This bureau is located in a beautiful white marble building between Seventh and Eighth streets, facing the Patent Office. These two buildings are among the very best specimens of architecture in the capital.

Hon. Francis E. Leupp, the Commissioner of Indian Affairs, receives a salary of $5,000; the Assistant Commissioner receives $3,000. They have about one hundred assistants in Washington, consisting of clerks, bookkeepers, stenographers, superintendents, architects, draftsmen, etc. Of persons connected with Indian affairs, on the field, including Indian agents, storekeepers, teachers, farmers, and artisans, fully 10,000 are paid government money. There are in the United States, exclusive of Alaska, 269,388 Indians under the government care. Of these, 184,881 are not included in the five great tribes. Over 98,000 of these Indians wear the dress of civilization, and over 46,000 can read and write. Of communicant church-members there are 30,935—not a very large proportion after two hundred years of instruction.

There are 59 agencies, and about 20,000 Indians outside of the agencies. The reservations are, generally speaking, the lands which white men considered they would never want, being the most barren, forlorn, hopeless spots in the state or territory in which they are located. Bad as they are, many of them are now coveted by the white man, who, under the plea of breaking up Indian tribal relations, will within a few years buy or appropriate the last acre.

There are now no nomadic tribes; the hunting-grounds are all taken, and the Indian must work, receive government rations, or die. The Indians receive over $200,000 in money, some by contract receive rations through removal, and all are assisted with agricultural implements, seeds, and breeding animals.

It was once my lot to see an Indian tribe forcibly removed from some place in the North to the Indian Territory. A more sorrowful sight can scarcely be imagined. My recollection is that they were the Nez PercÉs. They were large men with fine heads and faces. The women were worthy to be the mothers of warriors. As they camped for the night, the men gathered in small circular groups, sat Turkish fashion on the ground, and smoked their pipes in absolute silence. Sorrow, dejection, and despair were written all over them. The women pitched the tents and cooked the suppers, with the bent bodies and cast-down countenances of broken hearts.

A company of regular army men was their escort. I spoke to the officers. The captain said: "I hope my government will never again detail my company to do such work. It simply uses me up to see these broken-hearted people. Many have escaped, but I can not shoot them."

That they have been deeply wronged, no one doubts; that they are still in many cases victims of the white man's cupidity, is self-evident; but the government is trying to do the best now possible for them. It is not possible in a short time to correct the errors of a century, but when kind hearts and wise brains are acting in their behalf the future may be considered more hopeful.

It is gratifying to see that the present Commissioner urges that local schools shall do the work with the Indians, for even tho the Indian should learn less, his home ties will be maintained, and his knowledge, as it is acquired, will be applied in the home. Then the reconcentrado methods can be abolished.

Young Indians should be placed with farmers to learn farming, and paid as much as their work is worth. In the same way girls should learn housekeeping. Of all people the Indian is a social being. If placed on farms all the homes would center in one place. Our young white people can not stand the loneliness of the farm; how can we expect people who have had tribal relations to endure it?

The white man's trades and occupations only to the degree positively needed should be forced upon them; but their own bead-work, fancy baskets, queer pottery, and Navajo blankets should be greatly improved, and their artistic tastes in their own line cultivated. Let us make them see that we white people like their own characteristic work, and we will not need to turn their industry into new lines.

Miss Estelle Reel, Superintendent of Indian Schools, visits all the Indian schools, whether in civilization at Carlisle and Hampton or at the farthest reservation. She receives a salary of $3,000, with an allowance of $1,500 for traveling expenses. Stage-coach, buckboard, railroad, boat, and canoe are familiar servants in her work.

Every line of her splendid reports teems with heart-and-soul enthusiasm. She has just put out a book entitled, "Course of Study for the Indian Schools of the United States, Industrial and Literary." Besides the common school branches, it treats of the elements of agriculture, bakery, basketry, blacksmithing, carpentry, cooking, housekeeping, laundry, physiology, shoemaking, tailoring, upholstering, and, in fact, almost everything needed in daily living. Through it all runs a real practical teaching in morality—that good work is truth, bad work is untruth. Work in any one is the measure of character.

You remember President Roosevelt, in his New York speech concerning missions, spoke of the great underpaid army of faithful clergymen all over this land who, in obscure places, hold up the correct models of morality, who keep the ideals of the nation to honest, simple, earnest, true daily living. Much more is this true of the missionaries among the Indians.

I remember once visiting the Indian school at Albuquerque, New Mexico. Professor Bryan was then at the head of it. The school was partly supported by funds from the Presbyterian Church and partly by government money. At the table I was trying to find from each one his or her share in the great work they were doing. I asked each one, and each gave me a short, graphic account of his work. I sat at Professor Bryan's right hand; just opposite me sat a bright-faced German, looking the wisest person at the table. As I came to him I said, "And you, Professor?" "Madam, I am the cook." Whether my face flushed with surprise or not I do not know. No one smiled. After a somewhat embarrassing moment for me, he said: "Madam, since I was a little boy I have desired to be a missionary to the Indians. I received a good education, graduated at the Berlin University, took a course in theology at a seminary in Germany, then came here, where I found that my imperfect English was an insurmountable barrier to religious work among the Indians. We had no cook. Some of our best teachers were ill nearly all the time, so I became the cook, and I do it unto God, believing that every soul saved by these devoted workers, whose health I have improved, is part of my work. Do you approve?"

"Do I approve?" I said. "Why, every pot and kettle becomes a sanctified implement in your hand. The Master said: 'And whosoever of you will be the chiefest, shall be servant of all. For even the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many.'"