Their way of washing their faces was original, to say the least. With a deep river not fifty feet off, they would bring up a little tin-can full of water, dip their hands in first, then take a big mouthful, hold the hands together under the mouth, eject the water into the curved hands, and, before it had a chance to leak out between the fingers, dash it up over the head and face; this was repeated two or three times; then they shook the hair out of their eyes, pushed it back, ran the fingers through it quickly, and clapped the hat on.

Little rings of smoke were soon rising in the cool gray morning light from many hillocks and dells. The northern-bound stage arrived, but did not stop. Daylight and smoke are not so fantastic as night and fire. One of the younger Indians now climbed the little tree that formed part of the bear-skin frame-work, and breaking off every little branch, and the top spear, threw them down to the woman who did the waving business. Then, as each thong that held the skin up was unfastened, a new song was sung; and when the withe that held the nose was untied, an old Indian came forward, and wrapping the skin about him, moved from right to left with a hopping movement. All gathered around him, brushing the fur. One woman took the top spear of the tree, and gave him a general brush all over. Then they stopped; he took the skin off, and it was hung up by the nose again; and the dance was over. They all went to cook their breakfasts; and thanking the old chief for this sight of one of their ancient semi-religious dances, we sauntered home, thinking over the promise he had given us of another dance to take place on the hills just back of his wigwam. And this he said they called a "dream-dance."

All one Saturday we watched the Indians passing along the road from the encampment ground below the dam to the level spot on the hill, above Con-choo-loo-loo's, the men concerned only for themselves, and the women packing all the household goods and the baby on their backs. As the sun went down, the dusky forms were seen only at long intervals, and we knew that

After dark we picked up our old friend, the lantern, and started, this time due north and up the road, thus leaving the river on our right. It was a hard climb before we found ourselves on a great level space, where the Indians have sham fights and athletic games at certain seasons of the year. Some three hundred feet in circumference of this ground had been entirely enclosed with great evergreen trees, firmly driven into the ground, closely and securely woven to

Close to the trunks of these trees, inside the enclosure, were spread beds of soft willow branches, covered with blankets and furs, where were resting all the Indians, some sitting, some lying down, some asleep, others talking or smoking. In the centre was a great log, kept in a blaze by pitch-pine fagots. Near this fire, on a little log, sat Con-choo-loo-loo, and a few of the nobility. The trees all around were dccorated with their simple household utensilskettles and baskets-much the same as Chicken Charley's camp. All this we took in with our wondering eyes, as we came near to the enclosure, and squeezed into the narrow opening of the charmed circle.

They were having a "play-dance" just then, Sarah told us, as she said to us El-poo-nah-keltna-" Come in, and sit down," and we quietly squatted on the ground and watched proceedings. A little to our right stood an Indian, knocking two little sticks together, and humming, or rather chanting in an undertone, a mournful air, over and over again. Before him we saw a number of young Indians, with long sticks in their hands, dancing with regular steps in a graceful, waving, turning movement, singing all the time with the musician, and ending at intervals with a loud hoot, as they came up in front of the player, with their clubs in a menacing attitude under his eyes and nose. That finished, quiet settled over the camp, and we begin to wonder what has become of the dancers who were to take part in the "dream dance." Again we seek our interpreter, Sarah, and she tells us "By and by; Indian very slow." At the same time we learn that this is not one of their own dances, but something new, that they have been taught by the Chico Indians. The dance is supposed to represent beautiful visions which the dancers have had in their sleep, and which they try to give their audience an idea of, by peculiar movements in the dance. We either hadn't the imagination of our entertainers, or our ideas of beautiful visions were very different from theirs, for we were afterward very much in the dark as to what their dreams might have been.

Among the Indians present was the turbulent spirit, Alexander, chief of the Sacramento River tribe, an ugly fellow, who makes much trouble; also, the Wy-kot-ti family.

Just back of us we heard a wee cry, and there sat Chicken Charley, with his squaw and her little pappoose, a speck of humanity in a curious Indian basket, with a great streak of black paint from one side of its little face to the other, across the eyebrows, "to make it look pretty." Chi-e-kah and his family are here too. That is Pettut; where could he have got that white shirt, with ruffles and puffs? Pettut is handsome and vain. There are many young men and little children, but very few girls twelve or fourteen years of age.

