Her reception in Boston had not been a pleasant one. There seemed to be a prejudice against her. The good people could not quite forgive her for being a girl. It was well for Paul Julian—he was a boy. Camilla’s appearance disturbed their nice sense of propriety. This is only the more remarkable when we come to see that later in her life Boston became her second home. It was here that she afterwards laid the foundation for her reputation and here she won her greatest triumphs. Since, she has played in our city over two hundred times and here her greatest and latest artistic efforts have been made. Little did she think as she left the city that she should afterwards enter it twice under most peculiar circumstances and afterwards make it the home of her girlhood and sometimes her residence in womanhood. Heaven helps those who try to help themselves. It was useless to cry or sit down in despair. Camilla at once resumed her practice under her father’s guidance. The violin was taken out again and the wretched alley-ways about Howard street reechoed with the strains of the marvelous instrument. By the hour the music floated out the dismal chamber window where the wonder-child toiled over the seemingly hopeless task. The thin, pale face bent over the music book all the day long. Practice, practice, practice. Life seemed made for that. What was the good of it all? It had only brought them poverty and sorrow. Not for a moment did she pause. The art was reward enough without the money. She would wait. It happened just at this time that Paul Julian, not in the most happy financial circumstances came to New York and for a week lived in the same humble boarding house with the Ursos. Camilla’s room was up stairs and Paul’s just under it. Both practiced incessantly, and Camilla’s father while attending to her lessons would often say:— “Hear that boy! He loves to practice.” Paul’s father in the room below would bid the boy stop and listen to the girl artist overhead and say:— “Hear that girl! See how she loves to practice.” When the lesson hour was over the two children met on the stairs or on the sidewalk for their brief play hour and would exchange notes concerning their two fathers. “Was your father cross to-day?” “Yes. Cross as a bear!” “So was mine.”