CHAPTER XVI.

P

THE HOME.

RESIDENT ALLEN loved his home, and was never absent from it longer than necessary. The burdens and disappointments that came under most trying circumstances were dropped in the home circle, where his genial tenderness and patience were lessons to all.

Our habits of living were so simple that sickness seldom found its way into the family. Through his knowledge of medicine, the laws of life, and careful nursing, many a sick student was restored to health. Our rooms were many times thrown open to the sick, who were cared for as though they had been members of the family. Sometimes for weeks together he would not have a single night of sleep on this account.

A sad experience came in July, 1879. While Mr. Allen was in Albany attending the Regents' Convocation, he became indisposed, and was advised by physicians to return home. This advice was followed, he never dreaming that the trouble would actually prove to be smallpox. During this illness of five weeks, through the thoughtful suggestion of Dr. Sheppard, we were quarantined in Steinheim. Although he recovered to all appearance from its effects, yet he never afterward possessed the nervous vigor of former years.

At table, his ready wit and quaint story-telling were a neverfailing source of enjoyment and profit. The twilight hour often found father and children with shout and laughter chasing one another up and down through the house. "We're making too much noise for mamma," was the signal to return to their studies. In the development of their varied talents he took a

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special pride, always being careful to give them freedom in the choice of their own lines of study when old enough to plan for themselves. The winter evenings were sometimes devoted to science-each child sharing in the general study of plants, shells, and rocks.

Words of reproof were seldom heard, though no child or inmate of the family ever thought of disobeying father's commands. His love of fun and keen sense of the ridiculous sometimes made his relations even with delinquent students pleasant. The study was the gathering place for such when the offense was not grave enough to come before the Faculty. These young people, being asked to give a history of the matter, would perhaps leave out some important item, but from his sharp questions they would see how vain it was to hide the truth, as the president seemed to know all about the offense and was complete master of the situation. A paternal talk would follow, from which many could date their first knowledge of his true character. He was always much surprised and affected when letters, plants, books, or anything came as tokens from these

students.

In warm weather the broad front porch, commanding one of the finest views of the grounds and surrounding hills, was used as a receiving parlor, where teachers, students, and friends often gathered for social chats with the family.

MEMORIES OF THE HOME, BY MRS. LIZZIE NELSON FRYER.

I had looked toward Alfred as the ideal home of student life, and first reached there in the autumn of 1869.

It was evening when the stage drove up the hill to President Allen's house-conspicuous by the many lights in the windows. Eva, a rosy-cheeked girl, not yet in long gowns, came to the veranda to give me welcome. Her mother had gone away for a few days to paint a picture of a friend's home, she said, and she was left to entertain any who might come. Her easy, cordial manner, while she told about the school, and the different members of her family, was so reassuring that

little time was lost before we were discussing Longfellow, Whittier, and Tennyson. Of these poets I had a schoolbook knowledge, but when she talked of other works, such as "Tom Brown's School Days," and "Ivanhoe," which she was holding in her hand, I could say nothing except confess ignorance. Scott was her "favorite author." Knowing little of him, and other writers of whom she spoke, I retired that night mortified that a girl so much younger than myself could converse intelligently upon subjects unknown to me. Before morning, how

ever, a decided resolution was made to know more of literature. This was my first lesson at Alfred.

The term had been in session a fortnight or more, so it was not easy to find a place in the classes I had planned to enter. How vividly memory recalls a forenoon spent in complete failure in this respect! After an early excuse from the dinner table, I sank into a chair in the parlor, to hide a coming flood of tears. In the midst of the outburst who should quietly enter but the president himself. "What's the trouble? Are you ill?” he asked kindly. "No, only discouraged and homesick," was the hesitating reply. "Glad to hear it. Glad to hear it." Then by subtile questions he gradually drew out my experience in teaching and "boarding round" that summer, and upon leaving the room remarked: "You'll do: Young ladies who ever amount to anything always have a cry when they come to Alfred." These words may have had a tinge of sarcasm, but from that hour I knew President Allen to be the students' friend.

Before many days the home circle was made complete by the return of Mrs. Allen and active, inquiring little May. Alfred was a fair-haired, sturdy little fellow in dresses-the baby and pet of the household.

Those were cheerful times in a happy home. At breakfast all repeated verses of Scripture, which were sometimes chosen from a scroll on the wall of the dining room. Then the father followed with a touching, beautiful prayer. Every week-day hour was crowded with duties of one kind or another, until in