What a sullen-looking set that circle of faces was the sharp, quick movement of the eyes alone betraying interest. One of the white people gave Con-choo-loo-loo some apples. The old man's face lighted up, his white shell earrings danced in the firelight, and his gray, curly head-it is strange for an Indian, but his hair is curly-nodded his thanks, as he took out a great knife and cut an apple, with a peaceful air. The Indians look suspiciously at the soldiers who form part of our group, though these have nothing to do with the Indians, being at the fishery for other purposes; in fact, to keep an eye on white men this time-settlers who pull up the stakes of the Fishery Reservation boundary and "jump" the land. It is all the same to the Indians, they are soldiers; and, as the troops that went to the Modoc war passed over this road, they have no friendship for them.

There is a movement among the dancers, and it is evident that we are to witness some curious sights. Chicken Charley appears to be divesting himself of his clothing in a way slightly astonishing to civilized eyes. Now that everything but his pants has disappeared, and those are rolled way up above his knees, he takes a sort of girdle of pendant feathers, some half a yard in depth, and fastens them over his shoulders and around his waist. A bright-red handkerchief bound around his head is stuck full of feathers. Thinking we may as well watch these savage toilets, we look around, and here and there we see the same performance. In that corner is a number arraying and disarraying. Many are painting their bodies with all sorts of devices with some kind of red paint. The ornamental feather - work varies greatly. The head-rigs are beautiful and curious-crowns, with delicate little pink, black, and yellow feathers in front, and great, tall ones at the back. Some have bands of fine feathers, blue and pink, with little extra flapping pieces

of ingenious feather-work, starting out from the band that goes around the head; these swing back and forth, when dancing.

They have now gathered around the musicians, who discourse sweet music on a box with bits of wooden clappers. These Indians will go among white people and listen to a violin, but if one were played upon in their own charmed circle, they would get up and go away from the place. The girl-dancers have joined them. There is no change in their dress, except that they have bound fancy handkerchiefs around their heads, unbraided their long hair, put a great string of colored beads around their necks, and taken a bright handkerchief in one hand and a white one in the other. Their place is on the outside of the great circle that has been cleared around the burning log. They begin the swaying, hopping, and waving movements-remaining always in the same place, except when they move in a body to the other side of the fire.

The weird music has begun, and off the fantastic dream-dancers rush with a loud whoop, led by the graceful Patbuk, with a willow wand in his hand. Round and round the fire they tear, as if they had suddenly become mad; each has a quill in his mouth, through which a whistling noise is made. Every muscle is in motion. Their steps are regular; the body is bent over, the arms moving up and down. With a quick, deep howl they suddenly stop running, face the fire, keep up all the other motions, with a peculiar dancing step addedstamping three times on the ground with the right foot and twice with the left, or vice versa. The eyes are shut tight, and they whistle away in the most unearthly manner through the quills. Then the movements grow slower and slower, almost ceasing. They look as though they were dancing in their sleep. Suddenly, to your infinite terror, they start with a terrific yell around the fire; then rush up to the musicians, and, closing around them with one long, last howl, come to a perfect stand-still. After a few moments' rest, off they rush again; their painted bodies gleam in the firelight; the feather adornments give them so savage an air that they seem to bristle all over.

Though a little short in stature, their figures are of great symmetry, and there are many handsome faces of the Indian style of beauty. Their hands and feet are small, heads not large, but covered with thick, black hair, cut so as to make one think that they were the originators of the "bang" style. In speaking, the voice is soft, and the sounds of the language musical; but the howl with which they finish each division of the beautiful “dream-dance" is anything

but assuring. We sat on the ground among these strange people, sometimes fascinated with fear, sometimes convulsed with laughter. We were particularly amused at one fat old fellow who made up remarkable faces, and puffed like a steam-engine. What their dreams had been

we could not tell from their representation of them in this dance; but we know that our own dreams that night were filled with grotesque and uncanny figures dancing in the weird light of flickering and unearthly fires. LUCY SARGENT.

