The room in which the lectures were given had two doors, side by side, and exactly alike, one leading into the hall and the other into a closet.

The young men having concluded their remarks, and feeling some relief at the successful termination of the ordeal, would tuck their books under their arms, bow gravely to the class, open the door, and walk briskly into the closet.
Even Miss Green's discipline had its limits, and when the lecturer turned to find the proper exit he had to face a class of grinning schoolgirls not much younger than himself, to his endless mortification.
Elihu Root recently met at a dinner a lady who asked him if he remembered her as a member of his class at Miss Green's school.

'Do I remember you ?' the former secretary of State replied.

'You are one of the girls who used to laugh at me when I had to walk into the closet.'" It was in 1835, when the new avenue was in the first flush of its lusty infancy, that a hotel was opened at the northeast corner of Eighth Street.

They call it the Lafayette today: tomorrow it may have still another name.