SIXTY YEARS OF CALIFORNIA SONG

Margaret Blake-Alverson

M.B. ALVERSON
1913

[CONTENTS]

Transcriber's Note: Numerous typographical errors and misspellings (especially of non-English words and names) in the original text have been corrected in this e-text, where the correct spelling could be confirmed.

Address all correspondence to

MRS. MARGARET BLAKE-ALVERSON
1429 SECOND AVENUE
OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA
Copyright 1913 by
MARGARET BLAKE-ALVERSON
All rights reserved

TO MY FRIENDS EVERYWHERE I AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE THIS BOOK.

IF AS A SINGER AND A TEACHER OF SINGING I HAVE BEEN A FACTOR IN THE BETTERMENT OF INDIVIDUALS AND COMMUNITIES, THEN HAS MY WORK BEEN WELL DONE AND I AM CONTENT.

MARGARET BLAKE-ALVERSON

OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA
JANUARY, 1913

FOREWORD

This book has been written for friends and musical associates of more than half a century.

The author's life has been a busy one, often with events of public import, and so it may be that this volume has value as history. Those who should know have so affirmed.

It is hoped that old-time Californians will find the book good reading. The later generations of students and musicians will be interested in the story of one who helped to prepare the way for them.

The narrative tells somewhat of the Christian ministry of a noble father, of the writer's career as a public singer and of reminiscences of many associated musicians, efficient factors in the development of music in California to the high place it holds today.

Some mention is made of distinguished divines and men of note in the professions and in business. The part taken by the author in political campaigns and in the activities of the Grand Army of the Republic will appeal to patriots.

Some chapters on the singing voice and its cultivation are the fruitage of a wide experience of many years. A list of pupils for three decades is added.

The illustrations have been at once a labor of love and an extravagance of money cost, but it is believed that the reader will find in that feature alone justification for the publication.

[THE TEXT]

THE ILLUSTRATIONS

PORTRAITS OF PUPILS

CHAPTER ONE

ANTECEDENTS AND CHILDHOOD

S FAR back as I can remember my life was associated with music. Father and mother were both highly gifted. In our family were three boys and seven girls, and each possessed a voice of unusual excellence. The looked-for pleasure every day was the morning and evening worship at which the family gathered in the sitting room to hear the word of God explained by my father, Rev. Henry Kroh, D.D. The dear old German hymns, Lobe den Herren, O Meine Seele, Christie, du Lamm Gottes and others, were as familiar to me as the English hymns of today, such as Nearer my God to Thee and All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name. We were not blessed with children's songs, as are the children of today, but sang the same hymns as the older members of the congregation.

Father was descended from a royal Holland family. One of his ancestors was the favorite sister of Admiral Theobold Metzger, Baron of Brada, Major-General of all the Netherlands, who died of paralysis in the sixty-sixth year of his life, February 23, 1691, in the house of the Duke of Chamburg. He had gone with other lords and nobles of the land to Graven Hage to swear allegiance to William III., King of Great Britain, who had just come over from London as the regent of the Netherlands. Even the physician in ordinary, who was sent by the King, was unable to save him. By order of the King his body was placed in a vault in the church on High Street in Brada, March 19, 1691, with extraordinary honor and ceremonies. He had acquired large possessions and wealth, therefore the King ordered that the large estate of the deceased should be taken care of, and placed it under the care of William von Schuylenburg, council of the King. At the same time notice was sent to all princes and potentates in whose countries there was property of the deceased to support His Majesty in this undertaking. Three weeks before his death he had made his will and had given the name of his parents and his five brothers and two sisters.

His sister Barbara was my great-grandmother. After the death of my granduncle some of the family came to America. They were not aware of the death of their distinguished brother and the heirs did not claim the vast fortune, which amounted to 20,000,000 guilders at that time and now with compound interest should be to 200,000,000 to 300,000,000 guilders, and is still in the possession of the King and in the treasuries of the Netherlands. The heirs have been deprived of it all these years, although they have from one generation to another fought the case. At the same time the authorities of Holland are not a little in doubt and are embarrassed for reasons to justify keeping the Metzger von Weibnom estate for Holland.

But the reason of all their decisions, answers and refusals is the unmistakable intention to keep the estate for themselves, even at the cost of truth, justice and honor. The will has been suppressed. We have proof that General Rapp in 1794 at the occupation of Brada had taken the will, dated February 2, 1691, from the city magistrate to carry it to Strassburg for safety. The will has never been executed.

I purposely made this break in my narrative of my childhood in justice to my distinguished father who should have occupied the place that belonged to him by right and title, as he was one of the original heirs mentioned in my uncle's will—the grandson of his favorite sister, Barbara Metzger von Weibnom. My father was a minister. He was Christ-like with his people, and it was beautiful to behold with what reverence the people approached him. He had the mild blue eye the poets write about, his voice was soft in its tenderness when addressing any member of his flock. His bearing was dignified and reverent, and he was a delightful person to know. He was always hopeful, no matter what difficulties arose in regard to the finances of the church. In the true sense of the word he was a father to his people and his family. His elders were all devotion and with them his word was law. In all the years of his ministry I cannot recall any unhappy situation with his congregation. Sadness came only when parting, to be sent to work in another church. He was a great pioneer founder of churches, and the Synod sent him first in one direction, then another.

In consequence of these changes I traveled a great deal in childhood. No sooner had father succeeded in getting a church started and in good running order than he would be sent to some other section of the country. In Virginia, where he was born and bred, he was ordained at the age of twenty-five and soon had a promising charge in Berks county, Pa. From there he was sent to Evansville, Ind. It was while he was filling the pulpit at Womensdorf, Pa., that he met Miss Mary Stouch, to whom he was married in the year 1819. Six children were born to them while at this pastorate. The church in Evansville had been without a pastor for over two years and father was called to fill the position. The parting between the pastor and his people was particularly sad. My mother had to leave her girlhood home for the first time in her life.

Oh, what a sad journey it was for them. It was made by stage and boat and my parents had six young children. Many a time in my childhood I heard the sad tale repeated. And the reception at Evansville was still sadder as the church had been closed and the building almost destroyed by the vicious element and unconverted people who desired no religion to interfere with their ungodliness. Many attempts had been made to restore the building, but those who attempted it were stoned and driven away. When father arrived the people of the congregation who remained advised him not to do anything with the church, for he would meet the same fate as his predecessors. But father was not daunted. He visited the church and the sight of God's house in such a condition made him more determined to do the work for which he had come. After calling several members together he gave out the announcement that he would open the church on the following Sabbath at all hazards. He asked all of the faith to come to his home Saturday evening. About fifty responded, and during the business meeting of the evening seven elders were chosen. When all was satisfactorily adjusted, pastor and people spent the hours in prayer until midnight.

Next morning the faithful people gathered and father, with the Bible in hand, led them in procession until they arrived at the church. In the distance could be seen a line of men, women and boys on both sides of the steps. The elders tried to persuade father to give up the attempt and go no further. He turned to them and said, "I came to conquer for the Lord, and if you do not come with me I shall go alone." When the rabble saw them coming, they began to shout, "Here they come. Here come the saints." A boy approached—more bold than the rest—and as he came father took him by the hand and said, "Good morning, my little man. I am glad to see the young as well as the old to welcome me." Then he spoke to the people and said, "You make me very happy, my dear friends. I did not expect such a large congregation to meet me, a stranger," and took each by the hand. In one hand they held sticks, stones and staves. As he spoke kindly to them, they dropped their missiles and extended their hands. His bravery had awed them and his kindness and magnetism had won them. At last he gained the upper step in front of the church and, like Paul, he cried, "Hear ye the word of the Lord. For today shall peace and righteousness dwell among you. Hear what the Lord God speaketh to you. I came not to make war upon you, but bring you the message of peace. As this building is not in condition to enter, I will give you the divine message from the door of the temple." After a short sermon he told them his mission was to rebuild the church, and he was going to ask them all to help. A short prayer followed his remarks, and the benediction closed this remarkable epoch in the history of the church. Before the year was past the church had been restored. The membership increased, the Sabbath school grew and the church nourished beyond the expectations of the oldest members.

Two and a half years later we went to Mt. Carmel, a small town on the Wabash river. Conditions were more favorable, yet it was not to be stationary, for only two or three years. During that time I was born, June 12, 1836. I made the eighth child—six girls and two boys. When I was a little over three years old, father left Mt. Carmel to fill the vacancy of the church in Jonesborough, Union county, Ill., in an unsettled portion of the state, among good Christian people who had begun to settle on farms and stock farms. Acres of grain and corn fields stretched far and wide. Jonesborough was a very small town where these people got their supplies in exchange for their produce. The women wove their cloth and linen and spun their yarn and did the dairy work, while the men cleared and planted and built log houses, barns and cribs. We were heartily welcomed by these good, primitive people. They had waited so long for a shepherd to lead them that many of the congregation were in waiting and the elders and trustees were on hand to see to the conveyance of the household goods, which were quickly put in waiting wagons.

It was the Indian summer of the year. The foliage was bright and the air crisp and cool. Although a child, the impression made upon me was one that I have gone over in my mind many times, and I can see every inch of the road, the kind people, the beautiful scenery, birds of bright plumage, and rabbits darting across the road at the sound of our wheels. It was late when the journey was ended, but we were made welcome and comfortable by more pleasant faces and willing hands. The parsonage was a large, barnlike-looking place, built partly of logs and "shakes." There was one large room and two small ones adjoining and a shed that extended the length of the house. In the large room was a fine, spacious fireplace, into which had been rolled a large log and a bright fire was blazing which sent a glow of warmth and lit up the logs and rafters and the strips of white plaster, used to close up the cracks and keep the warmth within the room. The floors were made of oak and were white and clean. Several old-fashioned split-bottom chairs graced the room, a long table was placed in the center, upon which was spread a snow-white linen cloth of homespun, and woven by the women. While the wraps were being removed the women had placed upon the table the best that could be prepared for the pastor's welcome. I'll never forget the delicious roast chicken; baked sweet potatoes, baked in the ashes, for cook stoves were not known; the fine hot corn pone baked in the Dutch oven, hot coals heaped upon the lid to brown and crisp; fresh sweet butter, pickles, preserves. Generous loaves of bread, biscuit and cake filled the pantries.

When father entered the room and saw the preparation that had been made he was overcome with the tender hospitality of the women of his new charge. He could not restrain his tears. As they all surrounded the table, he raised his hands in prayer and besought God's blessing upon the people and the charge he had once more accepted. The congregation was scattered far and wide. Many miles separated the neighbors and once a week was the only time when gatherings were held. On the Sabbath the log church was filled with solemn, substantial people, men and women in their homespun garments, healthy and robust the men and rosy and buxom the women. Families came in their conveyances, wagons, carts and old-style buggies; some came on foot, others on horseback, when they did not own a wagon. Rain or shine, the faithful assembled for two services. After the morning service the families gathered and seated under the trees or in their wagons lunched of the food brought along. A fire was built and a huge caldron of coffee was made of parched wheat ground and boiled. Coffee in these days was only for the rich who lived in the cities. Delicious cream and milk was in abundance for all the younger people. After the noon repast the children gathered for the Sunday school. The second service began at 3 o'clock and closed at 4. This work continued for seven years. During that time the log church was replaced by a fine frame church large enough to accommodate six or seven hundred worshipers.

During the years of this pastorate my oldest brother, Rev. Phillip Henry Kroh, was graduated from the theological seminary in Ohio and had returned an ordained minister. He was at once made an assistant by my father, the field being too large for him.

In 1841 father returned from the eastern Synod with the sad tidings that he had been appointed to go to Cincinnati, Ohio. We had lived so long here, we expected it was to be our future home. We had a comfortable house, a maple forest, gardens and stock, and the news came as a severe blow to my poor mother. We had been so happy among the fruits, flowers and country freedom, we were loath to give it up for the city. It was with a sad heart that father parted from these good and faithful people. The only balm for this separation was to leave brother Phillip with them as his successor. He had become endeared to them and had done such good work among the young, they prayed father to leave him if the family must go.

After a journey of three weeks we arrived at the parsonage. The congregation had purchased the old Texas church in the western addition of the city, and the parsonage was attached to the church in the rear. It was a comfortable place of six large rooms. The furniture had preceded the family and everything looked homelike and comfortable, so mother had not the sadness of coming to a bare, cheerless, empty house. We were cordially greeted by the elders' wives and families, and when we arrived dinner was upon the table for us. This welcome was more homelike because of our own things having preceded us. And then we were such a busy family that we had little time to waste in repinings. We were all put in the harness—the Sabbath school and choir. We made visits with our parents to the sick and the poor. Because we spoke nothing but the German language, we were obliged to go to school. My oldest sister, Mary, was soon established in the German department of the public school. She was graduated from the Monticello Seminary, St. Louis, before coming there. She taught during the week in the public school and on Saturday taught English in the synagogue. On the Sabbath she played the melodeon in our church. It was there that, as a child, I learned the grand old German hymns of the church under her guidance and which helped to make me the singer I am today.

We had now been seven years in Cincinnati and the church had flourished so greatly that a second German Reformed church was the outcome of father's ministry. It was built on Webster street for the purpose of housing the overflow of the first church on Betts street. In all this prosperity California gold and missionary fields were opened and discovered in November, 1847. Father was chosen for California, and the only way to go was over the plains. What a sad family was ours while preparations were made which would take father and brother George, who was now 17 years old, away, as we thought, to the other end of the earth. At last the hour came and the tie that bound pastor and people, father, mother and children was severed. My brother George told me the story of the trip as follows:

"The party left Cincinnati down the river on the steamer Pontiac about May 10th, 1849, arrived in St. Louis four days after the fire, May 18th, and remained four days at Weston. We purchased a yoke of oxen. At St. Joseph, Mo., we purchased two more yokes. On the 28th we went up the river and crossed over on flatboats. Here we camped for the night. As far as the eye could see it was one level stretch of land. May 29th we started on the long journey across the plains to California. Our first mishap came in crossing over a bridge made of logs, called a corduroy bridge. In crossing over this bridge one of the oxen was crowded too near the edge. He was crowded off into the water below and was drowned before we could give aid. After traveling for seven days more, the first days in June, we came to Ash Hollow. At this place the party came in contact with a whole tribe of Sioux Indians. They were peaceful, and we traded with them and gave the squaws some necklaces of bright colored beads. After passing the Indian tribe, about five miles away, we camped for the night. We reached Fort Laramie by noon the next day. Here we purchased a fine cow to take the place of the drowned ox. She worked well. She supplied the party with fresh milk as well. Fort Laramie consisted of only the fort and a blacksmith shop. We continued next day and made several stops before we came to Fort Bridger, occupied by the man Bridger and his family. He had a squaw wife and six children. When he learned that father was a missionary, he brought his whole family to our camp and they were all baptized. This was father's first missionary work.

"After leaving here we traveled for days before we got to Salt Lake City, passing through Wyoming. At Salt Lake City father and Brigham Young had a long and heated argument. A number of men and women joined in. Among the women were several who did not believe as they were compelled to, and they were on the side of the missionary. We remained here a week, and we drove the cattle to feed and the Mormons stole them two different times and compelled the company to pay fifteen dollars each time as find money. Rather an expensive stay for one week. When the party left, the women who favored us came out with baskets filled with fresh vegetables, pumpkins, sweet potatoes and squash. With tears in their eyes they said farewell. When we left we employed the services of a Mormon guide. He purposely led us on the wrong trail for sixty miles. It was necessary for us to return and get the right trail. When we started once more he misled us the second time and directed us into a deep canyon. In order to get out of this difficulty we were obliged to take the wagon to pieces and piece by piece we carried them out into safety. His object was to tire out our oxen and get us to desert them so he could appropriate them. At last we discovered his treachery and dismissed him at once. Then we continued our journey along the Santa Fe trail. This was Kit Carson's trail from Salt Lake to Lower California. We continued our travels until we reached Big Muddy river and camped there. The Indians yelled and whooped at us all night long. We could not sleep, for they were the troublesome Piutes. We did not know how to act as they kept concealed and were in great numbers. Two of them, more bold than the others, being also curious, crawled through the willows. We immediately shot at them. In the morning the oxen were rounded up and one was missing. He was driven away by the Indians and killed. We found him several miles further along, with seven arrows piercing his body. Our next camping place was at the foot of the Sierra Nevada mountains. The snow was eighteen inches deep and there was no food for the cattle. After going a mile further the cow gave out. That left us without any means to haul the wagons. Father left his wagon and we packed our goods on a horse, this being the only animal remaining in father's possession. We were compelled to leave many useful things behind. Father's feet were frozen at this place and we were obliged to cut off his boots to assist him out of his misery. Our sufferings were great and we nearly froze on the trail. We kept going at a slow pace and with great difficulty until we passed the snow belt, and when we came to the green fields or plains our joy knew no bounds. But misfortune overtook us here, for we turned our horse out with the cattle and that was the last we ever saw of him. We came at last to Cottonwood Springs and we camped there for two days to let the remaining cattle rest and eat of herbage.

"In the evening of the second day we started to cross the great desert. We succeeded in crossing by midnight and reached the mountains on the other side. I was so tired I fell asleep beside the trail. The team passed me as I slept. I did not awaken until 2 in the morning. I followed the trail and found the team, a distance of four or five miles ahead of where I took the nap. On reaching camp, father and the company were anxiously awaiting me. We rested for the night. Next morning we started through a deep canyon which eventually opened into a beautiful valley where we saw houses made of adobe. The fields were covered with cattle. This was the first civilization we saw since leaving Salt Lake. Starvation had almost overtaken us and we besought the owner to sell us an ox and we had a feast and appeased our hunger. We had lost all accounting of time until we came here. We camped for the night, and next morning we started for Los Angeles. We arrived there November 18, 1849. The Spaniards had taken a strong liking toward father and wanted to make him their Alcalde, but he refused the honor and told them he had come to preach the gospel and had to go further. On his going they presented him with a fine horse and saddle as a token of their esteem for him. At that time Los Angeles had only a few adobe houses and a Catholic mission. Commodore Stockton had dug trenches around the place as a means of defense. We slowly wended our way for another month when we met a man who had bought a thousand head of cattle. He told father he could earn his way up the coast by helping drive the cattle, but he was not able to do this spirited work, so father and son exchanged places. Father turned the horse over to me and he drove the supply wagon. For the first time in my life I was a real cowboy.

"We followed the coast through Santa Clara and Santa Cruz, crossing over to Livermore and San Joaquin valley, this being the end of the cattle drive. Here we were paid and dismissed and our employer said we were about forty miles from Stockton and about the same distance from the mines. We plodded slowly along, following up the Stanislaus river. The first place we reached having a name was Knight's Ferry. We were out of money and clothes when we arrived at this place. The ferryman took us across without pay and bade us remain all night. Up to this time we wore buckskin trousers. I went out hunting and the rain came down in torrents and my trousers got drenched. They stretched so long I cut them off so I could walk. When they dried they had shrunken above my knees. At this place we met Mr. Dent, a brother-in-law of General Grant. With him also was a Mr. Vantine. When these men saw the unfortunate condition we were in, they gave us each a pair of overalls and a hat. So we were once more a little more civilized and passable. On our way up the coast we encountered a heavy storm. We had prepared to camp under a fine tree, but a large dead limb hung directly over us. I told father that we had better move as there was danger. But he thought it safe to remain where we were. But I insisted that we move, and finally he listened to my pleadings and we each took an end of the bed and lifted it over to the other side of the tree, away from the dead limb. We had hardly gotten settled into the bed before the limb came down with a crash, immediately across the spot from where we took the bed. Had we remained, nothing could have saved us from instant death. The next day we left Knight's Ferry without a dollar and reached the mines that afternoon about 4 o'clock. One of the miners gave me a claim. The next morning I started my first gold mining. Father was obliged to rest after all this dreadful experience of nine or ten months. I bought myself a rocker and began to work my claim. The first day I had washed out $9.50. In eight days I had gotten out $650. After getting the gold father went to Stockton and bought a supply of groceries and started a grocery store at Scorpion Gulch. I took up another claim and in ten days' time I had taken out a collection of nuggets and small gold to the amount of $1,600."

This was sent home to the family in the East with the message for us to come to California as soon as we could get ready.

After father started for California we were obliged to vacate the parsonage for the family of his successor. So the church was raised and a fine story made under the church for our use while we remained there. We were all obliged to work and help mother in some way. The older ones were teaching and we who were but children sewed a certain amount each day before our play hour came. My sister Mary now played the organ in the Presbyterian church and Mr. Aiken was the director of the choir. I was about ten years old at this time, and with the new minister other changes came in our church and we left the choir to others who came after us. Shortly after this I remember going one Sabbath to the church to hear sister play the pipe organ. While in the choir loft Mr. Aiken came in. He came over and asked me how I came there. I told him I had come with my sister. "Who is your sister?" "Miss Kroh, who plays the organ." He looked surprised. Presently I saw them conversing. When sister came to her place she said to me, "When the choir arises to sing you go over and stand with the alto." I demurred and she said, "Go and sing as you have been singing in our choir. You know the music." After that Sunday I sang with the choir five years, until we came to California. I was then fifteen. That is how I became a choir singer when ten years of age. Mr. Aiken used to pick me out from among the children of the public schools and place me in the front row in every school I ever attended while he taught the music.

Mr. Aiken became musical instructor in the schools in 1848. It was then I was selected to join the choral class. There were fifty boys and girls picked from the different schools and we had a fine drilling each Saturday afternoon in the basement of the church. One of the boys had a high soprano voice and we all admired his singing to adoration. He was as courteous as his voice was beautiful—unspoiled by praise. We had one chorus we all loved, of which he was the soloist, and we were not satisfied with the rehearsal until we had sung, and the young master had so beautifully rendered the obbligato to the song, "Shepherd, from your sleep awake, Morning opes her golden eyes, etc." How well I remember the words of the song and the beautiful boy singer that left the impression of his voice in my life, and I can see the picture as plain as if it hung on the wall of my studio today. From that voice and the correct guidance of my sainted sister Mary I have been able to sing and please the many thousands of people who have listened to me in my years of song wherever I strayed—in the East or West.

In speaking of Professor Junkerman's work in the schools of Cincinnati, a coincidence happened in 1906 which recalled my childhood days with all the vivid coloring traced upon my mind fifty-two years ago. In the number of The Musician for May, 1906, I saw two pictures that were familiar and I looked without seeing the names printed beneath them. To my utter astonishment they were the likenesses of Mr. Aiken and Professor Junkerman, whom I had not seen for over fifty years and yet I knew them at sight—the moment my eyes beheld them. In reading the article and what it contained in regard to the music and its development, I was able to go over the whole ground of Mr. Aiken's teaching as if I were once more a school child. All three of these persons were in the schools—Professor Junkerman, in languages, organ and piano; my sister, Mary Kroh, his pupil on both organ and piano, also teacher of English and German, and Mr. Aiken, the teacher in the public schools for voice and the movable "do" system. Was ever such a windfall of good fortune as this proved to me? I had tried to recall the name of the dear old professor to use it in my narrative, but my memory was at fault. We all loved him so well. He was a thorough musician and thoroughly appreciated by all who had the advantage of his knowledge, either in languages or in instrumental music. The Musician contains a complete detail of these two men who were instrumental in promoting the best music in the early years of 1839 and later in 1842 and continued until 1879 for Mr. Aiken, and Professor Junkerman closed his public career in 1900.

