A very prominent society woman came to Dr. Talmage one day to ask the favour that he preach a temperance sermon for the benefit of Sir Wilfrid Laurier, whom she wanted to interest in temperance legislation.  She promised to bring him to the Doctor’s church for that purpose.

“Madame, I shall be very glad to have Sir Wilfrid Laurier attend my church,” said the Doctor, “but I never preach at anybody.  Your request is something I cannot agree to.”  The lady was a personal friend, and she persisted.  Finally the Doctor said to her: 

“Mrs. G——­, my wife and I are invited to meet Sir Wilfrid Laurier at a dinner in your house next week.  Will you omit the wines at that dinner?” The lady admitted that that would be impossible.

“Then you see, Madame, how difficult it would be for me to alter my principles as a preacher.”  In May, 1899, Dr. Talmage and I left Washington and went to East Hampton—­alone.  Contrary to his usual custom of closing his summer home between seasons, the Doctor had allowed a minister and his family to live there for three months.  Diphtheria had developed in the family during that time and the Doctor ordered everything in the house to be burned, and the walls scraped.  So the whole house had to be refurnished, and the Doctor and I together selected the furniture.  It was a joyous time, it was like redecorating our lives with a new charm and sentiment that was intimately beautiful and refreshing.  I remember the tenderness with which the Doctor showed me a place on the door of the barn where his son DeWitt, who died, had carved his initials.  He would never allow that spot to be touched, it was sacred to the memory of what was perhaps the most absorbing affection of his life.  He always called East Hampton his earthly paradise, which to him meant a busy Utopia.  He was very fond of the sea bathing, and his chief recreation was running on the beach.  He was 65 years old, yet he could run like a young man.  These few weeks were a memorable vacation.

In June, Dr. Talmage made an engagement to attend the 60th commencement exercises of the Erskine Theological College in Due West, South Carolina.  This is the place where secession was first planned, as it is also the oldest Presbyterian centre in the United States.  We were the guests of Dr. Grier, the president of the college.  It was known that Rev. David P. Pressly, Presbyterian patriarch and graduate of this college, had been my father’s pastor in Pittsburg, and this association added some interest to my presence in Due West with the Doctor.  The Rev. E.P.  Lindsay, my brother’s pastor in Pittsburg, had also been born there, and his mother, when I met her in 1899, was still a vigorous Secessionist.  Her greatest disappointment was the fact that her son had abandoned the sentiments of Secession and had gone to preach in a Northern church.  She told us that she had once hidden Jefferson Davis in her house for three days.  Due West was a quiet little