“Eleanor,” he said, “I feel as though I would like to have these gentlemen to luncheon at my house to-morrow.  Can you arrange it?  I could not possibly leave Washington without showing them some special courtesy.  Now, I want a real meal, something to sit down to.  None of your floating oysters, or little daubs of meat in pastry, but real food, whole turkeys, four or five of them—­a substantial meal.”  The Doctor’s respect for chicken patties, creamed oysters, and the usual buffet reception luncheon, was clearly not very great.

The luncheon was given at 1.30 on the day appointed; the distinguished guests all came, two by two, into our house.  A few weeks later, they came again in a body, two by two, into the house of mourning.

Besides the visiting clergy, Dr. Talmage had also invited for this luncheon other representative men of Washington.  It was the last social gathering which the Doctor ever attended in his own home, and perhaps for that reason becomes a significant event in my memory.  After the rest had departed, Dr. Henry Van Dyke remained for an hour or two to talk with my husband in his study.  Dr. Talmage so often referred to the great pleasure this long interview had given him, that I am sure it was one of the supreme enjoyments of his last spiritual milestone.

The night before we left Washington an incident occurred that directly concerns these pages.  We had gone down into the basement of the house to look for some papers the Doctor kept there in the safe, and in taking them out he picked up the manuscript of his autobiography.  As we went upstairs I said to the Doctor, “What a pity that you have not completed it entirely.”

The Doctor replied, “All the obscure part of my life is written here, and a great part of the rest of it.  When I return from Mexico I will finish it.  If anything should happen, however, it can be completed from scrapbooks and other data.”

We went into his study and the Doctor had just begun to read it to me when we were interrupted by a call from Senator Hanna.  Dr. Talmage particularly admired Senator Hanna, and, as they were great friends, the autobiography was forgotten for the rest of the evening.  Knowing that the Doctor was about to leave Washington the Senator had come to wish him goodby, and to urge him to visit his brother at Thomasville, Georgia, where we were to stop on our way to Mexico.  I remember Senator Hanna said to the Doctor, “You will find the place very pretty; we own a good deal of property there, so much so that it could easily be called Hannaville.”  The next morning we started for the City of Mexico, going direct to Charleston, where the Doctor preached.  He was entertained a good deal there, and we witnessed the opening of the Charleston Exposition.