Judge Alfred Conkling, the father of Roscoe Conkling, was, in his late years, frequently seen at Peterboro.  Tall and stately, after all life’s troubled scenes, financial losses and domestic sorrows, he used to say there was no spot on earth that seemed so like his idea of Paradise.  The proud, reserved judge was unaccustomed to manifestations of affection and tender interest in his behalf, and when Gerrit, taking him by both hands would, in his softest tones say, “Good-morning,” and inquire how he had slept and what he would like to do that day, and Nancy would greet him with equal warmth and pin a little bunch of roses in his buttonhole, I have seen the tears in his eyes.  Their warm sympathies and sweet simplicity of manner melted the sternest natures and made the most reserved amiable.  There never was such an atmosphere of love and peace, of freedom and good cheer, in any other home I visited.  And this was the universal testimony of those who were guests at Peterboro.  To go anywhere else, after a visit there, was like coming down from the divine heights into the valley of humiliation.

How changed from the early days when, as strict Presbyterians, they believed in all the doctrines of Calvin!  Then, an indefinite gloom pervaded their home.  Their consciences were diseased.  They attached such undue importance to forms that they went through three kinds of baptism.  At one time Nancy would read nothing but the Bible, sing nothing but hymns, and play only sacred music.  She felt guilty if she talked on any subject except religion.  She was, in all respects, a fitting mate for her attractive husband.  Exquisitely refined in feeling and manner, beautiful in face and form, earnest and sincere, she sympathized with him in all his ideas of religion and reform.  Together they passed through every stage of theological experience, from the uncertain ground of superstition and speculation to the solid foundation of science and reason.  The position of the Church in the anti-slavery conflict, opening as it did all questions of ecclesiastical authority, Bible interpretation, and church discipline, awakened them to new thought and broader views on religious subjects, and eventually emancipated them entirely from the old dogmas and formalities of their faith, and lifted them into the cheerful atmosphere in which they passed the remainder of their lives.  Their only daughter, Elizabeth, added greatly to the attractions of the home circle, as she drew many young people round her.  Beside her personal charm she was the heiress of a vast estate and had many admirers.  The favored one was Charles Dudley Miller of Utica, nephew of Mrs. Blandina Bleecker Dudley, founder of the Albany Observatory.  At the close of his college life Mr. Miller had not only mastered the languages, mathematics, rhetoric, and logic, but had learned the secret windings of the human heart.  He understood the art of pleasing.