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She was far gone in the ways of the white people. The house had a carpet on the floor, and clean, white coverlets on the beds. Maclame's dishes were displayed on the dresser of open shelves in showy piles and edgewise rows; and her cooking utensils were always of the proper hue. The princi pal rooms were painted and papered, and in the second story was a large reception room, — quite sufficient for the social enter tainment of their large circle of friends, — who, of course, were of the Indian " upper class." Miscegenation has largely invaded the last stronghold of the Tarratines, and there are white husbands of dusky wives, and vice versa. In consequence, there has arisen a state of feeling in the community as bitter, if not as violent, as that formerly, when the question of social morality was the disturb ing clement. There are now on the island as fine houses as many Maine villages can boast, and wealth and superior race on one side are pitted against Indian aristocracy and wealth, — the intruding white persons and their spouses and near Indian relatives against the "pure-bloods " and their set. A white woman has proved the firebrand that set the Tarratine pride aflame. She is known all over Maine as "Madame Bishop," the soothsayer. When a girl of eleven years she was given to the Indians by her white parents. She grew up to womanhood among them, entering fully into their modes of life. When about eighteen she married an Indian and bore him st-vcral children. About fif teen years ago she became a widow. Sub sequently she traveled over the State, practicing everywhere a peculiarly weird system of fortune-telling, in which she is very proficient. It is stated that she has long had a regular clientage among wellknown business men, who have had great confidence in her advice. Not long ago Madame Bishop again mar ried, and this time the benedict was a white

man. She took him to live with her at Indian Island, where she built a fine house, but being white, could only obtain the land by a lease. There has grown such jealousy of her among the pure-blooded families because of her occupation, influence, and her deport ment toward them, that even the architec tural ornament her residence furnished to the village only increased the feeling against her, and finally the head men of the tribe demanded that she and all other whites speedily remove from the Indian reservation. Her invectives have been free and fearful against the Sockalexis, Francis, Nicolas, Sockabasins, and other exclusively pureblood families; and, though all fear that her hostility may bring them bad luck, the tribal authorities determined that she and all others of her race, whether husbands or wives, must go; and the law is on their side. A couple of years ago a dozen of the chief squaws (a term which some of them would now repel), under the guidance of an enthusiastic white woman of eminent social position, formed an organization under the name of the " Wa-ba-na-ki Club "; which has been admitted to the Maine Federation of Woman's Clubs. Whether the hostility to the white fortune teller will disappear by her admission into this charmed circle is an unsolved problem. The first president of the club is a pure-blood squaw of the tribe, and, withal, a handsome woman, and a self-possessed, clear and easy speaker of pure English. When, two or three years ago, a citizen of Boston — a publicist with humanitarian ten dencies — inquired of the leading people of the Oldtown Island what gift they would like from their Boston friends, they at once and emphatically declared for a library. In ac cordance with their wish, the gentleman pro vided them at once with $200 for the purpose, and has been the means since of turning many volumes that way. Yet literature had already taken root there, in native soil. As long ago as 1893, there