earthly vanity; the other, the very portal of heaven. All the carved
mahogany furniture had long since gone to buy food and charcoal or a
rare black gown.

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