IT IS A SUGGESTIVE PICTURE, that presented in Mill's Autobiography, of the child, less than eight years of age, learning political economy in his daily rambles with his father. Workshop and factory, village and farm, supplied the elder with endless illustrations of the great truths which, after all, are simple and easily comprehended. Thus the child grew into manhood with the habit of adjusting, in his mind, the relations existing in every combination around him. Every child has not the capacity of Mill, but any one who cares to make the experiment may satisfy himself that many of the teachings of political economy may be simplified so that, by the aid of present and striking illustrations, any child of fair intelligence may understand them. This is full of significance. The discussions and agitations of the last few years have made manifest a lamentable ignorance of the most rudimentary principles. There is hardly a point, proved beyond peradventure by great thinkers time and again, which has not been flatly denied. There is hardly a heresy, exposed and laid bare for centuries, which has not found eager advocates. The discussions upon our national currency developed theories which had been discarded by every nation. It must be said, in justice to the good sense of the American people, that these "crazes," however fierce, are of short duration. They are born of an idea: they die of thought. But they are abandoned only after infinite and patient expounding of that which is perfectly plain. Not only has this been true in the past, but there is every reason to believe that most of our evils in the future will arise out of mistaken ideas of the law of supply and demand, of the mutual relations of labor and capital, of the proper function of government in relation to labor, and a hundred similar phases of political economy, in which the general law will be denied, and the individual hardship will be insisted upon. Now it is of the utmost importance in a republic that these and kindred subjects should be understood by those who are clothed with the elective franchise. It is too late to commence our teaching when the voter's mind has lost the elasticity of youth, and false ideas have become rigid and unbending. Nor is it sufficient to instruct the few whose circumstances give them access to the university. Political economy should be taught in our primary and grammar schools. It is more important to the State, as a body politic, that the child-the future citizenshould know political economy than that he should know arithmetic. The former enters more than the latter into the questions upon which, as a voter, he will be compelled to pass judgment. Our teachers should be citizen-makers. It may be urged that there are no

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primary text-books of this science, but we answer that a demand will bring an abundant supply. Mr. Nordhoff has taken a step in the right direction, but he has not gone far enough. Or, if books are found inadequate, the class may be taught as Mill taught his son, in the open air, by illustrations drawn from the glowing forge, from the neighboring factory or foundry, from the busy traffic of the street, from all the activities which children see and appreciate every day, but are never taught to classify or to differentiate.

THE ARISTOCRATIC IMPULSE is one of the most narrowing influences in the world. It prescribes distinctions based upon considerations which ought not to induce distinctions. There must always be an immeasurable distance between the pure and the evil, between the brave and the cowardly, between the true and the false. But one who allows accidental circumstances, such as birth, fortune, or connections, to influence him in the choice of his friends, will inevitably find himself falling short of the full development of which he is capable. His generous nature will shrink a little; his better impulses will be restrained a little; and his judgment on every subject will be warped, it may be to a degree that he will not directly appreciate, by his habit of estimating the value of men and women according to a factitious standard. And this is essentially true wherever we allow ourselves to make one rigid, unvarying, Procrustean bed for every one to lie in. Intellectual aristocracy is not the least narrow of the forms in which a feeling of caste asserts itself. What is the benefit, after all, of study, of reading, and writing, and making many books, if, somehow, we are not made broader and wider in our views-if we are not to lose the old habit of measuring everything according to our one rule-if we do not learn to see and appreciate strength and beauty (the latter being the more subtle, and so the more difficult to recognize), whether we find them in the conservatory or in the forest? Your young man just out of college comes into the world with a compassionate pity for this great, generous, hearty man of business who, probably, never heard of Xenophon. The graduate has something higher to give the world than this merchant ever dreamed of. But he begins to learn tolerance as the days and the months go by, and the world will not stop to hear him speak. He begins to appreciate that there is no one so useless as the man who disdains to form a part of the busy, moving mass that is pressing on to the field of action, but stands in idle admiration of his own contracted and unprogressive sphere.

