been clever enough to get out of the trap he had set for me, for he well knew I had never seen that music before. Besides a splendid supply of masses, there were vesper services, Gregorian chants, Ave Marias, Veni Creator, solos, Mozart's Ave Vernum, requiems from various writers, Stabat Mater by Rossini; Franz Liszt's O Salutaris; Bach's Tantum Ergo; Salutaris, Carlo Bassini; contralto solos from Rossini's Solenelle; O Salutaris, Agnus Dei, Quae Te Christi by Millett; duet soprano and mezzo, Agnus Dei, Geo. Bizet; Lascia ch'io pianga, Handel; Raff's Cavatina for contralto; Millard's Ave Marias numbering 7 and No. 1, Salutaris; Mozart's 16th mass. All these beautiful masses and songs, duets and solos were familiar to me, and I had opportunity to sing them with the grandest singers of the day. I also sang many times at St. Mary's Cathedral, California and Dupont streets, (Bishop Alemany); St. Ignatius, when the college and church was on Market street, where the Emporium now stands; Vallejo Street Catholic Church, Mission Dolores, Notre Dame French Church, Alois Lejeal, organist, Bush street. One special Candlemas Day the St. Ignatius Church was so crowded I had to be carried by two strong men who pushed their way through the jam of worshipers. We sang Mozart's Twelfth Mass that day. The organist was one of the brothers of the college. I think I sang requiems in every Catholic church in San Francisco at that time. It seemed to be my share in life to sing for the dead of all creeds and kinds. If I attempted to give an account of requiems alone I could publish a book of good size. I have also taken part in the musical service at the funerals of the great men of California, like Ralston, Hopkins, Captain Metzger, Thos. Breeze, J.B. Painter, Colonel Larkin. In 1874 I lived on Post and Powell streets. Trinity Church was at that corner and many people who were strangers were taken to the mortuary chapel. One sad funeral occurred there on June 18, 1887, of Abner Lincoln Blake, a grandson of Major-General Lincoln of revolutionary fame. He was ex-deputy of the custom house in Port Townsend and was on his way to Washington, with papers of importance, to give evidence against certain men who were in government service. He was followed by some of their hirelings all the way on his journey and, arriving at Chicago, he was sand-bagged, but the villains were not quick enough to get his valise. They were frightened by the appearance of some one coming, and the victim was taken to the hospital. When the chief of police discovered who he was he did all he could to save the valuable evidence and notified the authorities at Washington. Everything was done to save his life, but he lapsed into unconsciousness for a week and died. He was brought to San Francisco, where a large family awaited his coming. It was one of the saddest funerals I ever witnessed or attempted to sing for. He had been cut down in the prime of life doing his duty for his country.