young men who were with him that night, that the Indians might be confronted by an equal number, he awaited their nearer approach. When the Indians were within range both advanced toward them and fired; and they scampered off without their expected booty, not stopping to return the fire until they had placed a quarter of a mile between them and the house, when a single pistol shot and a yell of defiance were sent back. The following morning one of their horses was found dead a short distance off, having been ridden apparently until it fell. These night raids were continued for several weeks, until William Campbell, the sub-agent at Kings River, sought the Indians out in the mountains and found them will ing to come to terms. The war had lasted six weeks, when the Indians returned to the valley, and they have remained friendly from that time to the present day; although, a little more than a decade later, a few murders committed on Tule River caused the government to send a company of troops from San Francisco, and force the Indians of that section on to a reservation set apart for them. There was no difficulty with them collectively, however, and their liberties are in no way more restricted than those of other tribes. Throughout the valley their numbers are rapidly decreasing, only a handful now remaining to preserve the language and traditions of a once numerous and happy people. Thus ended the Tule River war of 1856; a war that might have been prevented had there been an honest desire on the part of the white settlers to do so, and one that brought little glory to those who participated therein. The responsibility cannot now be fixed where it properly belongs. Possibly the Indians were to blame. Certainly the whites were not blameless; and it is too seldom, indeed, that they have been, in the many struggles with the aboriginal inhabitants of this continent. George W. Stewart. LIFE'S ANSWER. "O heart, my heart," he said, "How bitter is thine aching! The happy winds are waking, The linnets nest o'erhead; And thou art like to breaking. "Ah, friend of years," he said, I bring my misery, Unknowing, unafraid, He dared the seas that roll Lost, drowning, sore dismayed, Back-driven to solitude,— "This pain that stays and stings, For I will give it wings Far, far from me to soar. "O wide-winged song," he said, I bring my misery, Fluttered the feeble song. Unmeet its wings to bear One narrow human care,Wings wont to soar so strong Under a world's despair. "Ah, what is this?" he cried, "Unto the wide world's smart, Answers the wide world's heart; Unheard the cries abide Of each small soul apart. "Ah, silence, thou," he said,— Clasp but my pain and me. Milicent Washburn Shinn. FREE KINDERGARTENS OF OAKLAND. To a sensitive person, one of the saddest features of city life is the sight of the uncared-for children that exist on the lower, out-of-the-way streets, where beer-saloons and junk-shops appear to be the only places of business, and where filth and drunkenness seem characteristics of almost all the inhabitants. It is no marvel that city missionaries, going over such ground day after day, become so exhausted by the constant calls for sympathy, the sight of such pitiable degradation, and the lack of sufficient means of remedy, as to be obliged to give up work entirely at times. San Francisco has, as we all know, done well in providing kindergartens for the neglected little ones of such localities. It may not be so well known that Oakland, for the past few years, has been trying to do something in the same direction. There is good reason for this, for, said one of the teachers of the Broadway free kindergarten to me the other day, “I have taught in the kindergartens in San Francisco, but I find that these children in Oakland come from a much lower class of society than the most of those I have met across the bay. Such dreadful places as some of these babies live in! How can we expect them to be good with such surroundings?" Oakland has, however, but two free kindergartens for these children; one down near the wharves on the lower part of Broadway, the other in the northern portion of the city on Market street. There are other places where kindergartens are needed, but there are no means of supporting additional schools at present. The Broadway kindergarten numbers about sixty-five children, and is supported by the First Presbyterian church. The poverty of the homes from which the children come is plain to any one looking at the ragged elbows, torn jackets, thin clothing, and broken shoes that are worn by too many of the little creatures. A friend of mine met a little bareheaded girl on Broadway the other day, who smiled as if she knew her. "I'm going over to the kindergarten," said the child. "Do you go to school there?" asked the lady. "Oh, no," answered she, "but my sister does, and I'm going over there to get the hat." "How came your hat over there if you do not go to the school?" "Well, you see," said the child, confidentially, "me and my sister haven't got but one hat between us, and one day she wears it, and the next I do; and to-day sister wore it, but mother wants me to go on an errand, and so I've come over for the hat." Poverty, however, is the least of the evils to be met. Drunkenness is something worse. The mother of two of the children in this school is a common drunkard, well known to the police of Oakland. She is hardly out of jail a day at a time, for, if released on Monday, she is intoxicated again on Tuesday, and goes back to prison. The father of these children is the driver of a "rag-bagand-bottle" cart, and the little ones are left to care for themselves as best they can through such hours of the day as they are not in the kindergarten. Many of the other children in the kindergarten leave the school at the close of the session only to go directly to the saloons, where their fathers are selling intoxicants. The kind-hearted policeman who looks after this part of Broadway said the other day to a lady, “I'm glad you folks are doing something for these poor people, ma'am. They need it: but I tell you what it is, you don't begin deep enough down. People have got to shut up these beer-saloons down here, before they can do much good with their kindergartens." Such is the greeting that comes almost daily with discouraging power to the teach ers in this school. And yet there are as bright faces among the children as can be seen in any school, graces as yet unmarked by the terrible evils around them. Some of the children gathered in by the invitations of the teachers can, at first, hardly speak a word of English; but they readily learn, and are often among the brightest scholars. In deed, there are but few who persist in such insubordination as to be unmanageable. Two or three of the older boys sometimes try to incite the younger ones to mischief, and, as whipping is never allowable in the kindergarten, the teacher's ingenuity is often severely tasked to invent punishment for the naughty ones. One boy enjoys