"Her first Christmas dinner in San Francisco consisted of a quart of beans and a pound of salt pork, which the hospital steward brought to her; he told her he would be flogged if it became known. In after days he became her steward. One day Dr. Poet, surgeon of the navy, brought my mother a slice of ham, a drawing of tea and a lump of butter about the size of a walnut. Dr. Poet had told my father where he could purchase half a barrel of flour. After baking some flour and water cakes between two tin plates in the ashes, my mother brought her dear friend, Mrs. Robbins, (now in this city,) to share the repast. Said Mrs. Robbins: 'Mrs. Joyce, isn't this like Boston?' This was just after living for six months on mouldy shipbread. I have heard her say that often she was so hungry she would willingly have walked ten miles to obtain a slice of bread. Soon after this my mother helped to take care of the 'Donner Party,' who were found partly frozen and so famished that they were eating their dead companions. The girl she tended, told her that they grew to like it, and she had helped eat her brother. The true stories they told are too dreadful to repeat, particularly as some of them are still living. The Mormon Battallion came; peace was declared, the gold mines were discovered, and the circumstances of the Saints were changed from isolation and famine to wealth and grandeur. My father became very wealthy, but prosperity caused his apostacy. My grandfather, and uncle, John Perkins, both sea captains, came to see my mother. I well remember sitting on grandpa's knee and learning my alphabet from the large family Bible spread before him, he being my teacher. I often recall also the long evenings when Uncle John held me on his knee and sang the strange, pathetic, old-fashioned sea songs of which he knew so many and sang them so sweetly; I used to nestle closer to him, half frightened, and at last fall asleep. I remember one was, ''Twas down in the lowlands a poor boy did wander,' and I have never heard it since.