CHAPTER TWO

OUR TRIP TO CALIFORNIA VIA THE ISTHMUS, AND EARLY DAYS THERE. FIRST CHURCH CHOIR IN STOCKTON

T LAST the long-looked-for letter came that father and brother had arrived in the mines of California, and in the letter were several small flakes of gold wrapped in a bit of paper. We had so long hoped against hope that the sight of the familiar writing caused the greatest excitement. Poor mother could hardly hold out any longer and the news was too much for her weak body, for she was just convalescing from weeks of sickness brought on by hope deferred and waiting and watching each day for a word from the wanderers. We were obliged to refrain for her sake, but we were all like as if news came from the dead—ten long months and no word. After we were somewhat quieted sister Mary read the letter aloud. It was like reading the last will of the departed, we were all so unnerved. At the close of the letter we were informed to get in readiness and that the money was already on the way for us. It had taken over two months for this letter to come by steamer, and we counted the days for another with the gold to take us away to California. What a consternation this news made in the congregation! They had hoped that father might return if things were not favorable, but the letter and the gold in the letter and the money coming to take us away were too true. There was no hope now that he would return. The successor of father was a young minister, Rev. Henry Rust. He heard the news with a sad heart, for he and my sister Mary were betrothed. Father's message was for sister Mary to take his place as help to mother, who was not able to take the family alone over the two oceans with all the uncertainty of travel. The weeks of waiting were spent in preparation. Many busy fingers plied the needle (for sewing machines were not known at that time). Young as I was, I was no stranger to the use of the needle, for that is part of a German girl's education, with knitting and crocheting. I was born in the time of weaving, spinning and carding. Much brass and pewter household articles were to be kept bright and shiny. Children in those days were little housewives and took as much pride in having the family silver, copper and brass polished as the older ones. The oaken floors were made white with soft soap and sand, and the comfortable rugs of rag carpet were woven with special care. The high-posted bedsteads with the valance around the bottom of white linen, the canopy above draped with chintz of the daintiest tracings of figures and flowers, and oh, the feather bed well beaten and made high, and immaculate white quilt finished a bed fit for a king to rest his royal body upon. While we had not a grand home, it was a place of order, taste and refinement. Each one was taught to feel responsible for the good or bad impressions from strangers who visited us from time to time. Consequently we all took pride in keeping order, which was the law of the home, and as young as we were we felt justly proud of praise from strangers. After school we had so much to sew, mend or knit. When that was done, we were allowed to play until six. The evenings were spent in preparing the lessons for the next day. My early years were spent in work and play. Law and order was the rule, but none of us were unhappy by the restraint. It was an education that has made the men and women of our family what they are today. We were home keepers as well as entertainers.

Having traveled so much during our lifetime, changing from one city to another, we were not afraid to take this last long journey. The difficulty was what to take, especially of many of the heirlooms that mother still retained from her girlhood home. After inquiry and instructions from the steamship company, we found to our dismay that no furniture could go, as there was no way of getting it over the Isthmus. All our long-cherished household furniture must remain behind. Only things that could be taken up in small boats were allowed. Kind friends of the congregation made their choice and took them as keepsakes in remembrance of us when we were far away. This act of kindness was much appreciated by mother, who suffered much anguish of mind to see the familiar things of her girlhood scattered here and there and her claim to them forever gone. She had heretofore been able to go willingly to different places because the familiar things made it homelike when settled in new surroundings, but this time all must be left behind. California was too far—she was going out to the great unknown world, far from civilization, not knowing what was before her. If everything else had to be left, she still retained the affection of her children, and we were as watchful of her happiness and comfort as if we were her keeper. Her hopes of meeting father and son, and her children with her, gave her the courage to begin the long journey.

It was now the year 1851. Mary had been teaching in the public schools and synagogue; sister Emma was sewing. They kept the finances from running low, as father's salary had to go to his successor and we had no other means of support. With good management and many friends we all came safely through the ordeal. After the first letter we had received no other word and the second year was passing, although we had been ready for months with the disposal of our household goods. The sisters kept their positions, so all went on as usual. In the latter part of May a rap was heard at the front door and sister Mary answered the summons and before her stood the express man of Adams Express Company, and he handed her a canvas sack filled with gold and a letter addressed to mother from California. Father had sent us $1,600 and orders to come as soon as possible. He would be awaiting us in Stockton, California. After our surprise was over, what was to be done with all this money—we could not keep it here safely. So sister Sarah was dispatched to one of the trustees of the church who had a safe in his office. The money was placed in a covered basket and she was sent with all haste to get to the office before closing time, but fate was against her and Mr. Butler had closed the office and gone. So she was obliged to bring it home once more. It was dark before she came back and there were two men who followed her at a distance all the way going and coming. What to do to protect this great amount of money was a vital question. We occupied the first story under the church and the front rooms faced on Betts street, as did the entrance of the church. The original parsonage had not been occupied since we vacated it because the new minister had no family. We still retained the key. After our plans were made, myself and sister Sarah were sent out on the sidewalk as if we were playing, to see if any strangers were lurking around. Mother stood in the front door and talked with us while sister Mary, accompanied by my small brother, took the money and went up to the other parsonage and let herself in, then into the church. It was still daylight. So as not to use a light, she quietly slipped into the church, removed one side of the pulpit steps and let my brother crawl over to the other side and put the gold beneath the steps there. After depositing it, she quietly put everything in place and returned to the house. Then we retired for the evening.

None of the neighbors knew of the money being received. It came at an hour when no one was coming home or happened to be on the sidewalk. The shutters on the first floor were solid wood so no one could molest us. We had been clearing the house and packing things away. We were all tired and slept well. Mary and Emma occupied the front room and for some unknown reason left the wooden bar off that made the door secure, and these two men came in so quietly that no one heard them. They had unlocked the doors to escape in case they were discovered. Mother was awakened during the night and said, "Mary, are you up?" No answer. After a short silence she heard another sound and she called, "Are you ill, Mary? If you are, I'll get up and help." Receiving no answer, she reached out to light the candle, but hearing nothing more she thought she had been mistaken and went to sleep. She arose early and found the shutters unlocked and the side door ajar. Then she went into the parlor and all the chairs had been taken from the front door where they had been piled. She immediately realized that there had been robbers in the house searching for the gold. She awoke the girls and told them of what had happened, and you can imagine our consternation. As long as we remained in the house we lived in fear of a second attempt. The next morning sister Sarah was sent with the gold to our friend, Mr. Butler, who was surprised and simply amazed at the amount sister gave him to keep. He immediately put it into safer hands at the mint where the gold was weighed and the value given in money and placed in the bank subject to mother's order. When Mr. Butler was told of the attempted robbery he immediately arranged to have the house watched each night until our departure, which came the first week in June, 1851. We left Cincinnati for New York and were welcomed on our arrival by friends with whom we remained for a week. On the following Monday we secured passage for California on the steamer Ohio bound for Aspinwall. I was too young and also too ill to know just the route taken, but after a month we arrived at Aspinwall, and when our belongings were properly taken care of we started on our journey across the Isthmus of Panama.

We were nine days going up the Chagres river in flatboats. This trip, girl as I was, I can recall perfectly and it was an experience which has served in after years as an education which I have used in many ways. We, as children, had access to father's great library and magazines from which we learned so much of foreign countries and people. I had artistic tastes and I used to find the tropical pictures and scenes much to my liking and asked many questions in regard to the different people among whom the missionaries worked. I had never thought ever to see or realize such a picture in the tropics as this. We had a large boat assigned to our family alone. Our belongings were deposited and two great, black natives were placed at each end of the boat or scow. They were without clothing, save for a short, full skirt of white cloth fastened around their waists on a band. Each used a long pole to propel the scow. We were the only family of women on board the steamer. There was Mr. Biggar and his wife and a bride and her husband, besides several colored women and their husbands coming out to take positions on the Pacific steamers. All the other passengers were men, coming to hunt their fortunes and go back rich. There were about eight or nine of these scows. The railroad was not finished, but it was being built at that time. The surveying was being done and small cabins were built for the surveyors' use at the different stations where we camped for the night. The captain had provided us with food in cans and packages, toasted bread and other things for our comfort and utensils for cooking, and we had a jolly picnic for nine long days before we came to the place where we mounted the burros to take us the rest of the way to Panama.

To describe this journey needs a more romantic pen than mine, but I'll endeavor to tell you of some of the features and things that we saw which were so strange and wonderful to me. After we had said our good-byes to the captain and officers who were so gallant to us and did all they could for us during the long month on the rough Atlantic, we climbed into our boat and these natives took charge of it, one at each end, with a guttural grunt from both. They lightly took their places and we began our journey up the Chagres river. It was a warm, bright morning, and a light haze in the atmosphere made it appear like spring. At first we felt afraid of our boatmen, but soon we were drinking in all of the panoramic effects of the changing scenes of trailing vines, tropical flowers and other splendors. The chattering of monkeys and parrots, the alligators lying upon the opposite shore like great gray logs, some sleeping, some with their great mouths wide open to allow the insects to gather on their tongues, were things never to be forgotten. I observed that when a large number of flies had gathered the alligators would close their capacious jaws, satisfied with the sweet morsel, and roll their eyes with apparent enjoyment. Then they once more slowly opened their ponderous jaws and quietly waited for another meal. We had gone on our way several hours without speaking, there was so much to see and it was all so new. The quaint song of the natives amused us. They never seemed to weary of the same "Yenze, yenze, ah yenze." At the third "Yenze" the boat would shoot up the stream twice its length. It was nearing noon and the sun was getting torrid and the air close and stifling. Without any warning the rain showered upon us and we were obliged to remain in our places and let it come down upon us, regardless of results to our clothing. The rain was of short duration, however, and we rather enjoyed the cooling effect. Presently the sun shone in all its glory and in an hour we were once more with dry clothing. This mixed weather continued the whole ten days of our journey.

At noon of each day we disembarked and prepared our meal, generally stopping at one of the stations of the railroad. We found quite a number of white men and Mexicans at each place. They gladly received us and offered us some of their fare. In exchange we gave them soup, made in a large kettle, and had several things they were strangers to in their life in the forest of vines, flowers and fruit of the tropics where they subsisted on rations of pork, bacon, hardtack, etc. They gladly accepted our fare and we partook of theirs. Before we started again the men came to the boat with baskets of fresh cut oranges and bananas and plantains. They were for us to take on the steamer and we could enjoy them as they ripened on the way. We received marked attention from the men at every station. Women coming to California were a novelty, and when they learned we were all of one family of the American Padre, they were still more gracious. So we journeyed for ten days, each day bringing forth some new feature. At night we left the boats and slept in the bungalows perched high in the air, and to reach them we climbed steps cut out in a large log placed at the opening. There was only one large room and we all slept on the floor, rolled in our blankets. We got but little sleep because of the noise from below made by Americans and Spaniards playing cards and smoking cigarettes and Spanish girls dancing as the men thrummed on the guitars. The Spaniards carried long knives at their sides and pistols in their belts, wore wide straw hats and red sashes, black trousers slashed down the side and trimmed with rows of bright buttons. High-heeled boots and spurs finished the unique garb. The women wore a white chemise and white petticoat and slippers. Their black hair, plaited in two braids, and a silk shawl thrown gracefully over their heads and a fan, which is an indispensable article to a Spanish lady, completed the toilet. Nothing but troubled sleep came to our relief during these days. Fear of the Spaniards and the movements of the lizards on the rafters and walls, with now and then a tarantula, made rest almost impossible. At last we had only one day more, the tenth day. We had gotten familiar with the different scenes, the waving palms, the trailing vines where the monkeys climbed or hung by their tails and chattered in their own way. The scarlet lingawacha, or tongue plant, hung in graceful lengths and brightened the varied colored green in the background. Innumerable families of parrots talked and screamed from the branches. Bananas and orange trees everywhere interspersed with tall cocoanut palms, the large and small alligators basking in the sun on the sand were pictures never to be forgotten. The natives in their peculiar dress, the fandango at night, the graceful twirl of the Spanish waltz put the life touch to the picture that comes to me today at the age of seventy-five as it was in those days when I experienced, a girl of fifteen, all the discomforts of travel from Cincinnati to California.

It was about 4 o'clock on the tenth day when we arrived at the small village where we were to remain for the night and next morning, then ho! for Panama. We had better accommodations here, a large adobe house, kept by a Spaniard and wife and daughters, under the supervision of the steamship company, which also controlled the scows that we used on the river Chagres. Our goods were transferred from the scows to the pack mule train. After everything had been safely lashed upon their backs, our burros were brought and we all mounted astride. It was well for us we were no strangers to riding. My youngest brother was too small to ride, so a large native bamboo chair was brought and strapped upon the back of a large native and in the chair, safely tied in, sat the brother, as contented as a lord. He was such a handsome child, mother did not want to have the native take him for fear he would steal him, so she had the slave start first and she came behind and rode with him in sight all the way, but she was unnecessarily alarmed, for he was most faithful. The day before we left for the steamer he came with an offering of fruit and nuts for the boy and the madre and senoritas. Mother gave him an extra dollar and he was greatly surprised and smilingly picked up brother and carried him to the steamer and assisted us in every way until we were safely transferred to the steamship Tennessee, Captain Totten, commander. The ride on the burros over mountains, hills and dales was an experience never to be forgotten. Slowly, step by step we wound around the mountain trail. These burros had gone the road so many years that their tiny hoofs had worn places in the rocks. All we had to do was to sit tight in the saddle as we ascended or descended the steep places. The pummel of the saddle was high and we held on to that, and enjoyed the novelty of the situation. Once or twice we merged into a plain of a mile or so, then began the rocky ascent. We refreshed ourselves from time to time at cooling springs that dripped out from the rocks into a rustic stone basin. The scenery was very attractive, but it became monotonous as we sat in our saddles while the burros, step by step, ascended or descended the path they had traversed so often. Toward night the mountains became more like rolling hills and there was more open space and sky to be seen. By the time darkness overtook us we were near the outskirts of Panama and hoped soon to see the lights of the city. About nine o'clock we stopped before an adobe building, long and wide, two stories high, with a large enclosed place for the burros. This was also under the steamship company's control. This time the proprietor was a white man and we were able to obtain desirable beds and comfortable fare. He gave us the best rooms, large and clean, more homelike than anything we had seen since leaving home. We were so weary it was with difficulty we got off the burros, having ridden all day long. I could hardly feel the earth under me and I staggered many times before we were comfortable in our rooms. After resting for an hour we were summoned to supper. It was now ten o'clock. Late as it was, we found the supper so appetizing we forgot the hour and really enjoyed the first good meal in the ten days we were on the way. The host and his good wife saw that everybody was made comfortable during the time we remained there. The steamer Tennessee had arrived two days before and had all the cargo in and fruits and fresh vegetables on board, so we were able to sail the next afternoon at three o'clock.

It was almost five when the signal was given for "all ashore," and in an hour we were steaming along the coast and out of sight of Panama. The sea was calm and the steamer was steady and I supposed I would fare better than I had during the first part of the trip. But as soon as I smelled the smoke from the stacks and the odor of the cooking food, I was as miserable as before. The rest of the family fared better and were able to go to the table when the sea was calm. There were about fifty cabin passengers, and during this voyage we made several lifelong friends of some of the most prominent men who came here to make their fortunes. We received the most courteous treatment from every one. It was like one large family. Captain Totten and First Officer A.J. Clifton were like fathers to us. Mr. Clifton claimed me, as I was the age of his daughter left at home, and I used to sing for him and then I was his "Nightingale." We had learned a song to sing for our father when we expected him home, and as he did not come we related the incident to the captain and Mr. Clifton and our friends on board, and nothing must do until we sang it for all on board. It was on a moonlight night and we were going smoothly, consequently I was not ill, and Captain Totten proposed that we should sing the song. Everybody was on deck enjoying the delightful evening. Everything was still; only the puffing of the smokestack and the plash of the wheel were heard. We all clustered around mother and began our song.

Mother, Emma and Sarah sang the soprano; Mary, Margaret and Lauretta sang the alto. Mary's voice being a deep contralto, she improvised the third part. The plaintive song, with the sentiment of home surroundings, touched the hearts of all the passengers and turned their thoughts homewards, and many an eye glistened with tears.

After the first night of song there never was an evening that there was not singing of some kind. Sister found some good voices among the men and we formed a chorus. In a short time we were without an audience, for everybody gradually found he had a note or two to use, and whenever it was good sailing we sang. We had two severe storms when I, for one, was not visible on any occasion. I must confess the sea and I are not at all friends. We had one storm passing the bay of Tehuantepec. The steamer rolled and the sea dashed high for two days, but the boat was faithful to her trust and we safely steamed into the beautiful bay at Acapulco the last of the week. I had been ill all the way, going without food, and when we arrived Captain Totten said I should have one fine dinner. After the passengers had gone ashore we were taken off in the captain's boat and had our dinner at the hotel where the captain had ordered it in advance. We remained on shore all day visiting this Spanish town while the steamer was loading food and coal. We visited some Spanish homes where the captain had friends, and we were entertained by these Castilian ladies, who sang their songs to us. In return we sang for them and they appreciated our music. About three o'clock we said good-bye and they gave us beautiful mementos of shell flowers, nuts and fruits and accompanied us to the boat with their servants to carry our gifts for us. Such a beautiful day of happenings and surprises for us who had never seen people of this kind before left lasting impressions in my heart of courtesy and kindness.

By nine in the evening we had left the bay and our newly made friends far behind and we were steaming toward California as fast as the steamer could carry us. We had come nearly half the way and were nearing Lower California when we encountered rough weather off Cape Lucas. Oh, how the ship tossed and rolled. I thought morning never would dawn. The wind was against us. The masts strained and creaked. I really feared we would not reach California. The sea was rough nearly all the time until we passed Santa Barbara, when it became calm and we could once more feel that we might reach our destination. We had been now three weeks on the way and we were longing for sight of land. We strained our eyes daily, hoping to see the hills, but not until we had come within two days of the Golden Gate did we see any sign of land. Fog and distance prevented our distinguishing anything but an outline of the shore, but as the fog lifted we saw more distinctly the hills, and each hour brought us nearer to the long-looked-for harbor within the Golden Gate. And yet we saw no city, only sand hills. We steamed past Telegraph Hill, then we began to see here and there low wooden buildings and tents and shacks. Was this then San Francisco? Oh, how disappointed we were; there was no place to go. We remained on board until the Stockton steamer arrived. There was no accommodation for women anywhere. The steamer, American Eagle, came in about 1 o'clock, and our things were transferred on board, and Captain Totten cared for us as though we were his family and had everything arranged as far as possible for our comfort. He explained to the river captain that we were to be met in Stockton by father. But the captain also had instructions from Rev. J.H. Woods not to expect father, who had been ill in the mines, but we were to go to his home until father could arrive from Scorpion Gulch, where he and brother had a store, and it was slow travel with the six-mule "schooner," over hills and dusty roads to Stockton.

It was quite a change from the great steamer Tennessee to the little stern-wheel boat as it slowly puffed across the bay through Carquinez straits and up the slough, turning and winding along, sometimes being caught by a sharp turn in the stream and one or two stops on the sand bars if the water was too low. We did not sleep much because everything was so strange and small. We were always in fear of some accident. The hours dragged slowly until morning, when the boat came to a stop about seven o'clock. At eight o'clock the small cannon was fired, informing the people that the steamer had arrived. The captain came about nine o'clock for us and we breakfasted with him and the officers. We were the only female passengers, as we had parted with the other friends at San Francisco, they having gone to Sacramento and Marysville, with their husbands, to the mines. It was like the parting of a large family. We had been together two long months, sharing the changes and rough traveling and the happy evenings on board where the genial officers did all they could to make the voyage comfortable with the means they possessed. Before we came only men traveled and they put up with any inconvenience to get to the gold fields. About ten o'clock our friend, Rev. Mr. Woods, met us and gave us the message sent by father, so it was arranged we should go to the reverend gentleman's home and await his and brother George's coming. Mrs. Woods was a Southern lady, from Alabama, and met us with warm hospitality. She was glad to see us, being the only white woman in Stockton at the time. And we were glad to meet another woman. These good people had several boys but no girls. We were seven girls and one boy. As ministers' families, we had much in common. The Woods' cottage was pretty well crowded, but we managed well, as every one was able to be a help instead of a burden. A tent was put up in the lot and bunks were soon made, and we put the men in the tents and the women and children indoors. We were not yet acclimated and suffered with colds for several weeks.

We patiently awaited father's return, but three whole weeks passed before the meeting was granted us. We were sitting in front of the cottage, chatting and sewing, when about four o'clock in the afternoon we saw several men approaching and, as we observed them, my quick eye recognized father. With one spring from the porch I cried, "Father," and as fleet as a rabbit I was off before any one realized what was the cause of my sudden exit. They watched my flying feet and by the time they realized what I was doing I was in the arms of the dear old daddy, coming slowly with Mr. Woods, brother George and two friends. It was our habit, as children, to always meet father when he came home at night, and when we all ran to meet him the youngest always received the first attention, being taken in his arms, and the others clung to his coat and skipped alongside, chatting as fast as we could until we entered the house. Words cannot express the joy of the meeting after more than two years' separation. When mother realized that father had come at last she was like one dazed and could not move. The children in their happiness were surrounding the long lost wanderers. At last father spoke, with tears of gladness in his eyes, "Where is Mary, your mother, my children?" We had monopolized his attention and poor mother was neglected for the moment. As soon as we had realized the oversight sister Mary beckoned us all away and we gradually disappeared and left the two to enjoy their happy reunion. After a half hour had passed, and while they were softly conversing, we gathered in the main room and, clustering around sister Mary, we began the song—

Rev. Mr. Woods and family were more than surprised to find such voices among us, and their appreciation was so genuine we gave them one of our dear old German hymns, a favorite of father's also.

The singing seemed to give new life to his long struggle in the ministry. His was the only church in Stockton at that time, besides a Catholic church, and it was uphill work to get the men to come to service. A new thought came to him that perhaps music in the church might be an incentive for men to forsake one day thinking of gold. So the choir was established and a large melodeon was secured from San Francisco from one of the music stores which had been established. Joseph Atwill began the music business on Washington street in 1850, just one year before we arrived in November, 1851. It was soon noised about that the family of Rev. H. Kroh were singers and that by the first of the month there would be a choir in the Presbyterian church. A melodeon was to be purchased. Miss M. Kroh was to play the organ and direct the music and the sisters were to sing. During the time the melodeon was on the way we had become acquainted with William Trembly, a fine tenor; James Holmes, bass; William Cobb, tenor; Will Belding, bass; Samuel Grove, tenor; and William H. Knight, bass.

Father had returned to take charge of his store and we had moved into the only house to be found, a story and a half high with eight rooms and a canvas kitchen. We would call it a barn today, but we thought it a palace. It was originally built for a small hotel, cloth and paper on the walls and ceiling, roughened wood floors, everything of the most primitive make. The rent of it was $80 a month and it cost $1,100 to furnish it. We had matting for carpets, the most common kitchen chairs in the best room, kitchen table for a center table, and our dining table was made of two long redwood boards joined together and placed on four saw horses. Having had so much to do in making the best out of nothing in the many places before, we had not lost the art of arranging the furnishings of this house. Fortunately we did not sacrifice all of our bedding, linens and quilts. We were allowed them in the freight. The stores kept nothing but the brightest colored prints and some bright damasks for the use of the Indians who came down from the mountains and traded for such things. We could get white cotton cloth, so we were able to have curtains at the windows combined with red damask. We covered boxes with the same damask, and with castors screwed on the corners we had some very comfortable stools. Then a square of damask was properly finished off and made a table cover for the center table. When all was done we began to feel we were once more at home. There was yet something lacking. We had no piano and we were lost without the usual music that made our home so happy. Dear sister Mary, how we all pitied her. We knew she was suffering daily from homesickness, the separation from her sweetheart, the loss of her organ and piano and no companionship with musical people. Although she never murmured, we could see that her mind was where her heart was. But her duty was here. She was bravely battling day by day. We all saw it and hoped against hope to change the condition.

Finally the choir had been formed and the melodeon came. That was soon compensation for her loss. So the rehearsals began, and on the first Sunday of the month we gave the first service. We had anthems from the old Carmina Sacra and familiar hymns and our new found friends all joined the choir. It was a great service. It seemed that everybody from the pastor to the choir was inspired. Such an outpouring of men! Mother and Mrs. Woods in the congregation and five of us in the choir composed all the female portion of the congregation. The rest consisted of men of mature years and young men away from home and entering a church for the first time perhaps in this new country. When the hour arrived for service the church could hold no more. Those who could not enter stood outside the door during the whole service. The evening service was a repetition, and those who could not get into the church obtained boxes and laid boards upon them and kneeled before the windows which were opened so they could hear the sermon and the singing. It was a strange sight for the men to see women and especially young girls. The miners would come to Stockton on Saturday to frequent the resorts. Drinking and card playing formed their diversions. Many a young man turned away from the gaming table to listen to the music and hear the sermon.

