s to ask me to
sit on the platform, and in this way I became equal to looking a big
audience in the face, but one day the Doctor over-estimated my talents.
He came in with more than his usual whir, and said to me:

"Eleanor, I have been asked if you won't dedicate a new building at the
Wood Green Wesleyan Church in North London. I said I thought you would,
and accepted for you. Won't you please do this for me?"

There was no denying him, and I consented, provided he would help me
with the address. He did, and on the appointed day when we drove out to
the place I had the notes of my speech held tightly crumpled in my
glove. There was the usual crowd that had turned out to hear Dr. Talmage
who was to preach afterwards, and I was genuinely frightened. I remember
as we climbed the steps to the speaker's platform, the Doctor whispered
to me, "Courage, Eleanor, what other women have done you can do." I
almost lost my equilibrium when I was presented with a silver trowel as
a souvenir of the event. There was nothing about a silver trowel in my
notes. However, the event passed off without any calamity but it was my
first and last appearance in public.

As the time approached for us to return to America the Doctor looked
forward to the day of sailing. It had all been a wonderful experience
even to him who had for so many years been in the glare of public life.
He had reached the highest mark of public favour as a man, and as a
preacher was the most celebrated of his time. I wonder now, as I realise
the strain of work he was under, that he gave me so little cause for
anxiety considering his years. He was a marvel of health and strength.
There may have been days when his genius burned more dimly than others,
and often I would ask him if the zest of his work was as great if he was
a bit tired, hoping that he would yield a little to the trend of the
years, but he was as strong and buoyant in his energies as if each day
were a new beginning. His enjoyment of life was inspiring, his hold upon
the beauty of it never relaxed.

From London we went to Belfast, on a very stormy day. Dr. Talmage was
advised to wait a while, but he had no fear of anything. That crossing
of the Irish Channel was the worst sea trip I ever had. We arrived in
Belfast battered and ill from the stormy passage, all but the Doctor,
who went stoically ahead with his engagements with undiminished vigour.
Going up in the elevator of the hotel one day, we met Mrs. La