AMANDA MATHEWS,
in The Old Pueblo.
All sorts of men came here in early days—poor men of good family who had failed at home, or were too proud to work there; desperadoes, adventurers, men of middle life and broken fortunes—all of them expecting everything from the new land, and ready to tear the heart out of any one who got in their way. ∗ ∗ ∗ Of course, there are Californians and Californians.
GERTRUDE ATHERTON,
in A Whirl Asunder.
JUNE 19.
Beneath the surface—ah, there lie a numerous host, sad relics of bygone times. In our cities in poverty, wretchedness, and, alas! too often in dissipation, or, happier fate, in canyon or on hillside where woodman's axe is heard, one may find men wearily, sadly, often faithfully performing their daily labor who were born heirs to leagues of land where ranged mighty herds of cattle and horses—men who as boys, perhaps, played their games of quoits with golden slugs from the Indian baskets sitting about the courtyard of their fathers' houses.
HELEN ELLIOTT BANDINI,
in Some of Our Spanish Families.
JUNE 20.