We arrived in Stockton the latter part of November. 1851, and remained with Rev. James Woods until we obtained this house, where we remained two years. During that time we had formed the acquaintance of the foremost merchants, bankers and professional men. The first Thanksgiving we invited the following gentlemen to dinner: William H. Knight, Samuel Grove, William Belding, William Gray, Austin Sperry, Frederick Lux, C.V. Payton, James Harrold, William Trembly, David Trembly, James Holmes, Thomas Mosely, Charles Deering, Gilbert Claiborne, Mr. Shoenewasser, Mr. Thompson, B.W. Bours, Charles Woodman, William Cobb and Charles Greenly. Brother George still had his team of mules and the large schooner and made his regular trips from Scorpion Gulch with his friend, Fred Lux, who also was engaged in the same business. On their way down for this occasion they killed enough wild game to serve bountifully the needs for this first Thanksgiving dinner, as the usual turkey was not to be obtained. Wild geese, rabbits and squirrels were plentiful and our hearts were gladdened to see such a display. How we worked and baked and planned! By many willing hands the dinner was prepared and the guests began to arrive. Including our family, there were thirty in all. Our home had but two rooms on the first floor. A large parlor, hall and stairway faced upon the main street, and the dining room led out from the hall and was large enough to seat many guests. The kitchen was made of canvas and led into the dining room. There were three fine windows in the dining room, so it made a pleasant and cheerful place. Although everything was of the plainest sort, the long table with the white cloth and greens from the pine trees the boys had cut as they came along, and the wild flowers we had gathered and placed in bowls to grace the tables with the greens which were arranged tastefully in wreaths and festoons, gave a homelike welcome to these men who for months had not eaten a home dinner or enjoyed the society of women. As the darkness came on, we lit up the room with candles, having no other lights. We had not forgotten to bring our brass candlesticks among our household effects. Mother could not part with them, so they were carefully packed among our clothing in the trunks and served us beautifully on this occasion. They got an extra polish of whiting from sister and me, who were the decorators on this occasion, and we had to attend to the tables while mother and the older sisters made the cakes, pies and prepared the roasts and meat pies and other necessary additions for a dinner of this kind. Father, mother and the older sisters sat with the guests, and sister Sarah and I waited upon the table. As young as I was, the impression was a lasting one. Some of the gentlemen looked sad, some dignified, others joked and others related stories of home and their experiences in different places in California until the dinner was over and we adjourned to the parlor.

The dinner made such an impression that before the guests departed they had it all arranged that we were to take them all as boarders. After such a feast of things they had longed for so many months, they were not willing to go back to the old way of batching it, as they termed it. We were young and used to housework and we wanted a home of our own some day. Father consulted us and we agreed that on the following Monday they might begin to come. We were assigned our parts, and for two years we worked until we were able to secure our own house, which stands today in Stockton as one of the earlier homes and our homestead. While in this house there were times when we still longed for home and the old surroundings. Sister Mary wanted her instrument which she supposed she would never have again. Our friends, knowing this, quietly consulted father in regard to securing a piano as a birthday offering. But as Christmas Day was the date of her birth, it was too late for the year 1851. We had already entered upon the year 1852, and it would take almost a year to get a piano here, as Mr. Atwill had not imported any instruments as yet. Our friends were good business men and they immediately set about to learn if a piano could not be obtained. All this was unknown to any of us but father. William Trembly and James Harrold, while in San Francisco, inquired at the different musical stores as to arrangements to obtain a piano. Kohler & Chase did not import at that time. They dealt in notions, fancy goods and toys. They were not wholly in the music business until later in the sixties. Mr. Atwill was at the time on Washington street. He did not import largely, and when Messrs. Trembly and Harrold came to him he gladly entered into the plan to get a fine Chickering here by December 25th of 1852. The cost was to be $1,200, delivered in good order. The piano order was given, and how it came to California, whether by steamer or around the Horn, I am not able to say.

All through the year we worked early and late, and our boarders had increased until they numbered thirty-five. We could not accommodate any more. There were no amusements of any kind. We occasionally had a moonlight ride as far as I.D. Staple's ranch, where we were entertained for an hour or so, then we returned. Our rehearsals went on each week. New people were coming all the time. Mr. Grove's sisters arrived, which was another addition to our society. Mrs. George Sanderson and Mrs. John Millar came to join their husbands, who were the prominent men in business. Father had secured a lot and our home was being built, at which we rejoiced greatly, for it was difficult to work for so many people, and the lack of necessary household conveniences and of proper kitchen utensils were a great detriment. Nothing especially transpired during these months. We kept busily at our work until the season for rain was approaching. Several rough houses were built opposite, on the corner a saloon, which was an eyesore to us for it was a busy place where men drank and sometimes fought with knives. Next to our house was a one-story cottage where the family of Louis Millar lived, and a fandango house next door where they danced and played their guitars. We lived on the corner and fortunately had a sidewalk on two sides of the house, but the streets were not made and the mud and slush was dreadful. Men crossed the streets in high rubber leggings. We never pretended to go in the street at this time, everything being brought to us. We were almost as closely confined as prisoners. There was no drainage, consequently the mud remained in the streets for weeks while the rains lasted.

December was approaching and of course our thoughts turned towards Christmas and preparations for its festivities. Everybody was busy. We had much to do, for all these men were still with us. There was mince meat to make, raisins to seed, cakes and pies to bake. Everything we used came in bottles and cans. There were no fresh vegetables of any kind, excepting onions and potatoes. It was wonderful how we managed during all this time under the most trying difficulties, and yet prepared meals in such a way that our large family was always thoroughly satisfied. Sometimes we could get bananas from Mexico, cocoanuts and oranges, but not very often. Christmas eve came at last and such a busy place, no idle hands these days. Brother George and Mr. Lux brought with them two large sacks of the finest English walnuts. They were a windfall to us. We never had seen so many before. We were used to black walnuts, filberts and other nuts at home. This was the beginning of all that came to us this Christmas. It seemed that each one tried to get something we had not had before. Christmas came clear and bright, but mud was everywhere. Rubber boots were indispensable this Christmas. Dinner was served about 1:30 o'clock and everybody seemed to be in the happiest mood. It was sister Mary's birthday and we were especially attentive to her.

The dinner was over and the dessert was almost finished when a rap on the front door sounded loud and rough. Father asked Mary to go to the door as she was nearest. She obeyed and, when she had answered the knock, a teamster handed her a letter and asked if Miss Mary Kroh lived here. She replied in the affirmative, and taking the letter she glanced out of the door and saw a heavy truck with an immense box or case on it. She said, "You must be mistaken." He said, "Are you not Miss Kroh? This is for her." By this time we were getting excited and with one accord the guests arose to see the result. Father became uneasy at her long silence and came out in time to see her reel against the railing of the stairs. She had read the note and realized that her great desire had at last become a reality and her birthday had brought her the long-wished-for piano. This is what she read in the note:

"A merry Christmas and a happy birthday for Miss Mary Matilda Kroh, from her father and many friends who have appreciated her noble sacrifice of the musical environment of her Eastern home. This instrument is given as a partial compensation for her cheerful and noble performance of her duty to her parents and as full appreciation. James Harrold, C.V. Payton, Charles Greenly, David Trembly, William Cobb, Charles Deering, Gilbert Claiborne, William H. Knight, Samuel Grove, A.M. Thompson, William Gray, Thomas Mosely, William A. Trembly, Henry Kroh, James Holmes, Henry Noel, Austin Sperry, George H. Blake."

When the secret was out, all was excitement. Sister made her exit upstairs and the men took off their coats and helped with a will. Soon the beautiful instrument was out of the box and placed in the parlor. What a rejoicing there was! Father gave orders that Mary must play the first air, and we awaited her coming, but she had not been able to control herself to meet the friends and see the most magnificent gift she ever received. Sister Sarah was dispatched to bring her down stairs. She found her in the attitude of prayer. After much persuasion she came down and father met her and led her to the instrument. She stood for a moment unable to proceed. Seating herself upon the stool, she began to play the Doxology, but her head sank upon the piano. Then the tears gushed forth, the spell was broken and after a short time she was able to proceed. It was now about the hour of seven, darkness had crept on and the curtains were closed and the lights lit. We all became more composed, music was brought out, songs were sung and it was like a new world to us, such unexpected happiness in a far-off city of the Golden West. Father had occasion to answer a call at the front door and before closing he accidentally looked out, and to his surprise the sidewalks and porch were filled with old and young men. Along the side of the house stood scores of men in the street as far as the eye could see and some were sobbing. On entering the room he said, "We have an immense congregation outside. Get out your familiar tunes—'Home, sweet home,' etc." He then drew aside the curtains and raised the windows, "Now, my children and friends, give these homesick sons and fathers a few songs more before we assemble for the evening worship." We sang until the hour of nine and closed with the Doxology. Once more father went on the porch and thanked the people for their appreciation of the music and dismissed them with the benediction. We closed the windows and curtains and remained with our friends a short time, when they departed fully assured that they had brought happiness to many souls by their magnificent gift to one who was worthy to receive it, my sainted sister, Mary Matilda Kroh.

This is the story of the first piano in Stockton, given to sister, December 25, 1852. This night was not the only night when men assembled on our porch to hear the music. Later on a number of men accosted father and told him that the music on the first night we received the piano had so vividly brought back home surroundings and memories of father and mother, that it was the turning point in the path from which they had strayed and caused them to see the error of their ways and to come back. Such is the influence of song upon the young and the old. Anyone who has no appreciation of music in his soul is an unhappy man or woman indeed. Music is one of the most refining factors among young men and women. They are always the happiest where there is music, no matter what other entertainment has been enjoyed.

CHAPTER THREE

STOCKTON IN THE FIFTIES. BENICIA SEMINARY. GENESIS OF MILLS COLLEGE. DISTINGUISHED PIONEERS. MARRIAGE

FTER this memorable Christmas our home was the center of musical gatherings and the new arrivals to Stockton came into our large family of young ladies. We were universally sought, and our musical entertainments charmed young and old. Into our neighborhood there came a Castilian family from Mexico, the Ainsa family, four or five young ladies and a son. These young ladies had a musical education of the highest order. Opera music was their chief delight. Mass music and all classics were also included in their repertoire. A mutual friendship was formed. They could not speak English and we could not speak Spanish. Their voices had been thoroughly trained and we spent many hours in their society. Very soon we learned to speak Spanish and their visits were still more pleasant. They were devout Catholics and in the mother's room was a sanctuary. She was helpless and unable to walk. She sat in her bed and ordered everything pertaining to the household. An altar was arranged in the room and they had worship every morning and evening. Sometimes we would join them and sing the songs of their church. It was beautiful to see the devotion of these girls to their parents. We soon learned the vespers and masses and often sang together for the mother when it was devotion hour and the priest would say mass. After we moved from the neighborhood we did not meet as often. After several years they married wealthy white men. Senator Crabb married one. Afterwards he was killed in Mexico. Mr. Bevan married one. Mr. Eisen, the flour man of San Francisco, another. Anita died and Leonora married a wealthy Frenchman; later the family moved to San Francisco. Miss Lola and Miss Belana sang in the Catholic churches there. Another addition to the musical family was Miss Louisa Falkenberg, a most excellent pianist. She afterwards became Mrs. B. Walker Bours. Her son is also a fine pianist. He is director of the choir of the Church of the Advent, East Oakland, at the present time.

In the month of March, 1853, we moved into our own home on San Joaquin street, and most of our large family went with us. Cupid had been playing pranks in the meantime and, June 18th, my sister Jane became Mrs. Wm. H. Knight and the first break came in our family circle. During the year of 1853 it was decided that I should have an opportunity to finish my education, having left school at fifteen. The Young Ladies' Seminary at Benicia was chosen, it being the only school in California where I could complete my studies. I was one of thirty-five pupils of the second term of the school's existence. Mary Atkins was the principal, one of the best educators in California. There was also a Catholic school in Benicia at the time, St. Catherine's Convent for Young Ladies, and an Episcopal school for boys. The public school of Stockton was for the lower grades, and I had had these grades in the Cincinnati schools and had had one term with my sister, Sarah, at Walnut Hill Seminary. Henry Ward Beecher's father, Rev. Lyman Beecher, was at the head of the seminary and Harriet Beecher was one of the teachers. My father and Lyman Beecher and the members of the Longworth family, who lived opposite the seminary and were members of the same church and congregation, were old friends. When father started for California we were obliged to leave school, consequently my education was not completed.

During my vacation in the year 1854, October 5th, sister Sarah became the wife of James Harrold, one of the firm of Harrold, Randall & Co., of Stockton, and moved to San Francisco. The first class at Benicia, of which I was a member, graduated. Near the close of the term, November 7, 1855, my sister Mary married David W. Trembly in San Francisco. They had been married but a few months when sister became afflicted with bronchitis, the climate being too severe in San Francisco for her. They came home, and on November 8th she passed away. I was sent for, but was too late to see her in life. She died while I was on the steamer, American Eagle, hastening to her. This was my first great sorrow. I loved her to adoration and I could not realize she had passed out of life. To her I owe my proper placement of voice and art in singing. She was ever watchful of my progress from the earliest years of my life until the end came. While I have had several other teachers in voice, no one ever changed my method of placement.

My first Italian teacher was Prof. Paul Pioda at Benicia Seminary. He always predicted my success as a singer and told Mrs. Atkins that out of all the sixty pupils there was but one singer, which was proven to her in after years when I had attained my reputation. She was glad to engage my services each yearly reunion until the end of her life. While I was not her favorite pupil, strange to relate, I officiated as a singer on four special occasions of great importance in her life and death. The Sabbath she was baptized into the faith of the Episcopal Church, Rev. Ingraham Kip, D.D., officiating, I sang for her a special song in the church at Benicia. When she was married to Judge Lynch I sang for her reception. The song was Call Me Thine Own. When she passed out of life I was called to sing in the same church where she had become a member, and one year after, when we had her monument placed over her grave, I stood on the platform in the Octagon schoolroom, where I could look out of the window and see the monument, and sang the memorial song by G.A. Scott, There is a pale bright star in the heavens tonight. After this memorial I never went back to the old seminary but once and that was to visit the old spot where so many memories clustered. To illustrate this visit I will here insert a paper that I read before the commencement exercises at Mills College in the year May 4, 1901.

Mills Seminary is the daughter of the Alma Mater at Benicia. At the invitation of Mrs. Susan B. Mills the alumnæ of Mrs. Atkins-Lynch Seminary attended the commencement exercises of Mills College of May 4, 1901.

The paper was as follows:

"My Dear Schoolmates: We who are still left of the pupils and graduates of the old Benicia Female Seminary are assembled here today at the request of our gracious hostess, Mrs. Susan B. Mills, to join with her in the celebration of Founder's Day. As the children of the pioneer of schools of California, it is a befitting testimonial for us to meet in this magnificent institution which is the honored offspring of the Alma Mater established in the year 1852. We are grateful for the privilege she has extended us to meet again as school girls and exchange greetings and talk over past reunions held yearly at the old school in Benicia. I have been requested to say a few words in regard to the school in my time. As I have only my memory to aid me, my remarks will consist of a short historical sketch of the early years of the seminary which I entered the second term of its existence, early in the year 1853. Miss Mary Atkins was the principal and teacher of all the classes of the school. The number of boarders were 35 or 40, the attendance being increased to 60 by the day pupils of Benicia. The four years I spent at the seminary were years of struggle for Miss Atkins, but her labors brought her the reward of seeing the institution raised to the highest standard of excellence. The unequaled reputation was firmly established for thorough training and solid education. Before I left there were 75 boarders and a total of 150 pupils. More room was needed to meet the demand for admission, and during the vacation the old buildings were enlarged and new ones built.

"It was a special day of rejoicing, January 1, 1855, when Miss Atkins assumed the sole management of the school. As I was the oldest pupil, she often asked me to come to her room to discuss private matters with her. Although I was only seventeen years old, I fully understood the great task of establishing an institution of learning in those rough days. The needs of all kinds were so great and the only way of getting ahead was to work and wait. Later she had her reward in sending out into California some of the best educated women to be found in any land. It is with sincere pride I look back and see those splendid girls who were, with but a very few exceptions, an honor and credit to the school, to society and their homes, as wives of some of our most distinguished statesmen, lawyers and merchants. In my graduating year I was called home by the death of my oldest sister and was requested to take up her labors in a private school of sixty pupils, consequently my diploma was never received. However, at the last reunion of the graduates, held in the year 1883, I, being the first of her early pupils to gain a public reputation as a teacher and vocalist, was unanimously voted honorary member of the Alumnæ, having attended all of the meetings except those that took place during my residence in Boston, Mass., from 1857 until the spring of 1862, during which time I perfected my musical education. On my return I attended each reunion until the end. I think we all felt at the time that it was the last. Consequently it cast a gloom over the pleasures of our last meeting, May 30, 1883. On the 14th of September, 1882, Mary Atkins-Lynch passed away. I received a letter from Judge Lynch, requesting my presence at the funeral to sing the last song for her.

"I returned once more to Benicia to sing at a concert given by the Methodist Church. I sang in the same old Courthouse Hall where so often we had our closing exercises. It was in this hall, June 12, 1856, that I sang Schubert's Serenade for the first time with Johanna Lapfgeer, soprano, afterwards Mrs. Dr. Bryant of San Francisco. I still have the programme which today is fifty-five years old. My return was in 1898. After the concert I hoped to see many of my old friends of Benicia, but there were but six present of all I knew long years ago. I marveled at the small number left. The next day I visited the old school. As I stood at the door I slowly surveyed the scene and my thoughts went down the vista of time and filled my heart with sadness at the dreadful dilapidation of the school where so many bright minds had been educated and gone forth to make names and reputations among the most honorable women in the state. After I was admitted and allowed to survey the place I stood in the entrance of the old schoolroom. In my mind I could recall the faces of the girls as they sat at their desks long ago. The decay of the school was all so dreadful to me I could not hold back the tears. I turned quickly away and sought the old well where we had so often quenched our thirst as girls, when life was young and hopes high. I found the friend of long ago, but, like all the rest of the place, it was also in the last stages of decay. I had become so sad at all this passing away I did not feel the pleasure I had anticipated in visiting the school again. The teachers that were employed during my time at school were: Prof. P. Pioda, music and language; Mary Atkins, principal; Miss Cynthia Vaughn, assistant; Mrs. Reynolds, teacher of the younger day pupils; Miss Pettibeaux, painting and drawing; Miss Johanna Lapfgeer, piano and German; Samuel Gray, bookkeeping; Margaret Kroh, writing and drawing. The directors were: Dr. S. Woodbridge, B.W. Mudge, Samuel Gray, Dr. Peabody, Captain Walsh and J.W. Jones.

"As far as I can recall them, the names of the former pupils were: Emily Walsh, Benicia; May Emma Woodbridge, Benicia; May Hook, Benicia; Mary Riddell, Benicia; Josie Latimer, Stockton; Minnie Latimer, Stockton; Elizabeth Manning, Stockton; Frances Livingston, San Francisco; May Livingston, San Francisco; Kate Grimm, Sacramento; Mary Bidwell, Chico; Mary Church, Chico; Rose Reynolds, San Jose; Sallie Tennant, Marysville; Mollie Tennant, Marysville; Althea Parker, Stockton; Miss Rollins, Martinez; May O'Neil, Sacramento; Aggie Bell, Sacramento; Maggie Kroh, Stockton; Sophia Dallas, Stockton; Mary Dallas, Stockton; Nellie Meader, Stockton; Mary Vincent, Sacramento; Ella Hunt, San Francisco; May Warren, San Francisco; Georgia Warren, San Francisco; Grace Woodbridge, Benicia; Ruth Vaughn, Sacramento.

"The day pupils were: Mary Hastings, Benicia; Virginia Hubbs, Benicia; Lou Boggs, Napa; Percy Garritson, Benicia; Maria Barber, Martinez; Amanda Hook, Martinez; May Hook, Martinez; Mattie Carpenter, San Francisco; Rebecca Woodbridge, Benicia."

The Benicia girls were seated at a table especially decorated for the occasion. Through the thoughtfulness of Mrs. Mills, eighteen of the old class were present at this time. This was the last meeting that I ever attended of the members of the Alma Mater, for on September 1, 1901, I was thrown from a street car and made a cripple for the rest of my days and my usefulness was cut short for filling engagements of any sort. Since my recovery I have confined myself to voice teaching. Only on a few occasions have I appeared in public. This was either on Decoration Day or the Fourth of July, when my patriotism was aroused. I was always ready to sing for Old Glory or help our boys who fought in 1861.

In 1855 when I left the seminary I returned to my home in Stockton. My parents were getting along in years and I felt it my duty to aid them if possible. There were many families in Stockton at this time and young children were everywhere. I conceived the idea of an infant school composed of little boys and girls too small to go to the public schools. My suggestion met with approval wherever I applied, and I soon had thirty pupils promised. I rented a cottage of one room across the slough from my home. On July 1, 1856, I began and soon had a school full of little folks, numbering thirty-five. I continued teaching until September 17, 1857, when I also followed my older sisters' example and was married to George H. Blake, the eldest son of Sir Edwin Blake, who was Minister Plenipotentiary to England from America at one time. My husband was also the grandson of Major-General Benjamin Lincoln, a heroic officer of the Revolution and a skillful diplomat in the councils of his country. Lincoln was born in Hingham, near Boston, May 23d, 1733. In 1775 he was elected a member of the Provincial Congress and was appointed on the committee of correspondence. In 1776 he received the appointment of brigadier and soon after that of major-general. He rendered valuable services in the trying campaign and signalized himself in the battles on the plains of Saratoga which proved so disastrous to Burgoyne. He was severely wounded during these battles. In the battle that took place on October 7, 1776, he was obliged to leave the army. He did not return until the following August, when he was immediately sent south to assume command of the army in that quarter, which on his arrival at Charleston in December, 1778, he found in the most miserably destitute and disorderly condition. But his indefatigable industry and diplomatic energy enabled him in the following June to take the field. Such was his popularity with the army and the whole country that when he rejoined the army in 1781 to co-operate with the southern army, he had the high satisfaction of taking part in the reduction of Yorktown and of conducting the defeated army to the field, where they were to lay down their arms at the feet of the illustrious Washington. General Lincoln took the sword from Lord Cornwallis and delivered it to his Commander-in-Chief, Washington.

I feel justly proud with my sons, George Lincoln Blake and William Ellery Blake, to claim such illustrious descendants of our great republic, especially Lincoln, who gained such high recognition from our government for his patriotism and diplomatic energy in the beginning of our republic. He quelled the famous Shay's insurrection in 1786-87. He held the post of Lieutenant-Governor, was member of the convention called to ratify the new Constitution, and for years was collector of port in Boston and besides filled many minor offices. He received from Harvard University the degree of Master of Arts, was a member of the Academy of Arts and Sciences as well as of the Massachusetts Horticultural Society, and was president of the Society of Cincinnati from its organization to the day of his death. He closed his honorable and useful life in the seventy-eighth year of his life at Hingham, Mass., May 9, 1810.

