Obey my word, O Ten-ie-ya, and your people shall be many as the blades
of grass, and none shall dare to bring war unto Ah-wah-nee. But look
you ever, my son, against the white horsemen of the great plains
beyond, for once they have crossed the western mountains, your tribe
will scatter as the dust before the desert wind, and never come
together again.

BERTHA H. SMITH,
in _Yosemite Legends._


San Juan, Aunt Phoebe, is one of the places where there is an old
Mission. People in this country (California) think a great deal of
them. I've remarked to Ephraim, "Many's the time," says I, "that the
Missions seem to do more real good than the churches. They get hold of
the people better, somehow. I'll be real glad to set me down in one,
and I do hope they'll have some real lively hymns to kind of cheer us
up."

ALBERTA LAWRENCE,
in _The Travels of Phoebe Ann._



JUNE 5.


In proper California fashion we made our nooning by the roadside,
pulling up under the shade of a hospitable sycamore and turning