Eleven years ago we had but one building—teachers, scholars, sleeping-rooms, dining room, etc., all crowded into that one. Enough furniture was sent from an abandoned school in Augusta to make the teachers’ rooms comfortable. In the students’ rooms, a barrel with a board on it did the double duty of washstand and table. In the summer of 1870, a new building for young men was well on its way. It was our first summer in Atlanta. Some one suggested that it would be pleasant to have individual friends, Sunday-schools and churches furnish the dormitories, and keep with us a memento of their generosity by placing the donor’s name over each door. How well I remember with what enthusiasm I sat down, ten years ago, to write my first begging letter. I gazed then upon this same charming view that I am feasting my eyes upon at this moment, and drank in hope and courage from this wide north view, with the strong old Kenesaw towering in the distance. Soon responses came. You little realize how much joy has been brought to weary teachers on opening letters with a twenty-five-dollar check for a room. One such occasional letter compensated for many chilling ones, and lightened the weary hours spent in timidly addressing this friend and that. Nearly all of us turned beggars, and soon had the name of our home church or Sunday-school, our native town or some dear friend, beaming down upon us as we walked through the buildings. At length, every student’s room became sacred to the memory of some faithful friend of the Freedmen. Some donations came as thank-offerings for dear ones restored to health. At the end of one corridor is a group of four rooms where three are named for three sisters whose husbands have all been engaged in Southern work, and the fourth bears the name of their sainted grandfather, whose prayers and tears, mingling with multitudes all over our land, doubtless hastened on the glad day his eyes were never here permitted to see. In the wing of the young men’s building is a room furnished by a gentleman who named it for a dear brother stricken down by consumption when nearly through his studies, and who gave great promise of usefulness. This gentleman has had a book-case placed in that brother’s room, and sends frequent donations of books for the use of the occupants of “Ferrier” room. An Andover schoolmate, an Abbott Academy girl, named a room for her father, a devoted friend of the slave, and sends for its walls pictures, brackets, etc. Abbott Academy, as a school, has furnished a room in each building. One room is named for Dr. Gurley, of Washington, Abraham Lincoln’s beloved pastor. Just beside it is “Alice Carey,” in memory of an only daughter, a precious bud opening under brighter skies. Opposite is the name of the devoted father. “Celeste,” my dearest companion in girlhood, though so angelic then, speaks to me _now only_ of her celestial home.