This bit of history I have selected from the papers of Capt. Charles Blake, who was the grand uncle of my sons, who died in 1859 during the time I visited Boston with my husband to pursue my studies in music. Capt. Charles Blake was the seventh captain of the Blake family, was a man celebrated for his bravery and as a sailor was unexcelled in his time. I also found among his papers a Masonic sheepskin (which perhaps will be an interesting bit of information for the Masons of California), the first one that was ever gotten for an American. It could not be obtained in America, consequently it was secured in England. It bears the faded marks of "Grand Lodge of Master Masons, London No. 25, Registered on the books of the Grand Lodge in London, the 11th day of September in the year of Masonry, 5011." The grand seal is attached and signed by Robert Leslie, Grand Secretary: Edward Harper, D. Gr. Sec. This is the oldest Masonic sheepskin of the grand lodge in America. It was received by my uncle when he was twenty-five years old and has been in my possession since 1869, forty-two years ago, when we received his trunks after his death. I alone am able to give these facts of our family history, which should be known to all the members of our family. This is a family book as well as an intimate history of my life. I have been received during my life in California with so much affection and appreciation by the public I have served, that when I write I consider those who read are my friends, that we are of one common family, and I cannot look upon the people of California in any other way, for the very fact that everybody I meet or have any dealings with greet me with such courtesy and warmth.

The death of sister Mary Matilda Kroh-Trembly occurred November 8, 1856, in the thirty-first year of her life at the old home on San Joaquin street, Stockton. In 1855 she was married to Mr. David W. Trembly of New York. They settled in San Francisco, but after living there for several months the climate was found to be too severe and she contracted bronchitis, for weeks being unable to leave her room. At last she became so feeble that she was brought home to Stockton and lingered for weeks. I was at Benicia Seminary still and in my last half year when I received a letter to hurry home. Uncle William Trembly came from San Francisco to Benicia to meet me, and together we came up the San Joaquin slough, but unfortunately for us we had many things to keep us from arriving in time to see her alive. At last the steamer was fast on the hog's back, the tide was out and we could not proceed. The sailors worked with a will, but it was not until three o'clock in the morning that we were on our way once more. What a night of suspense! I loved my sister to devotion, and not to see her alive was more than I dared to contemplate, but so it was to be. She passed into eternity at the time we were trying to get off the sand bar and when uncle and I arrived in the morning, she was dead.

This was the first death that had taken place in our family. All of us had grown to manhood and womanhood and had been mercifully spared all these years until now the dearest one of all had to pass away and leave us to mourn her loss. She was the embodiment of all that was good in life, a pattern for all to follow. She was our second mother. When mother was attending to the church work or visiting the sick, accompanying father at baptisms, weddings, funerals or other offices that fall to the minister's wife, sister was always ready to take her place and see that all was well at home. She taught in the public schools, gave music lessons, was German teacher, organist on Sunday and teacher in the Sabbath school. Her life was always full of duties. She had also been father's secretary and attended to all of his correspondence in his absence. Never complaining, always there to attend to all the duties devolving upon her, she was a happy spirit of the home, as much missed as mother or father. She was my pattern and guide and if I have ever achieved anything to merit commendation during my life I owe all my best to her. She was my first music teacher and I have never deviated from her principles of voice placement. By so doing I am able to sing today with a correct knowledge of perfect tone production and able to impart to others the same tonal art that I have given to hundreds of pupils that have come under my supervision during my many years of successful teaching in California. Being so widely known and loved by all who knew her, when she was buried the schools were closed and the children, two by two, marched in procession and every conveyance that could be procured at that time was used so that all who wished to honor the beloved could do so. All the dear friends who were the instigators in procuring the first piano for her were in the procession and were most sincere mourners for the loved musician who always gave them so many hours of real happiness.

She was the leading spirit of the pleasures which they had so many times enjoyed in their loneliness away from their homes in the East. The music that was rendered by our family was the only diversion and happiness that came into their lives in the early fifties when the world seemed to be populated by men alone, all seeking the one aim—to get gold and go back rich men and then enjoy wealth and ease and comfort and make amends for the struggles and deprivations they had suffered. Now the spirit of this cherished friend had passed out to join the Choir Invisible, and a befitting burial was given her as a memorial of the affection in which she was held by those who owed her so much of real happiness in the severe struggles of the pioneer life when we were but a small colony of the first white women and men in the City of Stockton.

CHAPTER FOUR

HOW I MADE THE FIRST BEAR FLAG IN CALIFORNIA

HEN I was fifteen years old the San Joaquin slough was wide enough for river steamers, schooners and sloops to make safe landings in the heart of Stockton. This was in 1854. Schooners brought lumber, potatoes and hay to Stockton from San Francisco. One of the boats making a monthly trip to Stockton was captained by a popular young man familiarly called "Captain Charley." That is my reason for not calling him by his name. I never saw him, but my brother, George Kroh, would often stand on the wharf and watch his men unload the steamer. It was on one of these occasions that Captain Charley in conversation with one of his friends said, "I tell you, John, I'd give a fifty-dollar slug if I could get a Bear flag to fly from the topmast of my natty schooner. Nothing would please me more than to come up this slough with just such a flag. I won't rest, either, until I have Old Glory and the Bear Flag flying on my craft." When the captain's friend left him, my brother stepped up to him and said, "Were you in earnest, captain, when you said you would give a fifty-dollar slug for a Bear flag?" The captain laughed and said, "I certainly was in earnest, and I'll say it again to you."

My brother said, "Captain, I have a sister who can make you that flag." "All right," said Captain Charley, "You have a fine flag ready when I get back and the slug will be yours." It was a bargain and they shook hands on the deal. When George came home he said to mother, "Where's Maggie?" "Up stairs," was the reply. He came up and said in an off-hand way, "Maggie, how would you like to make a Bear flag?" I looked up in surprise and said, "A bear flag? What kind of a flag is that?" My sister, Mary, spoke up and said, "Why, Maggie, it is the flag of California. I saw a picture of it in the newspaper, and I cut it out." She then asked George who wanted the flag. "Well," he replied, "Captain Charley of one of these schooners said this morning he would give a fifty-dollar slug to get a Bear flag to float beside Old Glory, and I told him you would make it for him." A fifty-dollar slug all my own! "Ha, ha," I laughed in high glee. "I'll make it if sister will help me." So it was planned I should make the first Bear flag to fly on any boat up the San Joaquin river.

The next morning sister and I went to the dry goods store at Grove and Knight streets, and after getting the proper materials we obtained information in regard to the size of the flag and the bear and other details. The work began early the next day and my hands were busy hemming the sides and ends while sister drew the shape of the bear and cut it out of brown drilling. We got our quilting frame and stretched the flag on it, and when it was all nicely stretched we laid the bear on the white surface and began to get it into the right place. Then the basting began so that nothing should go wrong in putting it neatly and correctly in the middle. After it was securely basted we had some dark green drilling cut so as to resemble the grass under his feet, and that was carefully basted and looked very proper. Now there was a star to go on in the corner. We cut it out of blue selicia and soon had it in its place. My sister Mary was an artist and could draw anything and cut anything she wished. After the basting was done, we stood and looked at our work with a satisfied air, pleased with our effort in making a flag for the first time. Now came the work. All this had to be done by hand. There were no sewing machines at that time, and the only way was to hem down every figure, also the letters and star. The edges must be secure or else the wind would soon play havoc with the flag, so stitch after stitch was taken and everything was thoroughly hemmed and carefully fastened. I was no stranger to the needle, and my deft fingers flew over these letters and hemmed in the corners, so that when it was finished and pressed they looked as though they were woven upon the cloth. I was a whole month stitching and hemming the different parts that composed the flag.

At last it was finished and ready for delivery, and we awaited the coming of Captain Charley. My brother watched the boats come in and after the third day of watching he was rewarded by seeing the craft moving slowly up the slough, heavily laden with lumber and bags of potatoes and other articles needed in the market and for building. When the vessel was made fast to the dock Brother George came home and reported, and we were all excitement to know if it was to be a reality or a joke in regard to the flag. Next noon brother went down and when he saw the captain he went to him and told him that the flag he had ordered was finished, and it was a beauty, too. "All right," said the captain, "let me see the flag and I'll be on hand with the gold in an hour." The flag was opened in the cabin of the craft and when the captain saw the beautifully finished flag he had no words to express himself. He just gazed upon it like a child with a new toy. At last he turned to his sideboard and took from it two decanter stands with bands of silver two inches high and heavily wrought edge on the bottoms of the finest polished wood and in the center a silver deer's head, with the name of the vessel in silver. He soon wrapped these beautiful stands up and handed them to my brother, besides the fifty-dollar slug. He sent them as a compliment to the young lady of fifteen years who could make a flag of this sort with such exquisite neatness. When brother returned it was our turn to be astonished to see these beautiful decanter stands, fit to grace the sideboard of any mansion in the land, and they were mine, and also the slug which brother tossed into my lap. When I saw it I could not believe my eyes. It looked as big as a cart wheel to me, for I never possessed so much money in all my life before. You can readily believe it was a ten days' wonder.

We had moved into our new home on San Joaquin street and the cost had been great. To have a house in those days was a luxury and it was always the rule of our family not to owe anything that could be paid. We all worked toward that end, so when everything was paid there was not so much income as of old. Following the hardships of crossing the plains, father was never himself again, and we felt that he had earned his rest after all these years of church work and mission-building from one state to another. He had got so far away from the Eastern Board of Missions and had always been such a tower of strength in all his work that they neglected him and he felt it, in spite of all his tenderness of heart towards the church and humanity. He gradually failed and gave up all work and contented himself in his garden, shop and library.

My sister Mary was always my guide in everything. For a few days I kept my precious slug and looked at it and thought how much money it was. One evening I heard father and mother talking together after they had retired. The door of our sleeping apartments were always open into the hall, in case of sickness or accident, and for some reason I could not go to sleep. As I lay there I heard father and mother planning some problem. I could not hear all, but I understood there was some money needed. In the morning, after all the work was done and I was sitting by my sister's side sewing with her, I told her what I had heard before I went to sleep. "Yes," she said, "Father has still something to pay and he feels he cannot take any more from the family allowance, for there are so many of us." "Oh," I replied, "He can have my slug. I wonder why he did not tell me he needed it." I soon had the precious money in my hand and sister and I found a box to put it into. The following little letter had to go with it: "My dear father and mother: I am so glad I was able, with my sister Mary's help, to make the pretty flag and so get this fine piece of gold to help pay on the dear home which Mary, Jane, Sallie and I helped to buy for you with the day's work with our boarders. It was a happy and cheerful task to help you in building the first dwelling house in our dear Stockton. Now it will all be yours as long as you live. I willingly give you my flag money, so you will not have to fret any more over the debt of the house. Always, your laughing, happy girl, Rosana Margaret."

The box and letter were put at father's place on the dinner table and after he was seated he noticed it. Putting on his glasses he said, "Children, what have we here. It is not my birthday." Not a word was said while he read the letter, then he opened the box and saw the bright golden slug. He laid down his glasses and looked over at me and said, "So Rosana Margaret, it was by your cheerful handiwork that the last burden has been lifted." I quietly lifted up my face and said, "Father, Tilly helped me and we are glad you won't have to trouble any more." He then lifted up his hands and said, "Let us ask God's blessing." If prayer is the soul's sincere desire, uttered or unexpressed, then I think the offering on Abel's altar was not more acceptable before the Lord than was the prayer of my most reverent father as he prayed for a blessing on his family, far from the scenes of his early life and all that went to make him happy when he and mother went hand in hand out into God's vineyard to do God's work, he as an ordained man of God and she an ideal minister's wife who never faltered in her duty through the roughest pioneer days in the swamps of Illinois to the last journey to California to build up the Church of God even here in the farthest west by the Golden Gate. All that was mortal of these two faithful pilgrims rests in the new cemetery in Stockton, always united in life and in death were not divided:

(Father and mother's last hymn.)

CHAPTER FIVE

BOSTON. DEDHAM CHOIR, 1858. THE CIVIL WAR. FAMOUS MUSICIANS. RETURN TO CALIFORNIA. SANTA CRUZ.

N January, 1859, I accompanied my husband to Boston to visit his relatives. My son George was seven months old. My husband realized my voice was more than ordinary and as he was a fine tenor, and also a good pianist, he desired that I should have the best advantages that could be procured, so once more I made the pilgrimage of the ocean and the Isthmus. We arrived at noon in New York in the midst of a heavy snow-storm—gloomy, cold and raw—snow everywhere. I remained in the depot while my husband attended to our baggage and secured the tickets for Boston, and we left New York at three o'clock in the afternoon. Blockades of snow twice stopped our train and shovel ploughs had to be used. On the following day, taking rooms at the nearest hotel and having been made comfortable, my husband sought his relatives. On his return at four o'clock in the afternoon we went to the home of his uncle, William Lincoln, on Chestnut street, who had been my husband's foster father after the death of his parents. Here we remained until we moved to 120 Charles street, afterward moving to Dedham, where Mr. Blake was made a fine business offer.

In this city I began my musical studies. It was noised about that the young merchant's wife was a singer from California. In a short time I became a member of Dr. Burgess' choir, composed of men and women of the first families in Dedham. Mr. Blake and myself were the only two persons who ever sang with them that had not been born and bred there. They had sung together for over sixteen years, some of the members had grown old in the service. They were instructed each week by Edwin Bruce, who came from Boston each Tuesday and drilled and taught us in the best music of the day. He was a most competent leader and teacher. With our choir he directed and drilled three more choirs. His soloists were the best that could be procured and our concerts were looked forward to by the people who filled Tremont Temple to years of study I associated with and heard singers of all nations and had an opportunity to study the music of oratorios, church and concert work. The Handel and Haydn society had over 500 members, Carl Zerrahn, leader, Howard Dow, organist. With our choir and the other three choirs I have spoken of, we lived in an atmosphere of music continually for four years.

In the first part of 1861 war was declared and a state of great excitement prevailed. Volunteers were sought and young men and boys and old men who were vigorous, men filled with patriotic fire, responded. Everybody was ready to go to the front. No one held back services or money. Even the women began to feel they must do something and while the recruits were drilling and women were sewing, making comforters, havelocks, ditty bags, bandages, lint and other necessaries required for the wounded, they formed themselves into a Christian Commission Society and began systematically to plan ways and means to meet the situation which needed so much attention and help from every one, old or young. The Elders of the church gave us permission to use the church parlors to sew in and four sewing machines were put in and work began in earnest to help the cause. Old ladies made lint and knitted socks and other necessary articles that soldiers need. On the evening of May 1, 1861, we gave the first concert in aid of the soldiers. The choir was assisted by Miss Louisa Adams, soprano; Edwin Bruce, director; Charles Capin, organist of the Orthodox Society. The church was crowded to its utmost capacity, the overflow was sufficient to insure another house. Everybody was on tiptoe to hear the choir give its first concert for the soldiers. The sixteen ladies of the choir were dressed in white with tri-colored scarfs over their shoulders. The men in dress suits back of them completed the picture. Large flags were draped on either side of the organ and festoons of evergreens fell gracefully from the front of the choir loft and organ. Cheer after cheer rang out as the choir arose to sing America. It was fully ten minutes before we were allowed to begin the concert.

The praises of this first concert were so many that we were obliged to give another in Tremont Temple in Boston. From that time we gave a concert each month to raise funds for the volunteers during the year 1861. The treasury was always supplied from the proceeds of these concerts and the supply of money never failed, to my knowledge, during my sojourn in Dedham. The excitement of the hour was intense—regiments of volunteers passed daily on their way to the front. They were greeted and cheered by the people; garlands and bouquets were thrown from the windows as they passed. It was a scene that never will be forgotten, when we reflect that not two-thirds of these splendid men ever came back. Later on the choirs visited the hospitals and we found many brave hearts, who had fought and were wounded for their country, lying there. To them we brought supplies of fruit, flowers and nourishing food and sang to them. So the good work went on from week to week until the year 1861 was nearly over. We decided to return to California, business was demoralized and uncertainty reigned and we had been four years from home. During that time I had become a singer and was able to take my place with other artists of repute. I had during my study become acquainted with the foremost artists of that time and sang with them on many occasions.

Among the famous organists of 1858 were:

W.R. Babcock
Charles J. Capen
G.W. Harris
H.W. Edes
Adolph Baumbach
J.H.B. Thayer
Howard M. Dow
I.D. Parker
W.B. Clark
Carl Zerrahn, Leader.

The men and women singers of Dedham Congregational Church Choir in 1858 were:

Adams, Louisa, Miss, prima donna
Adams, Henrietta, Miss, contralto
Blake, Margaret, Mrs., mezzo-contralto
Bates, Helen, Miss, soprano
Bullard, Mary, Miss, soprano
Boyd, Mary, Miss, soprano
Bickner, Clara, Miss, soprano
Covell, O.M., Miss, contralto
Draper, M.J. Mrs., soprano
Daniel, Olive, Mrs. contralto
Everett, Hattie, Miss, soprano
Fisher, Mattie E., Mrs., contralto
Guild, Hattie, Miss, contralto
Guild, Mary, Miss, soprano
Kingsbury, Susan, Miss, soprano
Taft, Louisa, Miss, soprano
Williams, N.R., Mrs., contralto
Blake, Geo. H., tenor
Burgess, Dr. E.P., bass
Burgess, Edwin, tenor
Churchill, C.C., bass
Calder, Bert, bass
Danforth, C.B., bass
Eaton, J., bass
Everett, E., bass
Fisher, Alvin J., bass (former choir master)
Hitchings, Henry, bass
Sherwin, Henry, tenor
Taft, J.G., bass
Wright, Geo., tenor
Wright, Charles, bass
Macbeth, G.W., bass
Capen, Chas. J., organist
Bruce, Edwin, director
Daniel, Ellery C., choir master

Thirty-five singers, men and women, composed the choir of Dr. Burgess' church in Dedham, and as organist we had Chas. J. Capen. The director and teacher of vocal music was Edwin Bruce. Ellery C. Daniel was choir master. In addition to this choir, Mr. Bruce controlled three other quartette and chorus choirs that could be called upon to aid us in any entertainment we chose to give, consequently when the war broke out it was not many weeks before we were in demand and continued to successfully and constantly add new laurels to our large galaxy of singers of repute. Carl Zerrahn was leader of the Handel and Haydn Society, of which we were all members. The soloists were many of the best on this continent. What magnificent music we gave. I lived just in a world of song and associated with the best of them and was accepted and acknowledged by them all. I remember well when we gave the oratorio, David, April 3, 1859, the forty-third season. I never had sung with so many singers before and I was in a maze of excitement. I was ready also to enjoy every note, for it was the largest aggregation of solo singers I had ever heard. The soloists were:

Mrs. J.H. Long, dramatic soprano
Miss Louisa Adams, coloratura soprano
J.P. Draper, tenor
P.H. Powers, bass
Edward Hamilton, bass
C.R. Adams, tenor
George Wright, Jr., bass
Carl Zerrahn, conductor
J.C.D. Parker, organist

With all these artists and 500 in the chorus to round out the society, we gave a great performance. The Boston Music Hall was crowded to the doors and the oratorio was as perfectly given as could be asked by the most exacting critic. This was but one of the beautiful oratorios that were given during my stay in Massachusetts. Instead of church service on the Sabbath evenings, the oratorios were given. In this way I was able to learn the music of all the most important works on oratorio. I was but twenty-one years old when I began this kind of singing. Church music I sang from my infancy, consequently my voice was fully developed in the broad church style and I had no difficulty to acquire this, although it was more difficult music than I had ever attempted, but with patience and weekly rehearsals and daily practice it became familiar and a part of my life. While the rebellion was raging we laid aside oratorio work and studied patriotic music suitable to the concerts that we were called upon to give to raise funds for the soldiers. All social life was put aside and we devoted our time to help our fathers, brothers and sons who were called away to fight for the union of states. There were no laggards in these stirring times; young and old alike were imbued with the patriotism that possessed our forefathers of 1776.

Here I regret to say I am afraid in our later days there is not the same spirit of patriotism as I saw it in the year of 1861. To me of all the flags that ever floated in any country of the universe none appeals as the American flag does. When I see its graceful folds unfurled to the breeze, catching the gleams of the morning's first beam, my heart leaps with pride and patriotic fire. To my mind I never possessed voice enough to sing the praises of the finest flag that ever floated under the canopy of heaven. Any one less patriotic in spirit than this is not worthy to call America his country or home. In vision I can now see these splendid men march to their death. Regiment after regiment passed daily and was encouraged and cheered by the enthusiastic women and children who watched the soldiers until out of sight. Then after they had embarked, the women returned to their firesides and wondered who would return. Tears came unbidden, yet we were strong in the belief and hope that our loved ones would not be sacrificed. After a hard struggle of four years some homes were made happy and others felt the blow. Many returned wounded. To them we gave all care. The hospitals were visited and relief given. There were services for the sick and burial for the dead. Our voices as well as the work were not spared as long as we could give aid to the living and the dead. This experience of my life has prompted me to extend any service I can for the men who fought so bravely when the crisis came, and as long as I have voice and can help in any capacity in aid of the American soldier who fought in 1861 I shall give the best I have.

Before I leave my Eastern subject I wish to recall some of the celebrated singers and organists whom I had an opportunity to hear, at their best, and with many of whom I passed happy hours musically and in pleasant companionship. Most of the singers of my time were American singers, even in the Italian opera:

1859.

Mrs. Jennie Kempton, contralto
Mrs. Washburn, soprano
Isabelle Hinkley, soprano
Abbie Plummer, contralto
Miss Louisa Adams, coloratura soprano
Mrs. Margaret Blake, mezzo-contralto
B.F. Gilbert, tenor
C.E. Pickett, tenor
I.P. Draper, bass
Mr. Wadleigh, bass
Mr. Emerson, tenor
Henry Clay Barnabee, tenor

1860.

Prof. B.J. Lang, pianist
Howard M. Dow, organist
Adolph Baumbach, pianist
Carl Zerrahn, conductor
Mlle. Carlotta Patti
Madam Colson
Adelaide Phillips
Anna Louisa Carey
Carl Formes, basso profundo

1861.

Programmes.

Martha
Lucia Di Lammermoor
Un Ballo in Maschera
La Juive
Il Giuramento
The Messiah
Moses in Egitto
David

I have placed these programmes here so as to show what singers were considered the first and best fifty years ago. My impressions received at that time left their imprint for excellence and a pattern for those who aspire to real worth to follow.

The unfortunate training of the voices in our time has given us many inferior singers who come and go and are forgotten. The great singers of before are engraved forever in the hearts of those who were fortunate enough to enjoy the exquisite rendering of their work. We call this an age of progress. We may be wiser in some directions, but as for the best music the past will have to chronicle the superior singer. Carlotta Patti was a more beautiful singer than her sister Adelina. On account of her lameness she could not travel as an opera singer. I have heard both singers and Carlotta was my choice. Adelina was the most advertised, for she was a money-maker and demanded just so much notoriety when she engaged and signed her contracts. Her power was supreme and no one dared to say her nay. Woe be to the poor prima donna who sang better or had more applause or favors than she did. She was the only queen of song as long as her reign lasted. Emma Nevada and Madam Etelka Gersta were her especial victims when they sang the same season with her. I am stating facts which will stand. To be a good singer and up to the standard one must be a good woman with a refined and educated mind, a sympathetic temperament, charitable nature towards others who are doing what they can to bring up a standard for generations to follow.