Pes

INTELLECTUAL SUPERIORITY has kept many a man from being useful-especially to the state. Countless persons have been polished, like the family silver, and then put away, never to be brought out, except on some rare and exclusive occasion. Occasionally some nature with broad and universal sympathies breaks from the "reservation," and then we have, in literature a Shakspeare or Goethe, in art a Leonardo, in statecraft a Gladstone. But we find many men of great capacity and preparation who "can not soil their hands" with public affairs. It may be true that the wheel of state has become soiled from the incessant touch of begrimed wheelsmen. But that is simply because better men have held aloof, not because they were not demanded. simism is just now the mode; and there are journals of high repute whose mission seems to be to convince the intelligent American that his country is a colossal failure, and that active and interested citizenship has in it a coloring of turpitude. Very few men have earned the right to grumble because they are ill-governed. Many, who devote day and night to their business interests, appear to think that their interests in this great business of government will be attended to without their efforts. Is it any wonder that irresponsible men come frequently to the front? We met a prominent merchant not long since, on one of the ferry-boats. He remarked: "It is a singular thing that such an incompetent man as can secure the nomination for an important position. His competitor was in every way qualified. I can't understand it."

"Did you know that there was a meeting of the citizens of your ward last week, to nominate a ticket for the primaries?"

CALIFORNIA PREJUDICE, a propos of the Chinese question, is a fruitful subject of Eastern criticism. We are met with the charge of race antipathy whenever we attempt to show what is and must always be the result of the unlimited influx of a people who will neither assimilate with nor contribute to any of those things in which we take pride as forming a part of our civilization. Now race prejudice is the outgrowth of a fixed state of society, where the population receives no acquisitions from the outside. It is most strongly developed in districts where the people have been undisturbed for several centuries. The moment men commence to associate with their fellow-men they discover traits to ad

mire, and the old antipathies give way. Hence it is, that whenever the population is homogeneous, and has remained undisturbed for a considerable period of time, race prejudices will be found; and whenever the popalation becomes cosmopolitan, this antagonism will disappear. Commerce, literature, marriage, and a thousand influences begin their work of assimilation, which no mere prejudice can withstand. Now, as a matter of fact, California has one of the most cosmopolitan populations in the world. People have been attracted here from every point of the compass, and the result has been that all previous distinctions, whether of family or nationality, have been forgotten, and the man alone has been recognized. In the streets of San Francisco the language of every civilized country may be heard in a walk of a few blocks, and men of many lands meet each other every day in social and business intercourse. Speaking of the population as an entirety, and not of individuals, it is safe to assume that nowhere in the known world is there less of that very feeling which is now so clamorously charged against us. This is appar ent from the hospitable way in which the Chinese were themselves first received. They were welcomed in every possible manner, by every grade of society. It was only when the real character of this immigration was discovered that the protest came. Race prejudice comes before acquaintance, and thaws after it. But this protest did not come until long years of observation had forced a reluctant conclusion.

WE ARE ELECTION-MAD. It is no doubt an excellent thing for the people to have a voice in the government; but an universal political cacoethes loquendi, an incessant raising of the popular voice until the clamor deafens the business tympanum, is a doubtful blessing. Every few months we have a crisis. The intervals we spend in preparation or recuperation. Trade is unsettled, attention is withdrawn from industries, and a vast deal of energy and enterprise is expended in electing the Honorable Mr. Nemo to some position which hundreds of others might fill quite as well. It is right that a proper attention should be given to these things, but they should occupy less time. What, after all, is the end to be attained by an election? Is it not merely to choose a government which shall protect us, so that we, being relieved of all care for the safety of ourselves or our property, may go quietly about our own concerns? Do we not defeat the intended object when, instead of protecting business, we enervate and unsettle it; when, instead of making property more secure, we make it insecure? Why should we not settle all questions once in several years? Would the "partisan heat" do us more harm than this continual boiling and seething of the municipal, state, and national cauldrons? An election is expensive in more senses than one, and costs the State thousands of dollars that are not in the official estimates. Trade stagnation and business depression are not ended, either, when the polls are closed.

AN ARTICLE BY MR. C. T. HOPKINS, upon "THE PRESENT CRISIS IN SAN FRANCISCO," appears in this number of THE CALIFORNIAN. This paper was read before THE BERKELEY CLUB, and was ordered printed as expressing the views of that association. We take this opportunity of saying that THE CALIFORNIAN de

sires to be the medium of the best minds upon the Pacific Coast upon all subjects which are engrossing the public attention. We invite leading men to express their views in our pages. We shall build no mould for every one's mind to run in. We do not desire to found any clique, or to establish any literary "ring." But we want the best thought on either side of live questions

not merely the best thought on the side with which we agree. And this language will apply equally to all contributions. In political and social science; in art, in romance, and in poetry; in travels and history; and in all the broad field from which a magazine may choose, whenever and wherever any one has anything of value, we desire to be the medium of its expression.

