embers 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