The war was still in progress when my husband decided in November, 1861, to return to California. I had been away from home four years and had enjoyed all these advantages and had done what I could for the volunteers who had fought for the preservation of the Union. There were great surprise and murmurs of regret on all sides when Mr. Blake made known our intention to go to California. He was one of the tenors and very musical, and I as his wife shared with him the honors in this choir of thirty-five voices. We had become such friends it was like parting from a family. Our successful concerts in aid of the soldiers, the many Sabbaths we worshiped and sang together, made us an harmonious band of singers. We had one more meeting for the clubs and choir before we made our departure. It took place on November 31, 1861. The ground was covered with snow and we were obliged to wear rubber boots to be able to get on at all, but we were used to it and it mattered not to us. The meeting was held in the parlors of the church instead of the schoolrooms as was our wont. For a change our leader said we would have an impromptu concert in the church choir so as to use the organ. Edwin Bruce, our leader and instructor, came from Boston and brought several fine singers with him. Mr. Blake and I were asked to come somewhat earlier. On arriving at the church we found quite an illumination in the parlors. Choirmaster Daniel and his wife were the host and hostess and welcomed us. When we had taken our places beside them the church doors slowly opened and the guests arrived two by two, in full evening costume, and we received them until all had welcomed us. The choir formed in a procession and wended its way into the gallery which was darkened save for one or two lights so we could see to reach our accustomed places in the gallery. When all were in their places and our organist, Charles Capin, began playing America, Mr. Bruce taking his baton and position, raised it and the lights were turned on and before us sat the congregation, every pew being filled. It was quite a moment before I could realize this change and did not open my mouth to sing a note, for I was so bewildered. At last, when I heard all were singing, I sang and cried at the same time, for I realized this great kindness had been prepared for us. Great was the applause when we had finished this song. We sang until ten o'clock some of our best choruses, solos, duets, trios, etc. We concluded with "Viva l'America," Miss Louisa Adams taking the solo and the choir the chorus. Dr. Burgess spoke tenderly of us, strangers from far-off California who had been so generous with our voices and help these four years and wished us all good things and a safe return to our home by the Golden Gate. We were then dismissed with the benediction. Mr. Daniel had requested us to take our places in the parlors and an impromptu reception was held until all the congregation had bid us good-bye. About eleven o'clock only the choir remained and the pastor and family. The Sabbath schoolroom had been decorated and tables were spread for the banquet which had been prepared by loving hands and through the kindness of the generous congregation that appreciated our services. Three surprises in one evening was almost more than I could bear. I was like one in a dream. After refreshments had been enjoyed, Mr. Edwin Bruce came forward and with a very appropriate speech placed in my hand an album filled with the pictures of the choir, leaders, past and present, director and organist. I was so astonished I had not the power to speak, so my husband, who stood beside me, replied to the giver of such a beautiful and thoughtful gift to us who were to sever the bonds of friendship and song after these four happy years together. I do not suppose one of these beautiful singers, either man or woman, is alive today, but I shall present their pictures in this volume as a memorial to one of the most distinguished choirs that ever sang together, some of the singers for sixteen years, and that gladly gave its best for the Union and its preservation in 1861.

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After we had severed our connection with the choir in Dedham, Mr. Blake wound up relations with his firm, Parker, Barnes & Merriam, on Milk street, Boston; we reluctantly gave up the dear old-fashioned Taft home, with its shade trees and orchards and fine kitchen garden, where we had passed so many happy years; we said good-bye to our lovely neighbors the Adams, and Follensbee and Bullard families, and moved to Hersey place, Boston, to remain until we left for California, February, 1862. We took the same route I had taken in 1851 and were on the way for two months. But things had changed and the scene was altogether different. Over the Chagres river route we traveled upon the rails we saw being laid when we came over in 1851. The trip was uneventful, only that I was ill all the way, but being young and hopeful and with the best of care, I once more came safely into San Francisco bay. We surprised our sister, Mrs. W.H. Knight, and family, who lived on Fifth and Market streets. Great was our rejoicing to see our friends again. After a week's stay we left them for our old home in Stockton. The rain had been severe, the creeks and rivers were swollen, and we had a wet home coming, but we found the family in waiting to greet us. It was soon noised about that the Blakes had come home from Boston and we had no end of greetings and rejoicings. The rain still came down and by May we were in dread of a flood, which later came to pass. Water was everywhere. We were on the highest point in the city, and before we were aware of it we had sixteen inches of water in our house. On May 24th Dr. Grattin was called to our home and he came in a skiff and rowed to the door, pointing the bow into the parlor door and then stepping out into sixteen inches of water. Provided with rubber leggings, he waded to the stairs where mother awaited him with dry slippers and assisted him to my room. On May 25th my second son, William Ellery Blake, was born. Both boys are native sons of California and born in the home that was built in 1852. The first family dwelling, built fifty-nine years ago, is still standing as the homestead on San Joaquin street, Stockton, and apparently will be a suitable dwelling for many more years to come.

After my son was three months old Mr. Blake obtained a position in J.C. Johnson's saddle and harness business as expert bookkeeper and first salesman. We then left the old home and moved to San Francisco in the latter part of August and moved into the house owned by Dr. Calif. He had recently died and his widow did not wish to occupy this large house alone or desire the care of it. She arranged with us to take two large rooms and the remainder of the house was at our disposal. We were glad to have such a home. The rent was cheap and everything was furnished just as it had been when Dr. Calif was alive. We occupied this home until 1864, when Mr. Ben Smith made a proposition to have Mr. Blake take the superintendent's place at the San Lorenzo Paper Mill, about three or four miles from Santa Cruz. The company had built a six-room cottage and furnished it completely for us, should we decide to go. The large house was built for Mr. Sime and his family as a summer home for them. It was an ideal spot to live. The long flume ran along for miles. The river was dammed and the overflow made a beautiful waterfall. The hills were covered with chaparral and pine trees and wild flowers galore. The powder works were situated about a mile above us. The road ran about fifty feet from the cottage and, although we were among the hills, it was a busy place. Ox teams were constantly passing. The large cook house was below and the paper mill buildings were near at hand. About 150 men, constantly going from one place to another in their departments, made us feel we were not alone. There was fine fishing in the pool below the falls. The salmon would come up the creek from the ocean and the finest ones found their way into the pool, and on Friday the cook and his men supplied the tables with fresh fish. How many times have I seen those fine fish, caught on the prongs of a spear, writhe and wriggle to get off. At first I could not taste them, I felt so sorry to see them killed in that way. I would not go out on Friday until after the fishing was done. The lamper eels crawled up the stream and the men gathered them by the barrels full and made oil from them.

I had a Jersey cow and a fine milk house with a stream of cold water running through. I made my own butter and had enough to supply the Sime family when they spent their summer there. The lovely moonlight nights on this fine sheet of water above the dam are with me now, and how the hills resounded with our songs as we rowed along. I had a fine horse and carriage, and it was great sport to go to town with our splendid Jim, as we called him. Those were happy times. The children had the best of air and full play among the hills. We remained two years when Mr. Blake's eyes became inflamed from the fumes of the lime used to rot the straw, and we were obliged to give up the place and change once more.

CHAPTER SIX

SANTA CRUZ IN THE SIXTIES. WHY I BECAME A DRESSMAKER. OPERA. MUSIC IN SAN FRANCISCO IN THE SEVENTIES

E HAD become attached to Santa Cruz and concluded to live there and begin some kind of business. When our time had expired at the mill, Mr. Blake had found a convenient store. He was well known and had been chief salesman for J.C. Johnson & Bros., saddle and harness dealers on Market street, San Francisco, and later he was employed by Main & Winchester in the same business. He was able to get his stock and start under fine auspices. It was not long before everything looked prosperous for us. Since we were both musical, Mr. Blake having a fine lyric tenor voice and also playing the piano, we were soon the center of musical attraction. We found other voices also that were of the right sort, and it was not many months before the music of Santa Cruz was recognized and appreciated. Mrs. Eliza Boston, a fine dramatic soprano, was the wife of Joseph Boston, a wealthy business man, and sang only for her friends and church, which was her pleasure, but she was also kind when any necessity presented itself. She cheerfully did her part, especially for the Calvary Episcopal Church of which she was a devout member. The rector, Rev. Giles A. Easton, one of the pioneer ministers of the church, appreciated her talent in the assistance she gave to the music in those early days of California when music was so hard to obtain.

What happy days were these to us who loved music and sang for the love of it and for the little church that stands today covered with ivy, planted when Mrs. Boston and I sang together in the choir. On high days we were able to procure the assistance of some fine voices of the men singers, Samuel Sharp, basso; Rollins Case, tenor; Charles Metti, tenor soloist. There was no salary in those days for our services. We did it all as God's work and it mattered not what creed. Wherever we were needed our services were liberally given. Rev. P.Y. Cool was pastor of the First Methodist Church and I aided his church for many months and had fine support from Mr. Ossian Auld, one of God's voices sent on earth to give us a taste of what was in store for us in the Choir Invisible. How we sang together can only be appreciated by those who worshiped and heard the voices, who by nature were created with the musical temperament that sings. I never heard but one more tenor of that nature during my singing life in California and of him I will speak later, for it was after I returned to San Francisco that I had the pleasure to be in the choir and sing with the dearly beloved Joe Maguire. While I remained in Santa Cruz I sang for Dr. Frear's church, also the Unitarian Church of which the pastor, Dr. Ames, and his good wife were fine musicians. In the Presbyterian Church we found Mr. Fred Anthony, a tenor, who was one of the useful tenors, and reliable young men workers in the church. He came to California in 1854, a son of the Wm. Anthony family, composed of musicians. Miss Louisa Anthony was the organist of the church. The civil war was not yet at an end and money was needed for the wounded and the suffering in hospitals and the Christian commission was in need of funds to carry on the good work of relief. All who were able and had voices or dramatic talent were called upon to assist in the good work; consequently many entertainments were given in aid of this cause. Young and old who had talent were enlisted and there was no lack of enthusiasm, for the cause appealed to all who were patriotic and in sympathy with the boys in blue who were still marching, fighting and dying for our beloved land. Those who were foremost in the good work during these trying times are worthy of having their names enrolled in this history of California's early days as actors for good in the development of the state, upholding the government and assisting in the building of churches and other institutions that have made our State the Queen of the Pacific Coast. I feel proud that I can place on the roll of honor such names as the following men and women singers, dramatic performers and excellent musicians:

Vocalists.

Auld, Ossian, tenor
Anthony, Frederick, tenor
Anthony, Louisa, soprano
Blake, Geo. H., tenor
Boston, Mrs. Eliza, dramatic soprano
Blake, Mrs. M.R., mezzo-contralto
Finkeldey, W., tenor
Grove, Mr., bass
Kittridge, Miss, soprano
Miller, Chas. M., tenor
Metti, Chas., tenor
Pringle, Wm., bass
Pioda, Mrs. Mary Emma, soprano
Battersby, Mr., tenor
Bender, Edward, bass
Baily, Miss Lorena, soprano
Case, Rollin, tenor
Sharp, Samuel, basso profundo
Steal, Miss Ella, contralto
Wilson, Mr., bass
Williams, Miss, soprano

Instrumentalists.

Bender, Edward, piano
Emerson, Prof., violin (leader)
Grove, Mr., violin
Hihn, Kate, piano
Jones, John M., violin (leader of Santa Cruz Cornet Band)
McCann, Miss Pearl, piano
Pioda, Prof. Paul, flute
Rotier, Miss, piano
Sheppherd, Prof., piano
Woodbridge, Miss Abbe, piano
Cooper, Miss May, piano
Wilson, Prof., violin
Waldron, Mr., piano
Swanton, Mr. E., piano
Kirby, Mr. G., piano
Foreman, Mr. J., piano
Smith, Miss M., piano

Dramatic Talent.

Ames, Rev.
Ames, Mrs.
Binny, I.
Baldwin, Mrs. Fanny
Bittner, Miss A.
Cooper, Miss May
Cooper, Retta
Carpenter, Miss Mattie
Root, Miss May
Metti, Charles
Stanton, Miss Eleanor
Swanton, E.
Root, E.
Blake, Mrs. M.R.

Our programmes were of the highest order, the voices pure and full without this abominable tremolo which is unknown to a person who knows how to sing correctly and naturally. Occasionally we had the assistance of some of the singers and players from San Francisco, who came for the summer outing, and they thought it great sport to add their gifts when called upon to help the country girls and boys, but they did not get far in their fun before they found they would need all their knowledge and do their best or else let the seaside talent outstrip them. We were called upon from time to time during my stay from 1864 to help different denominations in their work. Old folks' concerts, sacred concerts, fairs and donation parties were the usual efforts of those early days. There were no other places of amusement. Sometimes, at rare intervals, there was a show of some kind in Otto's Hall, a place that would hold 250 people. Whoever they were, they could not give as much pleasure as our own home talent, consequently they were not encouraged to repeat the visit. Mr. Blake continued his business successfully, I supposed, until towards the close of the year 1868. He became despondent and I could see trouble was brewing. He never brought his business home, so I was ignorant of anything in regard to its standing. In early years he had much to do with mining stocks and still held some that he thought would be profitable. The four years we were in Boston he held much stock and that was one reason we left, so he could be nearer and in touch with the rise and fall of the market. I was not aware of all this, and when the crisis came I was unprepared for the result. The money he made in the store went to keep up the margins, and changes in the market. At last the door of his store was closed and we were penniless and saw no way out of it.

I being always hopeful, it was for me to raise the drooping spirits and advise means of action. I left for San Francisco with the younger boy and Mr. Blake remained with the elder to straighten out his affairs as well as possible. I took my sewing machine with me and intended to retrieve the family fortune with my voice and my needle. I came to the home of Mrs. John Clough, a friend, on Third street, between Market and Mission. Her husband was a fine tenor singer and I knew she would help me get something to do. I was there but a few weeks when the Lyster Opera Troupe came from Australia and began singing at the old Metropolitan theater on Montgomery street. I was one of the 300 members of the Handel and Haydn Society, which was called upon by Mr. F. Lyster for voices for the chorus. A leading contralto and a soprano were in the troupe. Mrs. Cameron and I were chosen after the voices were tried and accepted. I had no trouble as I had studied the choruses of most of the familiar operas. I also knew many of the contralto arias, like Perlate de Amour in Faust and other contralto numbers of the different operas that we gave. I was engaged at $20 per week, which seemed to me a fabulous sum, for I was without any means. These were strenuous days, sometimes fourteen hours in the theatre a day, singing one opera and practicing a new one. I was not unhappy as I was doing something to help along the good work of regaining our footing and I worked willingly, but the operas of Norma, Les Huguenots, Faust, Aida were heavy and required long rehearsals, the theater was damp and cold and sometimes I wished myself out of it. After singing in ten heavy operas I caught cold and was obliged to stop, much to the disappointment of Mr. Lyster, as he had hoped to take me with the troupe. But I was too ill and besides my sons were too small to leave them behind, so I canceled my engagement and closed my career in opera.

Before I recovered, Mr. Blake had settled as best he could and left me to go to Reno, where his stocks were, to see if anything could be saved at all. When he returned after three months' absence I had taken the upper part of the house at the corner of O'Farrell and Stockton streets, and with what furniture I still possessed I started to rent rooms. I had also gotten the choir position as alto in St. Patrick's church on Market street, on the lot where the Palace Hotel now stands. While employed there a church was being built on Mission street, where it now stands. When the basement of the new church was finished the congregation was moved to Mission street, and we worshiped in the basement until the main church was finished. I had one room left to rent where I was on O'Farrell street when one day, to my surprise on answering the bell, Mr. William Kitts of the opera troupe called to rent a room. He was a splendid bass singer and I was greatly surprised to see him, as I had supposed he had left with the company. He wished to rest for a year. He had never seen America and would remain until the troupe returned in another year. He was as fine a man as he was a singer; in fact, all the principals of the troupe were fine people. They were Madam Lucy Escott, the soprano; Henry Squires, tenor; Mr. Baker, the lyric tenor, with a most beautiful voice; and Mr. Kitts, the basso profundo. Before these people went away I sang many times with them in concert. They gave a sacred concert in Pacific Hall, on California street, in 1869. We sang the Trio, te Prago, Escott, Blake, Squires for one number. Madam was so pleased with my singing she kissed me and gave me her copy of the song after writing her name on it. Mr. Squires said it was by far the best combination for the trio that he had ever made. The first time I ever sang this trio was in 1859 in Tremont Temple with Louisa Adams, soprano, Edwin Bruce, tenor, and myself, contralto. Miss Adams was a prima donna of that time. I had always received great praise for my work in this trio.

I remained a year in the house on O'Farrell street, and as I knew I could do better with more rooms I moved into a two-story house on Powell street, near the corner of Broadway, when Mr. Kitts went to Australia. Mr. Blake had returned from Reno and was employed at Main & Winchester's on Sansome street. Mr. Goodwin, the furniture dealer, furnished the house with $1,100 worth of furniture and I began to help lessen the burden already so heavy. Youth was in my favor, being now thirty-four years old. The children were at school and I still held my church position and began to sing at concerts and entertainments. My rooms were filled with the best of roomers and my house brought me in $65 over my rent which was also $65 a month. I had no piano and no place for one, as the children and I slept in the kitchen. I had given up every available room to make the house pay. Mrs. Dr. Howard permitted me to use her piano, so after the work was done I was obliged to walk nine blocks to practice each day. When I thought everything was going all right Mr. Blake began to act strangely. The failure had affected him more than he let me know, and he was so stunned by the blow that he had plunged us into poverty and it weighed so on his mind that Dr. H.L. Baldwin advised a sea voyage. So we wrote to his brother who was in Melbourne to expect him on a certain ship. All was favorable and he sailed away the latter part of 1869. His brain was softening and there was no hope for him if he remained. After weeks of sailing he arrived safely in Melbourne. He so far recovered that he was able to accept a position as expert in the Omnibus railway office which he filled for one year and a half. In the meantime I had been able to pay for all the furniture, through my roomers and singing and sewing, but the large house was too much for me, with sewing until twelve at night, and I concluded to take a smaller house and called on Mr. George Lamson, the auctioneer. He was Nance O'Neil's father and she was then a little girl. I selected what furniture I needed for the house on Washington street and he sold the rest. Four of the best roomers went with me to the new house, so I was sure I'd not fail for awhile at least.

All these months of toil I had received one bill after another from different men and business houses. When they came for money I told them I did not have a dollar, only what I earned, but that if the bills were correct, I would settle them as fast as I could earn the money. I determined to pay all of Mr. Blake's indebtedness, rather than there should be a blot upon his name or honor, and also for the sake of his two sons who had their lives to live. I had been sewing for Mrs. Letitia Ralph, the dressmaker, who gave me the children's clothes to make after she had fitted and basted them up for me. I had my own boys so beautifully clad she wanted to know who made their clothes. She proposed that if I would make the children's clothing she would prepare the work for me. After my work of the day was over and all the family slept I sewed until midnight. After I had moved to Washington street, I bought one of the Ralph charts and perfected myself in the art of cutting and fitting. I had been but two months in the new place when one of my roomers got married, to my sorrow, for that meant another empty room with the two parlors which had never been rented. My heart sank within me for I was doubtful as to the outcome of the new departure. My usual courage left me and I was at my wits' end as to how to continue. As I sat by the machine I realized the situation and I laid my head on the machine and the pent-up tears at last came to my relief. While in this state I felt a presence in the room and on looking up I saw the dear friend of my youth, Mrs. Sue Bird, standing quietly by me, not knowing what to say. It was the first time she had ever seen me in tears through the whole distressing time of the last two or three years. I told her I did not know where to commence and for once in my life I was discouraged. Before she departed our plans were laid and the next day her machine came to the house with a lot of new goods that she wanted to make up for herself and children. We put a machine on each side of the bay window. I made some signs during the day and put them in the windows. We decorated the windows with the new goods, a fish globe, a hanging basket of ferns, a wire model and placed upon it one of my concert dresses. We draped the lace curtains back and the window looked stunning and very businesslike. I arranged my cutting table and had Harper's Bazaar and other fashion plates and Butterick patterns on the shelves. Our signs in the window read: "Children's clothing neatly done and made to order." Our dressmaking parlors were in full swing and in apple-pie order. All we lacked were the customers, so we sat at the machines and sewed until the third day, hoping to have some one come, yet dreading to see them, for fear we would fail in our efforts. We watched people passing all day long, going and coming and stopping to look at the new place. At last, on the fifth day, a lady with a bundle came in at the gate, and my heart beat with excitement. When I opened the door a gentle little woman asked if I was the dressmaker, and I told her yes and bade her enter. She unfolded her bundle and told me what she wanted. I found myself talking and planning as if I had made dresses for a number of years. It was her wedding dress of dove-colored silk and she wanted me to make a dress of it for her twelve-year-old daughter, with an addition of three yards of blue to match. I told her I could make a beautiful child's dress, a very suitable and pretty combination. The next day the girl was measured and the dress began and by the end of the week it was to be tried on. When the dress was done she was so pleased that I did her work as long as I was in the business of dressmaking, which lasted ten years. This was the beginning.

After Mrs. Bird had started me she was obliged to go to her home, so I advertised for a forewoman. The next day I engaged a competent woman, Mrs. Sheek from Nevada. She brought her sewing machine and was well up in the ideas and ways of a shop. She saw right away I was new in the art, but she and I soon understood what was needed. In one month things went with such perfect system we were able to take in all the work that was brought to us. Our window was always dressed and the figure robed in the last garment finished, and we were becoming so popular I was obliged to get more help. Before the year was out I had ten girls constantly employed and three machines running all the time. These were busy days, what with concerts, singing in churches and at funerals, rehearsals, dressmaking and roomers. I also made costumes of singers and actresses who heard of my ability. When singing, my costumes attracted attention and I received many customers who were struck by my gowns. Mrs. P.D. Bowers, the famous actress, sent for me at the Palace and ordered her costumes for Amy Robsart, also other costumes and dominos. Emilie Melville was my customer for her concert and opera robes; so was Mme. Mulder and Mme. Elezer. I made the robes for Signora Bianchi in the opera of "Norma," for Mrs. Tom Breese and Mrs. Nick Kittle. Mrs. Tom Maguire and Mrs. Mark McDonald were regular customers for years. Mrs. Maynard, a wealthy banker's wife, who lived on Bush street, and her daughters justly appreciated my work, and I found in Mrs. Maynard a lifelong friend. I continued in this busy way, always hearing good news of the improvement in my husband in Melbourne. He had been gone now a year and a half and I had received encouraging letters from him and at last he informed me he would come soon and take me and the boys to Melbourne to live. All the time he was gone I had been paying off this tremendous amount of indebtedness of his failure, and keeping it as a secret from him so as to surprise him when he arrived. I was fully established and my church and concert music was all I could ask for. My old spirit came back and I was happy to know I had been able to help my husband through this $30,000 failure which had been such a blow to his pride and ambition and had brought distress to his family. I received a letter that he was coming on a certain steamer, and the boys and I were doing all we could to have the home-coming complete. George was now fifteen years old and William eleven. They had been going to school and had been promoted each year and would have much to tell their father, himself a man of letters and a graduate of Harvard University. His desire was that the boys should excel, as had all the Blakes, Lincolns and Sargents before them.

Each of these old and highly honored families of Massachusetts had celebrated men among them, and they honored their forefathers and tried to emulate their achievements and keep up the literary standard of the Sargents, the military dignity of their great-grandfather, Major Benjamin Lincoln of revolutionary fame, who took the sword from Cornwallis and handed it to his general, George Washington; Eps Sargent, the great writer of books, poetry and the song, "The Life on the Ocean Wave," one of the famous songs of the time. These men were the next of kin, and we were justly proud of the connection and tried to uphold our side of the family honor as well as it was possible for us of this generation to accomplish. The days were counted and each evening we were happy in the recital of our part that was expected of us when father returned. Only a short time remained to us who were awaiting his coming. At last we were rewarded by the arrival of the ship which was expected to bring our father, and the week had nearly passed. On the fourth day a messenger from the ship came with a letter from the captain that George L. Blake was dead and buried, in a foreign land, with honors suitable to the man who had won for himself the respect of all who knew him in the city of Melbourne. The railroad offices were closed, the American flag at half mast, and men with uncovered heads marched behind the hearse that bore the remains of their distinguished member, the American gentleman from California, to his last resting place. Our sorrow was too great to be realized, even after reading the letter from the rector who had read the funeral service over the dead, and who explained the circumstances of his sudden death and told of the sorrow of his comrades and the officers of the company who so honored him in a strange land. He had in a short time won their esteem by his courteous and gentlemanly bearing towards all who came in contact with him.

