tive way. Through slush and mud, under dripping trees, across
country landscapes veiled in the tender mist of clouds, we finally
arrived at the Abbey. The huge outer gates were open, but the driver,
with proper British respect for the law, stopped his horses. The Doctor
leaned his head out of the carriage window and told him to drive into
the grounds. Obediently he did so, and at last we reached the great
heavy doors of the entrance. Dr. Talmage jumped out and boldly rang the
bell. A sentry appeared to inform us that no one was allowed inside the
Abbey.

"But we have come all the way from America to see this place," the
Doctor urged. The sentry, with wooden militarism, was adamant.

"Is there no one inside in authority?" the Doctor finally asked. Then
the housekeeper was called. She told us that the Abbey belonged to an
Army officer and his wife, that her master was away at the war in South
Africa where his wife had gone with him, and that her orders were
imperative.

"Look here, just let us see the lower floor," said Dr. Talmage; "we have
come all the way from New York to see this place," and he slipped two
sovereigns into her hand. Still she was unmoved. My daughter, who was
then about 14, was visibly disappointed. England was to her hallowed
ground, and she was keenly anxious to walk in the footsteps of all its
romance, which she had eagerly absorbed in history. Turning to the
Doctor, she said, almost tearfully:

"Why, Doctor Talmage, how can they refuse you?"

The housekeeper caught the name.

"Who did you say this was?" she asked.

"Doctor Talmage," said my daughter.

"Dr. Talmage, I was just reading the sermon you preached on Sunday in
the Nottingham newspaper, I am sure if my mistress were at home she
would be glad to receive you. Come in, come in!"

So we saw Newstead Abbey. The housekeeper insisted that we should stay
to tea, and made us enter our names in the visitors' book, and asked the
Doctor to write his name on a card, saying, "I will send this to my
mistress in South Africa."

In the effort to remember many of the details of our stay in England and
Scotland, I find it necessary to take refuge for information in my
daughter's diary. It amused Dr. Talmage very much as he read it page by
page. I find this entry made in Manchester, where she was not well
enough to attend church:--

"Sunday, A.M.--Doctor Talmage preached and I was disappointed that I
could not go. The people went wild about the