HIGH-POWER MICROSCOPES.

When a microscope is shown to a person not familiar with the instrument, the first question usually asked is: "How much will it magnify?" as though that quality were a test of the value and utility of the instrument. The true test-value of a microscope is its power of definition, or the quality by which the observer can see most clearly the fine details of an object. As a general thing, even in the most minute objects, this quality is confined to powers of from ten to fifteen hundred diameters. Anything beyond the larger figure usually results in such deterioration of definition that no practical benefit can be derived from the increased amplificationto say nothing of the loss of light. The most notable results have been achieved from magnifying powers of much less than one thousand diameters. The highest recorded magnifying power of any simple microscope, of which any authentic record is found, is that of one belonging to the Royal Society of England, which is said to magnify two thousand five hundred and sixty diameters, and which, it is claimed, has been successfully used with that power by Di Torre, of Naples; but Mr. Baker, of London, to whom the instrument was entrusted for examination and report, could do nothing with it. The power to use such small lenses depends largely upon the conformation of the eye. Such an instrument would be useless to any one that did not possess exceptional visual organs.

The highest magnifying power of any compound microscope of authentic record and successful use is ten thousand diameters. The objective used in this case was a one-eightieth, with a twenty-four inch draw-tube. A one-twenty-fifth objective, with the power brought up by amplifiers and eye-pieces, would probably accomplish the same results in a more satisfactory manner. But Mr. Edward Dickerson, of New York, according to the editor of the American Journal of Microscopy, has reached a magnifying power of one hundred thousand diameters. This result was obtained by well-known means carried to extremes-a high objective, a high eyepiece, a long tube, and an amplifier. Such power, however, can have no practical use. With it a single human blood corpuscle would reach the size of some thirty inches in diameter. A section of human hair, under such a power, would have the appearance of the trunk of one of the giant trees of California. A common house-fly would be enlarged to a monster some half a mile in length. Of course, it would be utterly impossible to obtain a complete view of a fly, even with a magnifying power vastly less than the one above described.

A small part only of one of the facets of a fly's eye would fill the whole field of view, and neither the fly, the hair, nor the blood corpuscle would "appear" at all.

TRANSMITTING COLORS BY TELEGRAPH.

The latest advance in the science of telegraphy is the construction of a device by which forms and colors can be sent by wire as readily as words and signs. The instrument consists of four essential parts, viz: a receiving mirror, transmitting wires, a galvanic battery, and a terminal or reproducing mirror. The receiving mirror is about six by four inches in area, from which issue about seventy small insulated wires, gathered together into one about one foot back of the receiving mirror. Just before reaching the reproducing mirror, each little wire is again separated and connected with that mirror in sections, as with the first. The theoretic action of the instrument appears to be as follows: The waves of light from the object to be transmitted fall on certain divisions of the mirror, and the light and accompanying heat appear to produce momentary changes, either chemical or mechanical, in the amalgam of the mirror, which consists of a peculiar compound of silenium and chromium. These changes are so modified by the electric current that each little wire takes up its connected form and color and transmits the same to the end of the wire, where it is again reproduced, so as to be readily seen in the reproducing mirror; or it may be thrown upon a screen and thus enlarged for more convenient examination or study. The greater or less distinctness of the transmitted image is found to be due to a more or less proper proportion of the component parts of the amalgam. This new and interesting invention has been introduced to the scientific world by Dr. H. E. Licks, of South Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. At the first exhibition of his discovery before a body of scientific gentlemen, various objects, such as a penknife, an apple, a tradedollar, etc., were shown, and readily distinguished by all present, both in form and color, by being thrown upon a screen. When a watch was held before the mirror for a space of five minutes, the minute - hand was distinctly seen to move. A flower and a portion of a theatre-bill were distinctly transmitted; and when the head of a kitten was projected upon the screen, the audience testified its complete satisfaction by most hearty applause. The instrument is called a "diaphote," from the Greek dia (through), and photos (light). Much may be reasonably expected from the probable scientific and industrial