This was the sad message and the end of our bright hopes for the future. The burden must now be borne alone with two children to educate and this great indebtedness on my own shoulders to pay, until all was done to honor his name and that of his sons. I saw no other way but to work and keep busy. After several days my plans were mapped out and I began to plan how to enlarge my business and still continue with my music. When it became known that this sorrow had come to me, I never lacked for friends, and in a short time I became so busy I had no time to repine. After a year I needed more room, so I removed to 404 Post street, near the corner of Powell, into a cottage belonging to a Mr. Simons. It was nearer town than on Washington and Stockton streets. In a few days work went on as usual. Three of my permanent roomers went with me. For four years I lived here, when Mr. Simons sold the house and I was obliged to vacate. I found small rooms on O'Farrell street and continued my work without cessation until the beginning of 1875. During these years at 404 Post street I sang in the St. John's Presbyterian Church, Post street. The organists during this time were George T. Evans, later Frederick Katzenbach. The singers were: Vernon Lincoln, tenor; Joseph Maguire, tenor; C. Makin, basso; Mrs. Robert Moore, soprano; M.R. Blake, contralto. Later I resigned and went for the second time to St. Patrick's Church and remained there altogether ten years. The organist and director was J.H. Dohrmann. The choir remained the same during that time. We had the best talent that could be obtained and the music we sang was extremely difficult. The sopranos were the best available. Among the singers were:

Mr. Brown, tenor
Sig. Bianchi, tenor
Sig. G. Mancusi, tenor
Karl Formes, basso
Sig. Morly, basso
Sig. Reuling, baritone
Sig. Meize, baritone
Mr. Fuchs, basso
Mr. Schnable, basso
Mr. Stockmyer, basso
Mr. Yarndley, basso
Miss Louisa Tourney, soprano
Mrs. Urig, soprano
Mrs. Young, soprano
Mrs. Taylor, soprano
Mme. Brandel, soprano
Signora Bianchi, soprano
M.R. Blake, contralto
Ella Steel, alto

CHAPTER SEVEN

LADY OF LYONS GIVEN AT SANTA CRUZ. FLAG-RAISING AT GILROY HOT SPRINGS. VISALIA CONCERTS

N 1868, while I was living in Santa Cruz, that city was without any fire-fighting apparatus. The matter had often been discussed, but nothing had come of it. Mrs. Alfred Baldwin, who was prominent there as a school teacher, and her husband, a boot and shoe merchant, conceived the plan of starting a nucleus for a fire engine. I being her neighbor, Mrs. Baldwin naturally talked the matter over with me. Santa Cruz then had some excellent talent to call upon, so we planned to raise the money for an engine if possible. During these days Mrs Elmira Baldwin came from San Francisco to spend the summer with her sister-in-law, Mrs. Baldwin. She was a beautiful woman and talented, and capable of taking a part in anything. We also had a friend of Mr. Baldwin's who was a splendid actor in comedy or tragedy, Mr. I.B. Binney. He was enlisted in the good cause, and through his efforts and Mrs. A. Baldwin's we were enabled to collect all the talent necessary. After the performers were secured, the next question was the form of entertainment. Of course, Mr. Binney was consulted in the matter and we decided to give the "Lady of Lyons," Bulwer's popular and beautiful play. I had always sung my way into public favor, and had never tried the drama. When the part of Widow Melnotte fell to me, I was surprised, to say the least. I was only thirty-eight years old, and the mother of Melnotte was fifty, but after much persuasion I undertook the role. For a month we had a great deal of fun at the rehearsals. It is true I had my home to care for, and it was also fruit-canning season, and I was busy at something all the time, but at my work my part was pinned before me and I was reciting aloud all day long. Had any one come in unannounced he would have thought I had gone stark mad. Sometimes I'd stand in the middle of the kitchen, dishcloth in hand, admonishing Claude not to love Pauline too much, as he was but a gardener's son, etc. At last the rehearsals were finished and Thursday evening, August 27, 1868, at Otto's Hall, the only suitable hall in town at that time, the play was given. Santa Cruz was crowded with visitors and the tickets were sold so rapidly that the house was sold out before the day was over.

The following criticism of the performance is taken from the Santa Cruz Sentinel: "The object of the entertainment being appreciated, the hall, with a seating capacity of 250, was crowded, and promptly at the hour the curtain was raised, displaying a little family coquettishness between Madam Deschappells and her daughter, Pauline. As a matter of course a bouquet of roses was found, and it was queried in all innocence of unsophisticated girlhood as to who could have sent it. This act, Pauline by Mrs. Elmira Baldwin and Madam Deschappells by Mrs. Fannie Baldwin, was well played and at once centered the attention of the audience. Colonel Dumas by I.C. Wilson was far in advance of his former attempts, and Beauseant by Thomas Beck added laurels to his already established reputation as a first-class amateur. Glavis by Master Asa Rawson was rendered in his usual facetious style, creating a universal twitter all around the hall. Mons. Deschappells by Albert Brown was laughable in the extreme, partly from the age of so young a father, as seen through the scarcity of his be-floured locks, and partly from its surroundings. The landlord by B.F. Tucker was up to the mark. Captain Gervais was played by C.W.S. Waldron with dignity and soldierly bearing. Widow Melnotte by Mrs. Margaret Blake was grand and inspiring, and when she displayed the character of a devoted mother many eyes glistened with a tear and many hearts reverted to the days, gone forever, when a mother bent over them with cheeks radiant with smiles of delight. Claude Melnotte by I.B. Binney was excellent and deserving of the greatest praise. Mrs. Elmira Baldwin, in her preference for the supposed prince, in her rage and disappointment when she discovered his true character, and in her determination in the final act to cling to him as the wife of an humble gardener's son, acquitted herself splendidly. Mrs. Fannie Baldwin acted well the part of the haughty and vindictive mother. When Melnotte had returned as military chieftain and was happily united, the curtain fell and the audience slowly dispersed."

Our audience was select and we had many fine comments upon our work, individually. Several professionals were in the audience. It was difficult to make them believe I had never acted before, and they said I could carry that character anywhere and make a success of it. When all expenses were paid we had $80 as a nucleus towards the fire engine. The same was placed at interest, there to remain until called for by proper authority for the purpose for which it was raised. This play was given forty-three years ago. Three of the original characters, to my knowledge, are still living. The curtain of life's drama has been rung down on the other twelve. I have never inquired whether the fire engine was bought, but suppose, after all these years, that Santa Cruz must have several engines. We who live can feel we gave our talents for a good cause. It was rather a peculiar part for a minister's daughter to take, the straight-laced saints suggested, but the minister's daughter smiled, knowing she had helped in a good cause, and she still lives to tell the story of her theatrical achievement in the little town of Santa Cruz, and how the first money was obtained to get a fire engine for the town's safety.

GILROY HOT SPRINGS FLAG RAISING, JULY 18, 1872.

In various times in my life I have assisted at a flag raising. This incident occurred July 18, 1872, when I was on my yearly vacation to Gilroy Hot Springs. The genial host, George Roop, and his excellent wife, Elizabeth, were old friends of mine and they made it a point each year to have me come, generally in July, when many people gathered there. We had passed a very patriotic day on July 4 and the enthusiasm had not yet died out and the decorations were still in evidence. Our days were spent in fishing, playing croquet, in bathing and climbing the mountains. There was one high peak that no one had ever attempted and there was considerable banter between the guests and the proprietor, Roop saying that no one had scaled the peak since he had become proprietor of the springs. Among the guests were several great climbers and one evening we concluded to try, at least, and if we succeeded we were to put up the flag and sing America. It was an ideal morning and we got a good start before the sun rose. Ten of us started. We had but to follow the trail and keep going. We had a small donkey, used to the trail, and our lunch, flag, spade and hatchet and water-can were packed on his saddle, and with a hurrah and a shout we were off. Our spirits were high as we slowly began the ascent. Before we had gone a third of the way some of the party lagged behind. One by one they fell back until only five were left. After we had gone half the distance we rested for a half hour and refreshed ourselves with part of the lunch. Then we journeyed on until we reached the sheep ranch on the top of the peak, a level where you could see for miles over hill and dale. When we looked for Gilroy Springs it seemed miles away. The air was so clear our voices went out like clarion calls. After our dinner we rested while the men hunted a suitable pole. They soon found a tall sapling, chopped off the branches and pointed the butt so it could be driven into the earth, and with spades prepared a place and the tree was planted as near to the edge of the mountain as we dared to work, in a spot where we could see the springs below. About three o'clock in the afternoon the ropes were ready and the flag placed in readiness. Capt. Mehan gave the sign to Dr. Coe and shouted to let her go and in a trice the flag was flung to the breeze and as it went up we began to sing America until the echoes rang far and wide with the refrain and caught the ears of the guests below who shouted and made the welkin ring by "firing off" anvils and making signals to attract our attention. When we knew they had seen the flag and had heard us we stood around the flagstaff and sang the Star Spangled Banner. After the singing we gave three times three cheers for Old Glory and they answered below by three shots and a hurrah for the victors who had bravely put up the flag on the highest peak, 2,659 feet above the level of the sea.

Those who won the victory and helped in the flag raising were Captain Mehan, Dr. Coe, Miss Foltz, Miss Farren and Margaret R. Blake. After the cheering had subsided we prepared for the descent. Our faithful donkey brayed with delight as he trotted off down the hill with a small flag fastened to his bridle. It was almost eight o'clock when we reached the foot of the trail, tired and foot-sore, but happy. As we came in sight we found the guests had formed into a procession, and headed by an impromptu band, arranged for the occasion. From the cooks and waiters they had secured tin pans, tin horns, pot covers for cymbals and other implements for the noisy demonstration. To welcome the victors, wreaths of wild flowers and ferns were thrown over our heads and shoulders and we were placed at the head of the parade and escorted to the hotel porch, where speeches were delivered in welcome and praises for our bravery showered upon us. Afterward we were allowed to retire to the ever welcome sulphur bath, refresh ourselves and rest before dinner. It was late when the call came. On entering the dining room we found a separate table in the center of the room, decorated with flags and blossoms. To this table we were escorted by our host. We did not need the second bidding for we were a hungry five and we were ready for anything prepared for us. After spending a delightful hour partaking of the very best of everything, we adjourned to the parlors and talked over the events of the trip and enjoyed some excellent music which had been prepared for us. At 12 o'clock the gong sounded and the lights were put out. Thus ended the eventful day of our flag raising at Gilroy Hot Springs, July 18, 1872—thirty-nine years ago.

VISALIA CONCERTS.

Walter Campbell, Mr. Anderson, Sam Booth and myself were engaged as soloists for the Visalia concerts that lasted three nights, given under the auspices of the Good Templars of that city. Local talent was used for choruses. We were paid $50 each and all our expenses. When we arrived, December 3, 1878, the city was billed as for a circus. Posters were everywhere, old fashioned stages carrying passengers had posters on each side with our names printed in ten to twelve inch lettering. We were amazed at our popularity and were a jolly quartette. At the rehearsal we discovered some musical folk, capable of interpreting the old-time songs and to our great pleasure and surprise we found we had a fine support to aid us in our quaint songs which had made for us a reputation in our own city. By seven o'clock of the first night the sidewalk was crowded with eager and expectant citizens, waiting with good humor until the time for the opening. Before the concert began the house was filled to overflowing. Promptly at eight the instrumental march began. In the first number it was arranged for all the performers to be on the stage to make a picturesque showing of the costumes. It was many minutes before we were allowed to begin the programme. It was a demonstration to satisfy the ambition of any singer and spur him on to greater things. We were all in the best of voice and with the good will of the audience we carried out the programme without an error, with encores galore.

The second night was a repetition of the vast crowd of enthusiastic people. A surprise was in store for me. Rev. P.Y. Cool stepped upon the platform and informed the audience that when he was pastor of the First Methodist church in Santa Cruz in 1864 I was the solo singer in his church. He said the audience had the opportunity of hearing by far California's best and oldest singer and to his mind the best he ever heard sing sacred songs. He finished by saying that he felt it an honor to hear once more her beautiful voice. Because of the great hit we had made we were asked to give a third performance and to this we agreed. The choruses were the same for the third night as were the character duets between Walter Campbell, Sam Booth, Anderson and me, which were repeated by request. The solos were alone changed. Sarah Walker also repeated her Opinions at the Pastor's Donation Party, causing much merriment that such an old lady could still take part with the younger set, even if she was seemingly eighty years old. The programme came to an end about eleven o'clock, which closed three most successful nights both artistically as well as financially for the cause of temperance in Visalia. On our departure in the morning the committee escorted us to the train and presented us with offerings of autumn flowers and fruits as tokens of their appreciation.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ON THE ROAD WITH DICK KOHLER, MR. VIVIAN, WALTER CAMPBELL, MR. WAND AND CHARLES ATKINS

N 1876, I signed a six weeks' agreement with the Vivian Kohler Troupe to tour Oregon, Victoria and the cities on Puget Sound. We sailed from San Francisco on February 24 on the steamer City of Panama. Our party was made up of six people: Mr. Dick Kohler, the only Vivian, Walter C. Campbell, Margaret B. Alverson, Mr. Wand, pianist, Mr. Charles Atkins, advance agent. We were a goodly company indeed, all up in our parts and anticipating success in our venture. We arrived in Victoria, February 28. As we landed, rockets were sent up and cannons gave forth a deafening roar to inform the people the steamer had arrived, but it was too late for us to disembark, and reluctantly we repaired to our bunks to pass another night on board. Morning came at last and I opened my eyes upon a quiet little bay surrounded by high, rocky mountains, covered with foliage, including tall pines, and in the distance the snow-capped mountains, lighting up the background of the beautiful scene before me. By seven o'clock we were taken ashore in small skiffs to the opposite shore where we were met by our agent, Mr. Atkins, who had arranged for our conveyance to Victoria. After a smart ride of an hour we stopped at the Fayhard Hotel, too early for these slow Englishmen. After a decided rattling at a heavy dark oaken door of an ancient-looking mansion, a dull, grim old Chinese made his appearance, wondering who was disturbing his slumbers at such an early hour. The landlord, a polite little Frenchman, greeted us with many bows and much palaver and popped behind the bar, which motion was not lost on the chilled travelers who called for their favorite and drank with a satisfied smack. I felt like the dog who had gotten into bad company, the saloon being the only room with a fire. After a half hour of waiting we heard the welcome call for breakfast to which we needed no second bidding. I am a victim of sea-sickness and had eaten nothing during the entire voyage except a little gruel, and I leave you to imagine what I did to the delicious breakfast placed before me, served only as Frenchmen can serve. It consisted of fish, chops, steak, rolls, coffee, potatoes and an omelette.

After breakfast I was shown to my room where I had a good view of the town and I found we had been largely billed to appear on Thursday night. We had a day of rest before our first performance. We moved in the meantime to the Colonial Hotel or Driard House, and were shown to a comfortable room with a fireplace, quaint and small, in which a bright fire was burning. The room was cheerful and attractive with many windows. The floors were painted and covered with rugs, bright and warm, and the white French curtains hung as in the days of Napoleon. Mahogany furniture of old fashioned shape added to the strange furnishing which was very attractive, and I felt at home at once. About ten o'clock that morning, Walter Campbell came and escorted me to the cupola of the hotel where we could see the city for miles, a good-sized place, with several prominent buildings and churches and a fine sight of Mount Baker in the distance, covered with snow. After a quarter of an hour we decided to have breakfast and joined the rest of the company and a stranger who was presented to us as Commodore Maury, a pleasant and distinguished-looking man who was a welcome addition to our company and extended us many a courtesy while we were in the city. After breakfast the company separated. I retired to my room and practiced an hour before going to try the voices in the Theater Royal. While in the midst of my practice a queer accident occurred in front of the hotel. A man in a watering cart, in backing up to the sidewalk, turned too abruptly and the traces gave way, the cart turned turtle and the poor horse hung in mid-air. Relief was soon at hand, a dozen or more of the brawny Englishmen righted the position of the animal and all was over and no harm done. After a good laugh everyone went his way. At ten o'clock we strolled to the theater to look it over. The people of Victoria think it is fine. They ought to come to California and pattern after some of our playhouses. It was small, the acoustics bad and the mixtures of colors was as a crazy-quilt to me. The boxes were ludicrous in their attempt at ornamentation. The seats were long benches, upholstered with solferino-colored damask and the scenes were the merest daubs. We did not rehearse in the theater. We returned to the hotel and rehearsed in the parlors for an hour, then each one retired for the night.

At last the first night is over and we have taken the people by storm. The theater is crowded and every number is encored. We have set the town talking and I expect the theater will not hold the people for tonight. House packed. Vivian is the funniest man I ever saw or heard. I nearly choke with laughter. In singing my song in costume tonight, a very pretty and touching incident occurred. Lord Mayor Drummond and family occupied one of the boxes. With them was their grandchild, about three or four years old. When I came out dressed as an old Scotch woman and leading Mr. Kohler, who represented John Anderson my Joe, her clear voice rang out, "Oh, grandpa, can I give my posie to the dear old lady?" By the time I had placed John in the large arm chair they had quieted her and the song proceeded. When the song was finished a silence of death was the only evidence we received, until we were nearly off the stage and the people awoke to the realization that the song was done and the singers gone. Then applause broke like a whirlwind and we were obliged to return three or four times to acknowledge our appreciation. At the close of the performance the Lord Mayor came with his family on the stage with his grandchild to see the dear old lady. I had retired to the dressing room and removed my costume and was ready to go to the hotel. When I came back Mr. Kohler introduced me and pointed me out to the child. She drew back with her posies and said, "Not this lady, the old lady." No persuasion could induce her to give me the bouquet. At last I told her to come with me and I'd show her the old lady. I returned to the dressing room and showed her the cap and other articles of the costume and told her I wore them and I was only playing I was old. She looked at me and drew a long breath, smiled and handed me the posies. I took the flowers from the child and we joined the party who were watching our performance with much pleasure. They asked her if she found the old lady and she replied, "Yes, she only played she was old like grandma." Mayor Drummond complimented me on my song and reminded me that it was his favorite Scotch song. Our first night won for us great recognition. About two o'clock we were serenaded at the hotel by the Victoria band. The company acknowledged the compliment but I remained in my room.

The next day we were taken all over the city and shown the principal features by the Lord Mayor and his family. At two o'clock we returned to his mansion where we had luncheon. After passing several hours pleasantly with his lordship we were brought home in time to rest for the second night's performance, Friday. The house was again packed, enthusiasm ran high and everything on the program was encored. The boxes were filled with beautiful women and their escorts. The morning papers were loud with praises of our selections and how they had been rendered.

The wind and rain had turned into a heavy snow fall. We were due at Nanaimo for the next concert and despite the storm we started and arrived safely Wednesday morning, March 8. We sang in Institute hall and a fine place for sound it was. We had a crowded house and were well received. We were to return to Victoria the following day. The snow was deep and it was cold and blowing hard. Unable to secure an express wagon, we improvised a sleigh and the boys put our things into it and dragged the sleigh to the depot. We boarded the Northern Pacific and started up the Sound. Snow everywhere. The scenery was beautiful. Mount Baker was a lovely sight, just like one solid piece of ice. We arrived in Seattle at one o'clock in the afternoon and went directly to the Cosmopolitan.

Let me quote from my diary. Saturday, March 11th: "Our entertainment last night was given in the cabin of a steamer which had been fashioned into a music hall and it proved a fine place to sing in and we had a packed house in spite of snow and rain. We met with a great reception and one encore after another had to be given. Sunday, 12th. We started for Steillacoom on the steamer Alida and arrived early and were taken to the Harmon House. In the absence of a hall to sing in we gave our concert in the hotel dining-room with a melodeon for our only instrument. We made the best of the situation. All were in good humor and our auditors enjoyed the programme very much. The next morning we left for Olympia. At one o'clock we arrived in Olympia, the capital of Washington Territory, and were taken to the Carlton House. Concert tonight and off for Tacoma tomorrow at eight o'clock."

After the concert was over at Olympia I was surprised to be called back to the auditorium by Mr. Kohler who informed me that some friends wished to speak to me. To my surprise twenty-five persons greeted me and made me welcome. I never knew one of them before, but each one had heard me sing in San Francisco years gone by and was as glad to hear me sing as if we had been old friends. My singing had impressed them so that they desired to know me personally upon hearing me again. Several of them even told me the songs I sang and others the different places and particular concerts where I sang. At this point I wish to say that to me this means the true singer. If the interpretation of the song and the singer leave a memory of pleasant remembrance, then the singer has found the secret of success and earns the reputation that no one can deny or take away from him or her. Riches, influence, envy, jealousy can never buy that which the singer has not. It must rest with the individuality and musical temperament of the artist and the art of giving to the hearer what the writer intended he should give.

At Tacoma we had very comfortable quarters at the Carlton House. As we were coming up the Sound in the steamer Zephyr I was in the cabin asleep. The Sound was rough, I am not a good sailor, and how long I slept I know not, but I awoke with a start and a loud report greeted my ears. As I opened my eyes I saw the white faces of women and children and steam filling the cabin. In my bewilderment I was really frightened. All this must have taken place in a moment, for I had not time to fully awaken when the members of our troupe hastily entered enquiring for Mrs. Blake, is she hurt, etc. Well the Tacoma concert is also a thing of the past and we left many friends in consequence of our good work. Now we are off for Portland, Oregon. March 17th, St. Patrick's Day. Our concert last night was a bouncing one. The beautiful theater was packed and we were received royally and the morning papers were loud in our praise. We are having rain this morning. Being St. Patrick's day our house was not packed, but comfortably filled. Of course we had an Irish programme which was just the right key note and the people gave us a hearty reception and many recalls. After the concert, friends came in carriages and took us to the St. Patrick's ball given by the upper class of Irish citizens. It was my first experience at an Irish ball. I did not retire until two o'clock in the morning, pretty well convinced that the Gaelic dancers are people to enjoy their fun to the utmost. March 18th. At the matinee this afternoon a very laughable episode occurred. After singing the second encore there was a fine bouquet thrown on the stage for me. It failed to reach but fell in the orchestra. A nice looking and well groomed gentleman quickly jumped over and caught the bouquet and sent it upon the stage with a bow and a smile. As he attempted to return he fell headlong. Such a laugh went up! It was funny to see him sprawling on the floor in full dress. The cheers and laughter were so uproarious I was obliged to stop until they had subsided. He turned to the audience and made a profound bow, then we proceeded with the programme. This evening's concert was a success from start to finish.

Sunday, March 9th. Having met some pleasant people in our travels, Mrs. Baxter of Tacoma, Mrs. Gaten of Portland, and a friend of mine, Mrs. Kilbourn, we were enabled to see more of the places of interest during our stay in Portland. At ten o'clock our friends arrived at the hotel and in a smart conveyance we were soon enjoying the brisk morning air. Our destination was a Sisters' Hospital. After an hour's ride we alighted in front of this spacious, comfortable-looking building which proved to be St. Joseph's Hospital. We were welcomed by Sister Josephine who guided us all over the place, the dormitories, dining room, halls and corridors. Everything was kept in the neatest order. At last we stopped in front of the chapel. The place was partially lighted, showing the altar of white and gold, the brass candlesticks and vases of marble filled with roses. The altar was draped with white linen and pink silk linings and lace frills. A soft pink light pervaded the place, which gave it an ethereal appearance and filled me with solemn awe as I turned away. The day had begun very fair but when we returned to the hotel the rain was in full force. After dinner our friends called again and we were taken to their beautiful mansion where we met a company of eight very interesting persons, and with pleasant repartee and some good music we enjoyed the hours until ten o'clock when we were once more returned to the hotel and, tired out from our day's adventures, sleep soon claimed us. Monday, the 20th, we gave our last concert and we had a most magnificent reception and a crowded and enthusiastic house. Vivian was in great form and his "Ten Thousand Miles Away" and "Where's Rosanna Gone" took the house by storm. Walter and I received our share of glory as did Mr. Wand and Mr. Kohler. Thus ended our three nights and one matinee in Portland, Oregon. Left Portland for Oregon City and arrived about six o'clock in the evening. The scenery here is magnificent. The city is one long street, the valley is not wider than to allow one street and two rows of railroad tracks, then comes the Willamette river and across that the canal and the high mountains again. Above the Imperial Mills are the Willamette Falls. As I stood within several feet of the falls I looked on the scene below the large mills, the canal, mountains, the small quaint town. We could see the boats in the canal unloading their freight. The Cliff House was the only hotel; not attractive but well kept. Our house was not well filled; the mill men were angry at a dollar admission so remained away and missed the fun for their pains.

