ington, that he might be free to expound the
Scriptures wherever he was.

He was always so happy it was hard to believe that he was overworking;
yet I feared his labour of love would end in exhaustion and possible
illness. Everything in the world was beautiful to him, and yet beauty
was not a matter of externals with him. It radiated from him, even when
it was not about him. Especially was this noticeable when we were away
together on one of his short lecturing trips. At these times we were
quite alone, and then, without interruptions, in the sequestered domain
of some country hotel he would admit me into the wonderland of his inner
hopes, his plans for the future, his ideas of life and people and
happiness. Once we were staying in one of these country hotels obviously
pretentious, but very uncomfortable--the sort of hotel where the walls
of the room oppress you, and the furniture astonishes you, and there are
no private baths. He sat down in the largest chair, literally beaming
with delight.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he said; "now I take my home with me; before I
used to be so much alone. Now I have someone to talk to."

There was nothing comparative in his happiness; everything was made
perfect for him by the simplicity of his appreciation. I used to look
forward to these trips as one might look forward to an excursion into
some new and unexpected transport of existence, for he always had new
wonders of heart and mind to reveal in these obscure byways we explored
together. They were all too short, and yet too full for time to record
them in a diary. These were the hours that one puts away in the secret
chamber of unwritten and untold feeling. I turn again to the pages of
our scrap book, as one turns to the dictionary, for reserve of language.

In November of 1898 I find there a clipping that reminds me of the day
Dr. Talmage and I spent at the home of Senator Faulkner, in Martinsburg,
West Virginia. The Anglo-American Commission was in session in
Washington then, and during the following winter. The Joint High
Commission was the official title, and we were invited by Senator
Faulkner with these men to get a glimpse of that rare Americanism known
the world over as Southern hospitality. The foreign members of the
Commission were Lord Herschel, Sir Wilfred Laurier, Sir Louis Davis, and
Sir Richard Cartwright. Our host was one of the Americans on the
Commission.

We left Washington about noon, lunched on the train, and