the title of the "worst boy in the school," and is often the one who creates disturbances. Some days a little scene occurs, in which the teacher has to lift some obstinate boy into the back-yard, and bolt the door after him, when a terrific series of kicks and poundings on the door follow. The city missionary, chancing to come in one day when such a performance was going on, resolved to try to help the teacher. Accordingly, she went out into the back-yard, where the cause of the disturbance was howling. She spoke to him, but he continued his performance and paid no attention to anything that was said to him. At last, the visitor said, "See here, haven't you any dogs?" "Come her enterprise should be a failure. The boy looked at her for a few minutes, and then seemed to accede to the proposition, and the lady led the truant back in triumph to the school-room. But her hour of rejoicing did not last long, for she was obliged to sit in the seat beside him in order to keep him quiet; and after school he seized his hat and ran. He was followed, however, by a little brother, whose short legs could not run so fast as the older ones, and whose checked apron served as a guide to the missionary, who followed on behind, resolved on keeping her promise in respect to the dogs. Suddenly the checked apron disappeared, and she stood bewildered at the corner of the street, until she saw both the little fellows peering out at her from a hiding place, anxious to see if she were going to turn off at the right corner. On seeing her they both started and ran on to an engine-house, where the lady found them. "Where are your dogs?" asked that muchenduring person, making no mention of the chase. "In there," responded the older boy, pointing to the engine-house. "Well," said the lady, "won't you go and The little fellow stopped crying at once, get them? I don't like to go in there." and answered very shortly, "Yes." "How many have you?" asked the lady, encouraged at even a word of reply. "Two," snapped the boy. "Where are they?" Home," said the monosyllabic youth getting up and making a rush for the fence, which he proceeded to climb with great haste. Obliging youth: "No, I won't." There was a silence after this reply, and then the visitor said, "Well, where do you live?" "Across the street," was the answer. "Which gate shall I go in at?" asked the missionary, preparing to go across. No answer. "Well, then," said the persevering woman "Where are you going?" asked the "you watch and see that I go in at the righ lady. "Over into Chinatown," responded the boy, as he almost succeeded in grasping the edge of the roof of the wash-house next the yard. "Now, come, don't," said the visitor, not knowing what else to say, and fearing lest one." When she was half-way across the stree the older boy called out, “Go in at the b white one." Accordingly the lady went to the gate de The laughing at the success of their joke. missionary laughed too, for she was so tried she could not help it. Fortunately, the father of the two boys, who was in the enginehouse, came running across the street at this moment, and, opening the gate, called his wife to see the visitor. The account given of her son by the mother was not very consoling. She said she could not manage him, although he was so young. He would go with the worst boys of the street, and, although she knew his reputation at school, yet she could do nothing with him. The visitor left, having almost come to the same conclusion herself. Some days the boy is less troublesome, however, as on the missionary's next visit to the school. On her inquiring for the child, the teacher said, pointing to a nail, "There are his shoes hanging up." "Is that all there is left of him?" "No," said the teacher; "he made such a noise scraping his shoes on the floor that I had to take them off, but he is around on the other side of the screen"; and the visitor, looking behind the thin partition, saw the little troubler busily engaged with his lessons, and looking as though he had resolved to be a model boy henceforth. The extra work of this school is such that the daily sessions are limited to the morning. In the afternoon the principal either stays at the room, preparing the weaving for the next day or getting the sewing ready, or else she goes out to make calls on such of the children as are sick or have need of help. This calling system is one that takes up much time. Often the teacher makes as many as sixty calls in a month. This seems to be necessary, in order that she may better understand the needs of the children by knowing the surroundings of each one. "I do not know what business the people on the ferry-boats can think I am engaged in," said the teacher, who comes from San Francisco daily to this school, "for I bring over such queer bundles every day. Sometimes it is old clothes, to be made over for the children, sometimes plants for the school To-morrow it will be jelly for a poor room. consumptive, the father of two of the children in our school." The Market street kindergarten is supported by the First Congregational church; and has about forty-five pupils. The portion of the city in which this school is situated, although inhabited by foreigners, yet does not contain so degraded a class of people as the Broadway district. The school is held in the little chapel that on Sundays is used as a church, and both the room and the yard are larger and more pleasant than those of the Broadway kindergarten. There are four teachers in this school, and this division of labor makes the work light as compared with that of the other school, which, until recently, has had but one teacher. Many of the children of this kindergarten attend the free Saturday afternoon sewingschool held in the same room, and supported by the ladies of the Women's Christian Association. The cost of the school is merely nominal, however, as the teachers give their time and work, and the materials for garments are often contributed by interested outsiders. From seventy-five to one hundred children, between the ages of three and ten, belong to this school. Many nationalities are here represented. The little Spanish girl sits next to the German, and near by is a French child with an Irish and a Portuguese girl on either side of her. A sprinkling of colored children vary some classes, and there is a corner devoted to boys, many of whom make their own shirts and rival the girls in the neatness of their sewing. Sometimes some little fellow who does not belong to the school peeps in at the door, with a request that he may be allowed to sew on some button or mend some rent in his coat, uncared-for by the overworked mother in the poor, untidy little place called “home.” The improvement in these children since this school was first started has been very great. Tangled hair, dirty faces and hands, and ragged garments were common enough sights at first. They have not wholly disappeared now, but the little ones are learning the need of cleanliness and carefulness of |