CHARLES FRANKLIN CARTER, in _The Missions of Nueva California._ JUNE 7. Already the Emperor has given to us many fine paintings, vestments and a chime of sweetest bells. How we long to hear them calling out over the sea of vast silence, turning the white quiet into coral hues of deeper thrill! The church bells singing to the people of Al-lak-shak, recall the wandering Padres' labors among your thousands here in California. Those who cannot understand the great words of the teachers may look upon the beauteous pictures of the Madonna and the Child; all can understand that love. MRS. A.S.C. FORBES, in _Mission Tales in the Days of the Dons._ JUNE 8. JUNE. (IN CALIFORNIA.) Oh June! thou comest once again With bales of hay and sheaves of grain, That make the farmer's heart rejoice, And anxious herds lift up their voice. I hear thy promise, sunny maid, Sound in the reapers' ringing blade. And in the laden harvest wain That rumbles through the stubble plain. Ye tell a tale of bearded stacks. Of busy mills and floury sacks, Of cars oppressed with cumbrous loads, Hard curving down their iron roads Of vessels speeding to the breeze. Their snowy sails in stormy seas. While bearing to some foreign land The products of this Golden Strand. PALMER COX, in _Comic Yarns._ JUNE 9. MADAME MODJESKA'S DEVOTION TO THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. During the hey-day of A.P.A.-ism in this section, Madame Modjeska returned from a triumphant tour and played for a week in Los Angeles. * * * She selected as her principal piece--Mary Stuart. * * * At the final scene of the play, as Mary Stuart passes out to her execution, Modjeska in the title-role held us spellbound by the intense emotions of the situation. The sight of her beautiful face, upturned to heaven, showing the expression of the zeal and fervor of her Catholic heart, was intensified by the manner in which she carried the crucifix and rosary in her hand, and was the last glimpse of her as she disappeared from the stage. There was a thrill passed over the audience, which had its effect, not only upon the unbeliever, but likewise upon the pusillanimous member of the church. JOSEPH SCOTT, in _The Tidings._ JUNE 10. The Mission floor was with weeds o'ergrown, And crumbling and shaky its walls of stone; Its roof of tiles, in tiers on tiers, Had stood the storms of a hundred years. An olden, weird, medieval style Clung to the mouldering, gloomy pile, And the rhythmic voice of the breaking waves Sang a lonesome dirge in its land of graves. Strangely awed I felt, that day, As I walked in the Mission old and gray-- The Mission Carmel at Monterey. MADGE MORRIS WAGNER, in _Mystery of Carmel._ JUNE 11.