Next morning we left for Salem. The trip was beautiful in the extreme. The scenery was wonderful, rocks covered with moss of every shade made a picture gorgeous to behold. Arrived in Salem at eleven o'clock in the morning and drove to the Chemeketa Hotel, the largest one in Oregon. We are billed for two nights, then we separate and start for home. The concerts were well patronized and by the best people. Those who generally go wanted circus pieces, therefore the grouch and thin houses. Any one who knew Dick Kohler soon found out that nothing of the cheap sort goes where he is the leader. We started out on a venture on the 24th of February and separated on the 24th of March. I was the only woman in the company and a queen could not have received better attention than I from each member of the troupe. Wherever we remained Mr. Kohler reminded the people I should have the best. Sometimes we fared badly along the Sound and at the coaling camps the fare was rough and the accommodations uncomfortable. Such occurrences come to all who travel and we were the best natured company, ready for good, bad or otherwise. We were four nights in Victoria, B.C., two nights in Nanaimo, one night in Victoria on our return, two nights in Seattle, one night in Steillacoom, one in Olympia, one in Tacoma, Portland three nights and matinee, Oregon City one night, Salem two nights—nineteen performances.

After all expenses and salaries, Mr. Kohler returned to San Francisco with fifteen hundred dollars clear gain in four weeks. We left Portland for home on the steamer Ajax. But friends in Portland entertained us the last day and in parting came to the steamer and brought papers and magazines to read during the voyage. But as for me, I had no use for anything but the bed. I am not a good sailor. The 26th the snow came down so fast the pilot could not see to take us out. After several hours there was a lull long enough for us to reach the steamer. It was rough crossing the mouth of the Columbia river, the rain and hail followed us for two days out. At last we came in sight of the Golden Gate, and we were home once more. After a pleasant trip, a welcome reception in every city and town in which we sang, our salaries in our pockets and wiser for our experience as entertainers, we were ready to take up the usual routine of our lives and continue to the successful end when traveling days are done for us all. If we had a regret it was at the hour of parting of our goodly company. The good-byes were said on the 24th of March, 1876, and three of the company never met again. To my knowledge all have passed away but Walter C. Campbell and the writer, Margaret Blake-Alverson.

CHAPTER NINE

EARLY MUSIC AND MUSIC HOUSES. MUSICAL INSTRUMENT MAKERS. OLD-TIME SINGERS

EFORE our time the beginnings of music were comparatively insignificant. These we can divide into four heads, as follows:

1. The music of the Indians.
2. The Mission music of the padres.
3. The Spanish and Mexican music.
4. The music of the miners.

These epochs have no bearing upon the music of today. Even the beginnings in 1850 and 1851 were of the most primitive sort. As early as 1849 in the then village of San Francisco, music was given by traveling companies from all parts of the globe, lured here by the song of gold. As the priests built the missions and gathered the people into the churches, they sang the songs of the Church, such as the Gregorian chants. Their scores were written on sheets of parchment, some of them exist today and can be seen in the Bancroft collection of California music.

Most of the miners were men who sang songs which were not of the highest order, and they showed no great proficiency as singers, but if they were not singers they were good listeners, and occasionally a strolling violin player would arrive in the camp and he was given the closest attention and rewarded always with an ounce of gold, which had the value of $16. He was extended full hospitality and shared their grub (as the miners called their food in the camp in early days.)

Many of these quaint songs were composed by the miners in their camps, and later we had men like the well known singer, Sam Booth. The titles were unique as well as the sentiment, and fitted the time and place in the early years. With the advent of women the guitars and banjos were employed in the dance halls and fandangoes of the Mexican men and women, who were the only women in the state when we arrived. There is much romance coupled with as much stern reality in building up the music of our state. The golden city was little better than trails over the wind-swept sand hills, our beautiful bay was covered with craft of all nations, lured here by the story of gold and deserted by crews who joined the masses of humanity of all nations and creeds ashore, infected with the delirium of the gold fever. They thought little of music that was stable. There were a few practical business men among them who looked farther than the mere hunting of gold.

Having been so closely identified with the earliest music and musicians I have undertaken to give you an exact recital of facts in my long association and in the performance of this pleasant art, which is a beautiful memory in my long years of experience. In this work I have been assisted by diaries, programmes and notes from the musicians of my time. It will give me gratification and reward for my work if I can present an historical account from the small beginnings of 1851 to the colossal and substantial basis upon which the music houses stand today. The pioneer men in the business had many struggles and obstacles to overcome. The early fires swept away the beginnings several times, but like the fabled Phoenix they steadily arose from the ashes of their disappointments to begin again with renewed energy and strength of purpose.

I think I can safely say that the music house of Joseph Atwill & Company on Washington street was the first which dealt exclusively in musical instruments. Atwill did not import largely but bought of Mr. A. Kohler who dealt in musical instruments, notions, fancy goods and toys. Mr. Atwill in 1860 sold out to Matthias Gray, a former clerk of his, and he and William Herwig in 1862 opened at 613 Clay street. After a short time Mr. Herwig, who was a clarionet player, dropped out. Gray's business prospered rapidly, being aided by the acquisition of the Steinway piano agency. Gray's music store was the headquarters for many years of all visiting artists and it may be claimed that it was the first devoted entirely to the music art. Later two of Gray's clerks, Charles McCurrie and Julius Weber, established a favorite home for the music business and during some years were on Post street near Kearny street and later on Kearny street between Sutter and Bush streets. In the meantime Gray removed to Kearny street next to the White House. At this location McCurrie and Weber rejoined Gray and the business was again moved to larger quarters on Post street and included under its roof a large second story salesroom, that was easily converted into a recital room and was designated Steinway Hall. A very tempting offer from the then young dry goods firm of O'Connor, Moffatt & Co. induced Gray to give up his lease and move a block further out Post street. Just prior to this the business was incorporated and known as the "Matthias Gray Co." Later Mr. Gray passed away, and still later the business was terminated. The immense stock of music was purchased "for a song" by Oliver Ditson Co. During its existence Gray did an extensive publishing business and became a member of the Music Board of Trade, which then controlled prices, etc.

Charles H. McCurrie and Julius Weber were so thoroughly identified with music as an art for many years that a word about their present activities may be of interest. Mr. McCurrie went into Eastern piano factories and interested himself in the technical makeup of pianos and the art of tuning and returning settled and still lives in Alameda, Calif., where he has written several successful operettas and collections of songs for children. Selections from the latter are in daily use in the public schools, although not written for that purpose. The Rival Queens and The Marsh King are also two successful cantatas, the Quest of Truth being his latest work of that nature. Mr. Julius Weber joined the faculty of piano teachers at Mills College and remained there until recently, the demands upon his time by pupils at his residence in Berkeley having compelled him reluctantly to resign. He is still successfully teaching and is identified with the best musical advancement in our college city.

Kohler and Chase were established in 1850, starting as a toy and notion shop and selling musical instruments. They were not wholly in the music business until about 1853 or 54. Mr. Kohler imported nothing but French and German upright pianos at that time. In 1860 they were fully established as a regular music house, on Clay street and afterwards moved to Post street. The same year A. Kohler opened a large wholesale house on Sansome street. The first grand pianos were imported by them about 1859. They came from Europe and arrived on board ship just in time to be exhibited at the first Mechanic's Fair, held in a building put up for that purpose on Montgomery street. At that time Montgomery street toward Market street consisted mostly of vacant lots. Kohler & Chase's music house has been one of the most successful during all these years of changes which have come during all these years. They had nothing but successful advancement until our great earthquake demolished the entire city and they suffered as did other music houses, but at the present time of writing they are housed in a most magnificent building of their own on O'Farrell street and Bagley place, built especially for them, and ten stories in height. They occupy the entire building. It is the largest and most complete music house in the West and an acknowledged musical center.

When the Matthias Gray Company went out of business Mr. McCurrie selected from the shelves the music and books for the store of Wm. B. Frisbee & Company, opened in the old Masonic Temple, Montgomery street near Market. With Mr. Frisbee was the late H.M. Bosworth, a leading organist and critic, Bohemian, etc. Later the firm became Frisbee & Scott. Gustave A. Scott, now dead, was a well known and successful music teacher and for many years organist of Calvary Church on Bush street, and later at the corner of Geary and Powell streets. He was also organist for the synagogue on Mason and Geary, Rabbi Bettelheim, pastor, and accompanist for the early Handel & Haydn Society on California and Dupont streets, where we occupied Dr. Lacey's church with Mr. Oliver as business director and a brother of Judge Shafter as one of the musical committee of the society which numbered 500 fine singers. Later the business of Frisbee & Scott was transferred to the southwest corner of Kearny and Sutter streets. Changing hands again the business was taken over by A.A. Rosenberg, another music teacher, and finally became known as the firm of Sherman & Hyde, Mr. Sherman having been in the employ of A.A. Rosenberg. After several years, Sherman & Hyde became known as Sherman, Clay & Company, who have been doing a successful business, occupying at the present time a fine building which has been erected since the earthquake. They are one of the leading music houses. Since the earthquake the senior member, Major C.C. Clay, has passed away. The business is now incorporated and among the officials are Mr. Fred Sherman, son of L.S. Sherman, and Mr. Phillip Clay, son of the late Major Clay. Mr. Leander Sherman, one of the founders of the firm, is still living and continues in the business as in former years. The firm also owns its own building in Oakland at the corner of Fourteenth and Clay streets, built since the earthquake, one of the finest structures in the business center of Oakland.

Since music was so much a part of the life of the earlier days it may not be amiss to mention the names of a few great specialists of that time. There were the Zechs, Jacob and Fred, manufacturers and repairers. Many examples of the former's work still exist. Jacob was encouraged by the late Wm. C. Ralston and built many grand pianos for the old Palace Hotel and other places. Both the Zechs have passed away but their descendants are in the front rank as musical artists, teachers and composers. A celebrated artist in his line was Urban, the violin repairer. Phaff, the flute and clarinet man was another. Others were Senor Nojica, maker of guitars, harps in the Italian quarter of Kearny street, Charles Morrill, of banjos, Tall Dan Delaney, drummer at Maguire's Theater (who wouldn't learn a note of music and played as he pleased) who repaired drums, and C.C. Keene, maker of accordeons, in former days much played, Professor Wm. T. Ferrer, the guitarist, lately deceased, came here in early days from Mexico with his family and made a place for himself as a guitar and mandolin teacher. His family were all talented, Annita Ferrer was a beautiful soprano singer and sang in concert and church. She occupied the place as soloist in Calvary Church for a while when the choir was composed of Harry Gates, tenor, Fred Borneman, bass, M.R. Blake, contralto, G.A. Scott, organist. Prof. Ferrer was not a commonplace performer, but played operatic selections of his own arrangement for the guitar that no one else attempted as far as I can recollect. He had a severe time in the beginning as prices for lessons were so low, and he had all he could do to keep the wolf from the door. We gave him several benefits which were greatly appreciated. One night we crowded the old Mercantile Hall with his admirers. The singers and players were Mrs. Hall McAllister, Mrs. Marriner-Campbell, Clara Tippits, Amphion Quartette, Mrs. M.R. Blake, Sig. Mancusie, Wunderlich, J. Stadfeldt, Harry Hunt, accompanist. I shall always remember that night. The dear professor thanked us with broken speech, tears filling his eyes. He said the excellent program was a surprise and one of the greatest pleasures he had in California. He was made doubly glad by a well-filled purse of a thousand dollars, the receipts of the concert. This act on our part made him our perpetual friend until he died. He lived long enough to see his prices increased fourfold, which enabled him in his later years to live in apparent comfort. We were glad of it for everybody liked Prof. M.W. Ferrer. He passed to his rest several years ago.

Among the earlier piano dealers were Badger & Lindenberger, who handled the Chickering pianos and also did a wholesale clothing business (a strange combination) at Battery and Merchant streets. After several years they were succeeded by the surviving partner, Wm. G. Badger, who continued the business until his death, after which it was disposed of by his heirs. Mr. Badger was a faithful worker in the Sabbath schools and took a deep interest to promote good music among the young. Some time in 1874 he produced the cantata of Esther, with Madam Anna Bishop, queen, W.C. Campbell, king, Vernon Lincoln, Hamen, Mrs. M.R. Blake, Hamen's wife. The old Platt's hall was packed to its fullest capacity. The cantata was given to the unbounded delight of Mr. Badger, and the audience cheered us all to the utmost. Enthusiasm was at the highest pitch and encomiums of praise were showered upon us. Those were halcyon days for fine singers. We had no lack of voices to call upon at all times.

Among the earliest music stores was that of an aged Italian named Salvator Rosa. He occupied half of a store on Montgomery street, near Market, and was a genial, quiet old gentleman, who spoke very little English. His stock was principally selections from Italian operas, of which he knew every note. Both American and Italian artists loved to visit the old fellow and sun themselves in his doorway. Rosa moved later to Sacramento street and continued in the field and was followed by Rasche Bros., in turn by J.T. Bowers, a brother-in-law of the Rasche brothers. After Bowers, the business was conducted by Chas. S. Eaton, and then after some years faded from sight. Also established in the music literature business at one time in Clay street, was Schubert & Co.'s branch New York house, succeeded by the Ruppell Bros., their managers, who later gave up the business. Blackman & Davis, Southerners, tried the business for a while, being among the first to occupy a store in the original Phelan Building. Another off-shoot of Gray's was John Broder, who commenced work as a little boy. He is now in ripe manhood conducting a similar business in the Byron Mauzy building on Post street where he is still successfully conducting the work he chose when a boy.

Engaged in the earlier years of the music business was Woodworth, Allover & Co. Here the founder of the present firm of Benj. Curtaz & Son was employed. Woodworth, Allover & Co. dealt mostly in imported French pianos and harmoniums. They were succeeded by Woodworth, Schell & Co. and with them was connected Mr. Curtaz, who later was in the firm of Hemme & Long. Woodworth, Schell & Co. after several years discontinued. A.L. Bancroft & Co. for a few years also engaged in the music business on Market street but later retired. A. Waldteufel was a late comer from San Jose and sold Blethner pianos. His chief clerk was the late well known Julius Oettl, a fine teacher of the piano and an encyclopedia of musical knowledge. Later he was in the music department of the branch house in Oakland of Kohler, Chase & Co. with whom he was connected until sickness prevented his continuing in the business any longer. He died several years ago, mourned by many friends he had made in his long career of music in the state. S.H. Long, a music teacher from Marysville, after handling the Chickering piano for a while at the corner of Montgomery and Post streets was joined by August Hemme and for several years they manufactured the Hemme & Long pianos. They are both deceased and the business was continued for a while by Mr. E. Caswell and Mr. Curtaz but finally was wound up.

The well known firm of the Zeno Mauvais Music Co. was established in 1877 at 420 Twelfth street, Oakland, under the name of its founder, Zeno Mauvais. In 1882 it was deemed best to locate in San Francisco and at 749 Market street the stock and sign was first shown to the people on that side of the bay. Two years later the business had so increased as to make a removal to more commodious quarters an absolute necessity. 769 Market street was secured and with the increased facilities for carrying stock and attending to the wants of patrons the business was soon in a fair way to eclipse in volume its oldest competitors. Mr. Mauvais saw early in his musical career that the public demanded more "up-to-date methods" in the way of "bargains" "right prices" and "square dealing" than had been offered before, and he began to put into operation the policy of "quick sales and small profits" which was characteristic of the house during its entire existence and brought to it an ever increasing trade. One of the special features was the handling of enormous quantities of the 50-cent folios and the 10-cent editions of popular issues. These were bought in carload lots and sent out to nearly every quarter of the globe. Pianos and musical goods of all descriptions were included in the lines carried by the firm, whose well known policy of discounting its bills enabled it to secure very desirable agencies and lowest prices on all purchases. In June, 1890, the house sustained an irreparable loss by the death of its founder, Zeno Mauvais, who passed away after a very brief illness. Devotion to business and a never ceasing expenditure of energy and vital force was the cause of this man's withdrawal from the activity of an hitherto busy life, during which he made and kept many friends. The incorporation of the firm under the name of the Zeno Mauvais Co. was the next change made in the affairs of this house. Mrs. Mae Mauvais was elected president and during the next five years her brother, R.L. Eames, occupied the position of manager. At this time a change being deemed expedient, Mr. H.S. Stedman, who had been connected with the house since 1883, was elected as manager and secretary, continuing as such until the conflagration of 1906 destroyed the entire stock together with all the books of the concern.

Under the new management the firm renewed its effort to expand and took the two upper floors of the building in addition to the one previously occupied. A very successful feature was the division of the lower floor into rooms for the display and sale of different kinds of small goods, each having a room of its own. This was a new thing on the coast and was fully appreciated by the large number of patrons who took advantage of the opportunity to try instruments in comparative seclusion. In 1904 the largest holder of stock, Mr. Roy Mauvais, who was actively engaged in looking after the interests of the firm desired to concentrate his energies in furthering other lines of business in which he had engaged, and found more congenial. At this time an offer from the Wiley B. Allen Co. to purchase the entire stock of pianos, organs and piano players was accepted, and in accordance with the conditions of the sale the stock of small goods, sheet music and books was moved to 933 Market street, in the room adjoining the piano warerooms of the Allen Company and there handled under the name of the Zeno Mauvais Music Co. until the fire of April, 1906, obliterated all traces of it. It was not considered advisable by the stockholders to re-establish the business after this unfortunate occurrence and so one of the best and most favorably known music houses of the Pacific Coast ceased to exist.

I will close my chapter with the story of the Zeno Mauvais Company. My story deals only with early history, for it would not be possible for me to give any accurate account of the business except from 1851 to 1877. I moved away from San Francisco twice and as my work was upon different lines, I got out of touch. My music was confined to the churches and concert halls and teaching in music and art and other branches of industrial development for the young of our growing city. I am indebted to my good musical friends of earlier days for much of this knowledge.

When my earlier co-workers in music heard that I was to write about our early days they were all interested and entered into the proposition with unabated enthusiasm and not one has refused to give me information to make this volume a souvenir of the days when we began as factors in the development of music from the small beginnings of 1850 to the solid foundations of today.

CHAPTER TEN

AS A CHURCH CHOIR SINGER. BARNABEE, ZERRAHN, PATTI, JENNY LIND, JOE MAGUIRE, SAM MAYER, HARRY GATES

Y career as a church singer dates as far back as my childhood. As children our father pressed us into the service of the Sabbath school and church services. There were seven girls and three boys. As soon as we were old enough to do the work, our parts were assigned to us, consequently singing the church service was part of my young life. Before I could read the notes I was able to make an alto part to almost any hymn. That is one reason why I do not read notes as readily as others, for it was easier for me to make my own part than take the trouble to read the music. But later on I was obliged to read my part, if I sang in concert with others.

We moved from Illinois and settled in Cincinnati in 1845. My father was the founder of the Betts Street First German Reformed Church and was its pastor for seven years. During that time I sang each Sabbath. When father came to California and another pastor occupied the pulpit, we were obliged to give up the parsonage. Other arrangements were made for the music and my sister Mary became the organist of the old Sixth Street Presbyterian Church and Mr. Charles Aiken, director of the music. By accident I went with my sister Mary and sat in the choir loft. Mr. Aiken noticed my presence and recognized me as one of his pupils in the public school where he taught the singing during the week. Surprised at seeing me he asked how I happened to come into the choir. I told him I was with my sister, Miss Kroh, "Ah," he replied, and smiled and left me. I saw him in conversation after she had finished her voluntary. When she was seated beside me she said, "Maggie, when the choir arises to sing go over and stand with the altos and sing with them." When the time came she gave me the music and I sang my first service when I was ten years old, in a double quartette and in that capacity I sang for five years, each service, until 1850, the latter part of the year, when father had arrived in California and sent the gold for us to follow him to the golden land, as he called it.

At the time of our arrival in California there were no choirs or singers in San Joaquin county. There was one Catholic church in Stockton but it was only a mission and the worshippers were Spanish and Mexicans, priest, Father Mauritz. Our family was the first white family in the city of Stockton, there being only one white woman in the place and she was the wife of Rev. James Woods. Gladly she received us and we were made welcome at her home for two weeks before we were able to see father, who had been sick in Scorpion Gulch for some time and we were obliged to await his coming. After the arrival of our father it was planned that a choir should be established in the First Presbyterian Church of which Rev. Mr. Woods was pastor. We had all the female voices needed. We had made the acquaintance of several of the prominent men in Stockton who were fortunately also singers, and they readily consented to sing as members of the choir. What was to be done for music? There was nothing to be had in Stockton. There were two music stores in San Francisco and the first task was to supply an instrument, if possible. Fortune favored us and between the joint efforts of these musical people we obtained a good sized Mason and Hamlin melodeon, which was duly installed into the choir of the church. The choir members were as follows: Sopranos: Miss Emma Jane Kroh, Miss Sarah Rebecca Kroh; Altos: Miss Mary M. Kroh, Miss Margaret R. Kroh; Tenors: Wm. W. Trembly, Henry Noel, George H. Blake; Bass: Wm. H. Knight, James Holmes, Wm. Belding; Organist, Miss Mary M. Kroh.

These men and women were the original members of the first choir that had its beginning in Stockton, in 1851. During the years of 1853 and later, the men who had families in the Eastern cities arranged for their coming and not many months elapsed before we had a goodly number of splendid ladies, the wives of these men, and some children and young maidens. Quite a colony of musical folks sprang up. They took an interest in the different choirs that had been formed. There were the Episcopal, Methodist and Baptist missions, begun during this time, and they had their followers and formed their musical services as soon as they were able to procure singers. During this time there came to Stockton from New York, Mr. Henry B. Underhill. He was not only a fine organist but an organ builder. He at once joined our colony of musicians and we rejoiced in the addition of a second organist to rely upon. Up to this time my sister was the only available musician that could be called upon to play on all occasions where music was needed. The Episcopal mission of which Rev. E.W. Hager was rector, desired my sister as organist for his service which was held in one of the large rooms of the city hall. As Mr. Underhill was a member of the Presbyterian faith and desired to help the church they exchanged places. The choir had grown rapidly, some of the singers were Episcopalians who preferred their own service and all was amicably settled with the result that Stockton could boast of two choirs and two organs, or melodeons.

It was not many years before each mission had built a church of its own with separate organs and choirs. During these years I was sent to the Benicia Seminary, the only available school in the state, to finish my education which had been interrupted when I left Cincinnati to come west. Miss Atkins worshiped in the Presbyterian church, Rev. Sylvester Woodbridge, pastor, and his daughter, Miss Mary Emma Woodbridge, organist. She also attended the seminary and those of the pupils who could sing were invited into the choir. I was one that was chosen on the alto side to help in the worship. After singing here for a year, Miss Atkins joined the Episcopal church and was confirmed and baptised in that faith by Bishop Wm. Ingraham Kip, D.D. I sang a special song at that time. I was now eighteen years old and was in the last year of my school days. After leaving school I returned to Stockton where I again joined the Episcopal choir—St. John's—and sang until I was married, September 17, 1857, to George H. Blake, Rev. E.W. Hager, rector, reading the service.

When my oldest son was seven months old we went to Boston, Mass., and later to Dedham, a suburban town out of Boston, when my husband was appointed manager of a department store by the firm of Parker, Barnes and Merriam. I heard my first concert, where I listened to some of the great singers of the day in Boston Music Hall, January 28th, 1859. The oratorio, "The Messiah," was given by the Handel & Haydn society, with 300 or more in the choir. Among the soloists were Clara Louisa Kellogg, Isabelle Hinkley, Adelaide Phillips, Signor Stigelli, Mons. Guilmetti. On April 3rd, 1859, I heard Neukomm's grand oratorio of David with grand opera principles. Among the singers were Mrs. J.H. Long, Louisa Adams, C.R. Adams, P.H. Powers, J.P. Draper, Edward Hamilton, George Wright Jr., Carl Zerrahn, conductor, J.C.D. Parker, organist. After these two grand performances I heard many oratorios Sunday evenings at the Boston Music Hall, where each Sabbath a sacred concert was held instead of evening services in the churches. These opportunities helped to lay the foundation for my musical training. The oratorios were interpreted by the best singers. I never dreamed of such an opportunity when my husband told me I should hear the best and Boston was the place.

