were familiar to me during my school days. One of the first I ever read
was "Clarissa Harlowe" by Samuel Richardson. "Cecilia," by Frances
Burney, was another well-known book of the day. Mrs. Amelia Opie was
also a popular authoress, and her novel entitled "White Lies" should, in
my opinion, grace every library. Miss Maria Edgeworth and Mrs. Ann Eliza
Bray, the latter of whom so graphically depicted the higher phases of
English life, were popular authoresses in my earlier days in New York.
Many years later some of the books I have mentioned were republished by
the Harpers. "Gil Blas," whose author, Le Sage, was the skilful
delineator of human nature, its attributes and its frailties, was much
read, and, in my long journey through life, certain portions of this
book have often been recalled to me by my many and varied experiences. I
must not fail to speak of the "Children of the Abbey," by Regina M.
Roche, where the fascinations of Lord Leicester are so vividly
portrayed; nor of another book entitled "The Three Spaniards," by George
Walker, which used to strike terror to my unsophisticated soul.

When Madame Chegaray retired temporarily from her school life and moved
to Madison in New Jersey, Charles Canda, who had taught drawing for her,
established a school of his own in New York which became very prominent.
He had an attractive young daughter, who met with a most heartrending
end. On her way to a ball, in company with one of her girl friends,
Charlotte Canda was thrown from her carriage, and when picked up her
life was extinct. As there were no injuries found upon her body, it was
generally supposed that the shock brought on an attack of heart-failure.
Subsequently the disconsolate parents ordered from Italy a monument
costing a fabulous sum of money for those days, which was placed over
the grave of their only daughter in Greenwood Cemetery, where it still
continues to command the admiration of sightseers. This tragic incident
occurred in February, 1845, on the eve of the victim's seventeenth
birthday.

While Madame Chegaray was my teacher there was a charming French society
in New York, her house being the rendezvous of this interesting social
circle. I recall with much pleasure the names of Boisseau, Trudeau,
Boisaubin, Thebaud and Brugiere. Madame Chegaray's sister, Caroline,
together with her husband, Charles Berault, who taught dancing, and
their three daughters, resided with her. The oldest, Madame Vincente
R