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. Jameson's cord led out to the Spanish quarter. Some old senoras, their heads covered with shawls, their clothes redolent with the smell of garlic, from time to time shambled across his pathway. They were heavy old women, in worn flapping slippers and uncorseted figures. * * * With them, this saying, "It is time to be old," to throw down the game like some startled player, and cast one's self on the mercies of the Virgin, had come twenty years or so before it should. FRANCES CHARLES, in _The Siege of Youth._ A JUNE WEDDING. The sweetheart of Summer weds today-- Pride of the Wild Rose clan: A Butterfly fay For a bridesmaid gay, And a Bumblebee for best man. CHARLES ELMER JENNEY, in _Out West, June_, 1902. JUNE 21. They went to a one-room adobe on the plaza. A rich, greasy odor came out from it with puffs of the onion-laden smoke of frying things which blurred the light of the one candle set in the neck of a bottle. * * * In the centre of the floor a circle of blackened stones held a fire of wood coals, on the top of which rested a big clay griddle. Cakes of ground corn were frying there, and on the stove were _enchiladas_ and _tamales_ and _chili-con-carne_ being kept warm. The air was thick with the pungent, strong smells. GWENDOLEN OVERTON, in _The Golden Chain._ JUNE 22. The homely house furnishings seemed to leap out of the darkness; the stove, the littered table, and the couch, the iron crucifix, and the carved cradle in the corner--all his long life Juan will see them so--and 'Cencion turned; the dusky veil was blown and rent like the sea mist, revealing--Holy Mother of Heaven! her father, Cenaga, the outlaw! Juan Lopez fell on his knees below the window, the smoking rifle clattered from his broken grasp, and the missile sped, aimless and harmless, high into the adobe wall. GERTRUDE B. MILLARD, in _An Outlaw's Daughter, S.F. Argonaut, Nov._, 1896. IN HUMBOLDT. Dim in the noonday fullness, Dark in the day's sweet morn-- So sacred and deep are the canyons Where the beautiful rivers are born. LILLIAN H. SHUEY, in _Among the Redwoods._ JUNE 23.