It was not many months before my opportunity came to be admitted into the Oratorio Society. It came about like this. My husband's people were Unitarians and attended the First Church, of which Starr King, then a young man, was pastor. There was no choir singing, but congregational song with a precentor who stood in the middle aisle and led the people, with the large organ at one side of the church, J.C.D. Parker, organist. As the service began my husband said, "Maggie, when the hymn is given out you can sing, since the entire congregation sings here." He had an excellent tenor voice, and we both sang, unconscious that we were attracting any attention. Between the hymns Mr. Barnes (the precentor) stood three pews behind us. After the service was ended he came to our pew and introduced himself, telling us that when he heard my contralto he thought the church had a visitor, Miss Adelaide Phillips, of the opera company, and Boston's foremost contralto. He was surprised to find my name was Blake instead. I did not know until I heard this wonderfully beautiful singer in opera oratorio how highly I had been complimented. Then I realized the comparison and did my best to merit the praise which had been bestowed upon me in my twentieth year. When we parted Mr. Barnes invited us to meet some friends at his home on Monday evening, when we met the principal members and officers of the Handel and Haydn Society, and after a pleasant evening of part song, solos and duets, I was asked to sing for the company. I was reluctant to comply, as I was not considered a solo singer, my place was always in quartette work and duets. Contraltos were not so popular in those days as the soprano and tenor and not considered solo voices where I ever sang before. It was only now I realized I was to have a place also. As I sang many beautiful duets with my husband, we favored them with a number. It was still insisted I must sing a song. My husband, accustomed to accompany me, arose and led me to the piano and I sang the old song, When the Swallows Homeward Fly, in the German language, as all German songs should be sung to bring out their full feeling and significance. That song was the climax and I was lionized for the rest of the evening. There were also German professors present and their compliments would have turned any one's head were it not poised on good common sense shoulders. My success began on that night.

There were three factions or grades of society in Boston, the literary, wealthy and musical. The position of my husband's family enabled us to enter all three. Consequently the sails of my ship, success, were flung to the breeze and for four years I had fair winds and bright skies in the realm of song. Is it to be wondered at that memory comes floating up before me like a panorama of beautiful pictures and remembrances of happiness—times enjoyed with souls filled with the love of song, good comradeship and lifelong friendship which can never be erased? It is here where I sang for the first time with the renowned singer and actor, Henry Clay Barnabee, a young man then, just three years my senior, over fifty years ago. There are still five of us left to tell the stories of the singing days, when the city of Boston held scores of the finest male and female singers that ever pleased an exacting public.

On April 3, 1859, began the forty-third season of oratorio with such singers as Mrs. J.H. Long and Miss Louisa Adams, sopranos; Adelaide Phillips, contralto; C.R. Adams, P.H. Powers and J.P. Draper, tenors; Edward Hamilton, George Wright Jr. and Carl Formes, bass; Carl Zerrahn, conductor; J.C.D. Parker, organist, and full orchestra. Among the productions rendered were: Magic Flute, David, Creation, Messiah, Moses in Egypt, Samson, Elijah, etc., with Clara Louisa Kellogg, soprano; Isabella Hinkley, soprano; Adelaide Phillips, contralto; Signor Stigelli, tenor; Signor Guilmetti, bass.

Grand opera began the season of 1861 and I had my first opportunity to hear an opera given by such a galaxy of fine artists, being a member of the Handel and Haydn Society, and assisting in the chorus and also a member of the celebrated choir in Dedham, Mass., I was enabled to have especial advantages to hear this grand music. "La Juive" was the first with Mme Colson, Hinkley, Signor Stigelli and Susini as Cardinal; Sig. Hartman, Mancini, Barilli, Sig. Sheele. Martha with Colson, Phillips, Brignoli, Susini, Arili, Mancini; Il Giuramento with Colson, Phillips, Brignoli, Farri; Lucia di Lammermoor with Isabel Hinkley, Sig. Ferri, Sig. Lotti, Stigelli and N. Birelli.

At the close of the season, January 28, Sig. Stigelli was prevailed upon to give a farewell concert in Boston Music Hall, assisted by the Oratorio Society and Orpheus Musical Society. Soloists for the occasion were Mlle. Carlotta Patti, who sang the aria from the Magic Flute, Carl Formes, basso profundi, Signor Stigelli, tenor. It was a gala night and every seat was filled at the exact hour to hear for the last time the famous tenor who had sung himself into the hearts of the people by his beautiful voice and exquisite singing of the different arias of the opera in which he excelled. The hall was crowded to overflowing. Never had I beheld such beautifully gowned women and brilliant lights; the tremendous chorus and the full orchestra left a lasting impression upon me which cannot be erased by time. It is over fifty years since I saw such gorgeous splendor and heard the marvelous singing of these birds of song. The singing of Mlle. Carlotta Patti was a revelation almost beyond my conception. I heard her in 1861 and heard Adelina in 1886, twenty-five years afterwards, and of the two sisters I'd give Carlotta the preference. Her trills were like warblings of the birds and filled the auditorium and floated to the high arched ceiling of the cupola in the center of the hall and sounded like a chorus of birds rejoicing over the advent of their nestlings. Words are not adequate to explain the beautiful work of this petite singer and the reception she received on this occasion. This concert was my first opportunity to hear such artists. They were singers and players of the highest art.

It was to me not real. The music that I had heard and sung before was sacred, on the Sabbath, and in songs familiar at that time, Home, Sweet Home, Swanee River, Mary of Argyle, etc., and songs moderately difficult, anthems and Te Deums and German leider were all we aspired to. Others than these were not to be thought of. Nothing worldly was tolerated. The minister's daughters must always be proper in all walks of life. In 1846 when Jenny Lind made her tour of the world my sister Mary was the fortunate one to be able to hear her. All of her beautiful songs were in vogue and I was familiar with them, as my sister was a fine singer. She obtained these songs and although it is over sixty-six years ago I still have a great number of them, yellow with age, published by Pond and Company, and Oliver Ditson Company. These publishing houses were founded during my early life, Ditson and Company began in 1834 and I was born in 1836. When I was ten years old I was sent to these places to purchase the music sister required in her teaching, church and home songs. For sixty-seven years I have patronized the house of Ditson and Company. The original men have passed out and the sons are now the members of the firm. Only this year I received a cheery holiday greeting from the firm. I have digressed somewhat and gone back to my girlhood days in Cincinnati.

Let us return again to Boston fifty years ago and listen to this fine concert given in Boston Music Hall. It is almost impossible for me to describe the grandeur of this magnificent chorus and the orchestra and grand organ with Carl Zerrahn directing this multitude of singers and players and Howard Dow at the organ, playing with such a masterful touch. The brilliant audience listened with marked attention to this beautiful music and the stillness was only broken by the mighty applause of approval at the close of the grand performance and the repeated recall of the artists who deserved all of this great demonstration. The first great concert was but the beginning of my career. In the four years I had opportunities that were of a lasting profit to me. It was the cradle of my musical life and I often go back in my mind and see those beautiful singers I learned to love as friends and companions in song. Friends made then have lasted as long as life. All have passed beyond and only five or six of the galaxy of male and female singers of that time are left to remember with pleasure the days of Auld Lang Syne.

During this period of 1861 the Civil War broke out and every patriotic man and woman was called into action. The union of the states must be preserved. The excitement was intense. Volunteers were called for and business men, clerks and rich men enrolled at once and soon our boys and men were drilling for the march to the south. It was not many weeks before the order was given to march. The first fire had been heard at Fort Sumter and the American citizen soon became a soldier and as the call was given he marched away. Shall I ever forget the sight of those splendid young men as they marched away, company after company. As I saw them in the strength of their manhood going to their destruction, my heart wept inwardly knowing many of them would never return. But those at home had no time for repining, and we were called upon also to supply the needs of the soldier who was fighting for us with willing hands and stout heart. Each one kept busy. Our choir was enlisted when the call came for funds, and faithfully we all responded. Many choirs were united by Edwin Bruce, and we were at once formed into a chorus of willing singers, great and small, in the realms of music, and in several months were well equipped for the work of raising funds for the war needs. The chorus was formed from Dr. Burgess' choir of Dedham, Newton Musical Association, Boudoin Street choir, Church of the Unity choir, the Bullfinch choir, number 200 voices in all. We were known as the Operatic Bouquet of artists. Our repertoire consisted of national and martial songs, our choruses selected from the following great compositions:

Il Trovatore, Verdi; Lucrezia Borgia, Donizetti; Martha, Flotow; Semiramide, Rossini; War Songs (male voices), Adams; Bohemian Girl, Balfe; I Puritani, Bellini; Maritana, Wallace; Masaniello, Auber; Enchantress, Balfe; Hark, Apollo, H.R. Bishop; Enchantress (male voices) Balfe; solo and choruses from Lucrezia Borgia, Donizetti; Hail to the Chief, Il Templario, Nicolai; quintette and chorus from Martha, Flotow; Miserere, from Il Trovatore, Verdi; Chorus of Martyrs, Donizetti; La Fille Du Regiment, Donizetti; chorus from Maritana, Wallace; chorus from Il Lombardi, Verdi; trio and chorus, Attila, Verdi; solo and chorus, Martha, Flotow; trio, Charity, Rossini; trio and chorus, Ernani, Verdi; chorus, full, Gibby La Cornemuse, Clapisson.

In the spirit of the times these two hundred voices trained especially for the occasion, it was not to be wondered at that success followed our efforts. Whenever we were called old Tremont Temple was filled to the doors. Our treasury was never depleted during all the months we were doing service in the cause of the soldier and his needs. Boston Music Hall, churches in the smaller cities were always filled to overflowing whenever we appeared in Dedham, Medford, Roxbury and Old South Church. For nearly two years this work went on. In 1862 my husband decided to come home once more, as there was less need for our services. We were in Santa Cruz when the war ended, still helping the cause through the Christian Sanitary Commission, founded at the beginning of the rebellion. Money was supplied through this medium, and through free contributions from the different states of the Union and churches and societies, etc. Having had much experience in the East we were enabled to be of great assistance to the musical people of Santa Cruz and made successful entertainments for the cause for the following year which aroused the patriotic fire in the hearts of the California defenders of the Union and crowned our efforts with success until the end of this dreadful war.

In 1869, Mr. Blake having failed in his business, we left Santa Cruz and returned once more to San Francisco to retrieve our lost fortune. Youth, hope and energy were my strong salient points and I began in earnest to gain a substantial footing in music. My opportunity came with the Lyster Opera troupe and through efforts of a friend, Mrs. Cameron, who was employed there as soprano, I secured a position at $20 per week during their season in San Francisco.

I regret that I cannot remember the name of the Baptist pastor during my stay in Santa Cruz. He is the only minister whose name I have failed to recall, yet I can see his kindly face, and I gladly helped his congregation many times when extra help was needed. It has been so many years ago there is no one to help me in my research. This is the first link in my chain of evidence that has to be left unfinished, to my sorrow.

Returning once more to San Francisco I gave my services in the choir of Calvary Church, then on the north side of Bush street, between Montgomery and Sansome streets, Rev. W.A. Scott, pastor; Prof. G.A. Scott, organist, and Washington Elliott, choir master of the large chorus choir. I became the alto of the quartette, Mrs. Van Brunt soprano, W. Elliott tenor, Charles Parent bass. Dr. W.A. Scott was pastor for a short time and Rev. W. Wadsworth succeeded him. I remained in this choir until 1863, when I was offered the place in the choir of the First Presbyterian Church with a salary attached for the first time during my services in these many churches. Rev. Mr. Anderson was the pastor and George Pettinos organist. Sarah Watkins soprano, M.R. Blake contralto, Matthew Anderson tenor, Cornelius Makin bass—one of the best choirs in the city, splendid voices and good singers. I continued here nearly two years, when there was an offer for the place in St. John's choir for me at an advanced salary. I regretted to leave where I had enjoyed the music and the singers, but in the meantime my husband failed in business and I had two children to support. I accepted the St. John's choir offer for financial reasons. The pastor was Rev. W.A. Scott, Frederick Katzenbach organist, Mrs. Robert Moore soprano, Mrs. M.R. Blake contralto, Joseph Maguire tenor, and later, Vernon Lincoln and C. Makin, bass. I resigned this choir after almost three years' service, to take the alto position in Dr. Lacy's choir, Congregational church, corner of California and Dupont streets. Later Dr. Stone arrived and on the Sabbath of his first sermon the organist was Mr. Douglas; Georgiana Leach, Mrs. Northrup, Mrs. Oliphant, sopranos; Mrs. Margaret Blake, Miss Abbie Oliphant, altos; Signor Gregg, basso; Joe Maguire, tenor, with a small chorus choir added. The musical service was of a high order. The sopranos were the foremost singers of their time. Mrs. Leach left later and became the soprano of Starr King Unitarian Church in Stockton street. Mrs. Northrup went to the new First Congregational Church in Post and Mason streets. She was there for years. Samuel D. Mayer was organist at that time, Dr. Stone pastor and later Dr. Adams. At the time of writing Dr. Charles F. Aked from New York is pastor.

When Dr. Stone arrived from the East he had also in his company Mr. George Powers, and, by some arrangement, without any warning, the organist and quartette were unseated by the clique he had formed of his friends. The members of his quartette were in their places the next Sabbath when the regular quartette arrived, consequently we all were obliged to retire. When the new choir began there was a surprise in store for every one. There was nothing for the old choir to do but walk out. There was great grief over the abrupt dismissal. Mr. Benchly of the musical committee was consulted and nothing could be done with the friends of the new pastor. It was a church scandal of the gravest sort. Dr. Powers was from the East and intended to show San Francisco superior music from Boston. He found out before he had been there long that superior men and women were already in the field, and while he continued at the church as organist his influence in music had been tainted and his band of singers were so inferior to those ousted that they had but a short life in the church. I immediately returned to St. Patrick's Church in Mission street and remained there altogether ten years. Our work was very difficult and we had many high days and holidays, requiems, festivals and concerts for the organ fund which had been ordered from abroad, and we were supposed to help the organ fund along until it came. I am not sure how many concerts we gave, but they were all of a high standard. Professor Dohrmann, one of our leading musicians, was organist, also leader of orchestras, and our concerts were given with orchestral accompaniment. Besides the great voices in the choir we had operatic stars whenever they came with their troupes. Nearly all of the Italians being Catholics, Father Gray easily obtained their services and our soloists were artists music-lovers were glad to hear. By permission of Professor Dohrmann I have inserted this picture of the organ. It is the only thing left of this magnificent instrument, which cost $10,000. The earthquake and fire left not a vestige of anything that could be kept as a relic—one of the most beautiful organs that I ever sang with and played by the dean of organists.

During my time there were five fine singers, singing this difficult music: Mrs. Taylor, a Spanish soprano; Mrs. Urgi, English soprano; Miss Louisa Tourney, French soprano; Signora Bianchi, Italian soprano, who afterwards became the contralto when her voice fell by much singing and age. I became alarmed and feared I would also be obliged to resign. I was offered the position in Calvary Church once more. A new Calvary had been built on the corner of Geary and Powell streets, Rev. John Hemphill, pastor. I mentioned the fact to our leader, Prof. Dohrmann, and he objected to my going, saying he could not replace me. When I told him I had been offered a year's contract with more pay he consented. I remained until he obtained another contralto in Miss Ella Steele. I remained as contralto in this choir for the years that Rev. John Hemphill held it, which was twelve years, and also with Rev. Mr. Spucher. At the same time I sang on Saturdays at the Synagogue in Mission street, Rabbi Bettelheim, with the members of Calvary choir, excepting the soprano. The choir soprano of the Synagogue was Miss Carrie Heinemann and Mr. Newman was bass. I was the contralto of both choirs, Harry Gates, tenor. I continued in this choir six years. I had advanced toward the age of fifty years and the work of the two church choirs, my many singing pupils, art work, added to my professional work, began to tell upon my strength and at last I felt I must do something as a remedy or succumb to the inevitable. This was in 1886.

My son, George Blake, lived in San Bernardino, where he played in the Opera House orchestra and was leader of the Seventh Regiment band. My son William, alarmed at my condition, had written, unknown to me, to his brother, saying that I had worked long enough and that he should send for me. I was surprised when I received the word, "Mother, come," not aware he knew the condition. I had many hours of thought before I could decide when my voice was not even impaired, to give up my life's work and be a drone in the hive. At last I yielded to the desire of my sons to go south. I promised on condition that I came unheralded. I supposed I was going so far away no one knew me. Alas, this world is small, so it behooves us all to make our reputation without fault. I sent in my resignation to Calvary and the Synagogue musical committees, and bade good-bye, I supposed, to music and old associations forever. I would never be able to describe the deep sorrow that was depicted on the countenance of pastor and people, rabbi and congregation and the members of the young peoples' societies of the church with whom I had labored for so many years and assisted in their successful efforts from season to season. It was the heroic battle of my life to voluntarily cut loose from all that had been so auspicious during my many years of service. I was held in great affection by the people of San Francisco, who always gave me the most cordial welcome whenever I appeared in the churches or concert halls or took part in patriotic exercises.

I left San Francisco December 1, and had two days of travel. It seemed as though I was in another world, cut loose from all I ever cherished. The world never looked so vast to me before and it was as an open desert without one friendly face in sight, alone, adrift, knowing not the ultimate point of my travels. I was rudely awakened the morning of the second day by the whistle of the engine and the clamor of bells and bustling of feet. I arose quickly and soon was received by my son, who was awaiting my coming, and I said, "Here I am, I have obeyed your orders and now I am to do just as I please, and rest from my labor." He replied, "You have earned your rest after all these years, mother." So we happily proceeded to his cottage, where welcome awaited us. All seemed strange to me after so many years in San Francisco where I was known to all, yet I hoped to meet other pleasant faces and cheerfully accepted the situation with my son and daughter and their friends. During our conversation my daughter informed me that the ladies of the Episcopal Guild had voted unanimously that I had been accepted as the soloist of the choir of St. John's Church. Through their efforts I was to receive the salary of $20 a month. The church was not more than a beginning. The congregation worshipped in a large store on one of the main streets which had been fitted into a comfortable chapel. Mrs. Foster, from San Francisco, one of the many musical people there, had settled in that city and was the organist of that church, unknown to me, as I supposed, but when we met her greeting, "I am glad to meet you, Charity Pecksniff," surprised me. Through her the people soon found out who I was and I not only had the church position secured but also eight pupils ready to begin lessons in voice when I was ready to open my studio to them. So good or evil report follows us through our lives and makes for us our success or failure.

I made my first appearance at the Christmas service, which had been prepared with care, and extra voices were secured. My son had added from his orchestra three instruments in addition to the organ for the morning and evening services of the Christmas festival. The chapel was crowded to the doors and those who were unable to come in remained on the sidewalk during the services. The new singer was to be heard for the first time. I had chosen the beautiful Cavatina by Raff, and was accompanied by Mr. F. Erbe on the violin, who played the obbligato with exquisite grace and finish. In the evening I sang Praise Thou the Lord, O My Soul, by Holden, with two violins, cello and organ accompaniment. This extra service was the forerunner of other good services for the length of eight months, when the ladies' funds were so low they were obliged to discontinue my services, with profound sorrow, as the chapel had been crowded during all these weeks and the place was getting too small for the worshippers. A church building had been begun and money was needed there, so I reluctantly departed and took up the work in the Catholic church with Father Stockman, priest, at a salary of $40 a month, Miss Zabriskie, organist. The choir was composed of sisters from the convent, with a tenor and bass by two young priests who sang well the songs and chants of the church. In all these weeks I had also begun my classes and taught singing and painting. The change had benefited me and I busily passed the days and weeks, adding all the time new voice and painting pupils until I numbered fifty-one pupils and classes twice a week in Colton and San Bernardino. I was as busy as ever I was in San Francisco. But, alas, the hot climate (104 degrees in the morning) to which I was a stranger, was more than I could stand. At noon no one stirred out of the house or store. I stood the weather for sixteen months, then my family doctor ordered me back to San Francisco if I wanted to live.

I left San Bernardino for San Francisco, May 11, 1889. Arriving in San Francisco I took a flat on Geary street, near Steiner. On July 6 I began my work in the Larkin Presbyterian Church and continued there one year, when no funds separated singer and people. I gave the small struggling congregation another month of my services. The congregation met in a hall in the Western Addition. I think a church was built later, but it, like everything else, was destroyed in the earthquake year. I never returned, for after a year at the Geary street flat my son William and I concluded to move to Oakland. I had lost my position in the churches. Calvary Church offered me my old place but I did not wish to oust another who was giving satisfaction, and declined the honor. In Oakland we rented one of Mr. Bilger's cottages on Fourth avenue. After remaining there for two years and a half my son William married and returned to San Francisco to live.

I stayed in Oakland and began my music in the Pilgrim Congregational Church, through the influence of one of my early musical friends, Mrs. Nellie Wetherbee. I went to oblige her, as she was one of the leading spirits of the church. I remained with this church until Miss Mary Fox went East and the leader, Mr. Benham, came for me to take her place in the choir of the First Congregational church, Rev. Dr. McLean, pastor. I occupied this place for six months, giving the greatest satisfaction. Then I returned to Pilgrim Congregational Church and continued there three years. Miss Hough was organist and Mr. Redfield, choirmaster. I sang at first with the quartette, Mrs. Mollie Dewing, Mr. Redfield and Harry Melvin, now Justice of the California Supreme Court. Afterward when Mrs. Dewing left for the First Methodist Church as soprano we had Mrs. Andrew Fine, soprano. Later Mr. Redfield took charge of St. Andrew's choir in West Oakland, and I was left as soloist of the choir. Having a number of pupils in the members of the Christian Endeavor Society, I was urged upon by the pastor, Rev. Mr. McNutt, to take charge of the choir, which I did. Miss Hough continued as organist until she went abroad to study in London. Miss Bertha Hunter, who was an efficient organist, continued until my directorship closed with the advent of Rev. Mr. Silcox, who wished a man director in the choir where he was pastor. I left the choir after I had served almost continuously from 1890 to 1895. Six months of that time I sang for the First Congregational Church in Oakland. The first time was in 1890. In 1894 I substituted for two months while the contralto was ill. After leaving this church I sang with the St. Andrew's choir from January, 1893, until after the Easter service, April 2, almost four months. On January 31, 1896, I began in the English Lutheran Church, corner Grove and Sixteenth streets. Mr. Walling was director, Miss Margaret Oaks and Miss Mabel Hussey were the organists during the time. I sang here until July 16, 1897, as a memorial to my mother, who was a Lutheran in her faith, and the church was new and beautiful to sing in. I gave my services for a year and a half. Mr. Bushnell, the pastor, was popular and the church flourished greatly during the time. In December, 1897, I assisted the choir of the Church of the Advent, East Oakland, Dr. V. Marshall Law, rector, at their Christmas service, giving such satisfaction that I was prevailed upon to help the choir. My sister, Mrs. Harrold, and family worshipped there and her two daughters were in the choir. As I had no other church in view, I consented and continued for eight months. During that time we gave several fine concerts and on one occasion gave The Daughter of Jairus with great success, H. Melvin, bass; Miss Alberta Morse, soprano; Mr. Thornton, tenor; Mrs. M.B. Alverson, contralto. Several other artists with violin and cello assisted the regular choir of forty voices. They were strangers to me so I have reluctantly omitted their names. They were excellent musicians. During the eight months' service there occurred a number of pretentious musical undertakings which were meritorious as well as financially successful.