g for some one to provide them with
shelter, for which the utmost possible provision was quickly made. No
one was allowed to go hungry in Oakland and few lacked shelter. At the
Oakland First Presbyterian Church 1,800 were fed and 1,000 people were
provided with sleeping accommodations. Pews were turned into beds. Cots
stood in the aisles, in the gallery and in the Sunday school room. Every
available inch of space was occupied by some substitute for a bed.

As the days wore on the number of refugees somewhat decreased. Although
they still came in large numbers, many left on every train for different
points. Requests for free transportation were investigated as closely
as possible and all the deserving were sent away. Women and children and
married men who wished to join their families in different parts of the
State were given preference. The transportation bureau was on a street
corner, where a man stood on a box and called the names of those
entitled to passes.

Along the principal streets of Oakland there was a picturesque
pilgrimage of former householders, who dragged or carried the meagre
effects they had been able to save. The refugees who could not be cared
for in Oakland made an exodus to Berkeley and other surrounding cities,
where relief committees were actively at work. Utter despair was
pictured on many faces, which showed the effects of sleepless days and
nights, and the want of proper food.

Oakland was only one of the outside camps of refuge. At Berkeley
over 6,000 refugees sought quarters, the big gymnasium of the State
University being turned into a lodging house, while hundreds were
provided with blankets to sleep in the open air under the University
oaks. The students and professors of the University did all they could
for their relief, and the Citizens' Relief Committee supplied them with
food.

The same benevolent sympathy was manifested at all the places near the
ruined city which had escaped disaster, this aid materially reducing
that needed within San Francisco itself.

WORSHIP IN THE OPEN AIR.

Sunday dawned in San Francisco; Sunday in the camp of the refugees. On a
green knoll in Golden Gate Park, between the conservatory and the tennis
courts, a white-haired minister of the Gospel gathered his flock. It was
the Sabbath day and in the turmoil and confusion the minister did not
forget his duty. Two upright stakes and a cross-piece gave him a rude
pulpit, and beside him stood a young ma