Doctor, and he had to make
an address after church out-of-doors for those who could not get inside.
Several policemen stood around the church door to keep away the crowd.
I saw the High Sheriff driving home from church. He was inside a coach
that looked as though it had been drawn out of a fairy tale--a huge
coach painted red and gold, with crowns or something like them at each
of the four corners. Two footmen dressed in George III. liveries were
hanging behind by ribbons, and two on the box, all wearing powdered
wigs. To be sure, I didn't see much of the Sheriff, but then the coach
was the real show after all."

Many of the details of the side trips which we made through England and
Scotland have escaped my memory. In looking over my daughter's diary I
find them amplified in the manner of girlhood, now lightly touched with
fancy, now solemn with historical responsibility, now charmed with the
glamour of romance. Dr. Talmage thought so well of them that they will
serve to show the trail of his footsteps through the gateways of
ancestral England.

We went to Haddon Hall with Dr. Wrench, physician to the Duke of
Devonshire. We drove from Bakewell. In this part of my daughter's diary
I read:--

"It was a most beautiful drive. Derbyshire is called the Switzerland of
England. The hills were quite high and beautifully wooded, and our drive
lay along the river's edge--a brook we would call it in the States, but
it is a river here--and winds in and out and through the fields and
around the foot of the highest hill of all, called the Peak of
Derbyshire. We passed picturesque little farmhouses, built of square
blocks of rough, grey stone covered with ivy. We drove between hawthorn
hedges, through beautiful green fields and orchards. From the midst of a
little forest of grand old trees we caught sight of the highest tower of
the castle, then we crossed over a little stone bridge and passed
through the gates. Another short drive across the meadow and we stopped
at the foot of a little hill, looking up at Haddon Hall.

"We walked up to the castle and stood before the great iron-studded oak
door, which has been there since the days of Queen Elizabeth. It had not
been opened for years, but a smaller one had been cut in it through
which visitors passed. For over 200 years no one had lived in the
castle. It was built by the Normans and given by William the Conqueror
to one of his Norman Barons. Finally by marriage it became the prop