid humor iii the blood. Whoever is buried with it, it is time that this abomination be buried below all touch or power of resurrection.