Many tribes believe that the soul leaves the body when the evil spirit of sickness enters. The Portage Indians of British America hold this belief. Their medicine men try to bring back the wandering soul by many curious performances. For one thing, the sick man’s friends are ordered to hang up his buckskin moccasins stuffed with soft feathery down. If the feathers become warm to the touch, they will know that the wandering soul has touched them and perhaps is hiding in them. The moccasins are quickly put upon the feet of the patient that his soul may not escape. If he does not get well, it is because his friends were not quick enough in their work. The medicine men of many tribes dress themselves in hideous fashion to excite the fear and compel the respect of their people. They do not have to go on the warpath, but will do it sometimes. It seems to be a good chance for the deformed to win respect from the physically perfect. THE INDIAN AT HOME An Indian in his native costume is a subject artists are glad to paint,—tanned buckskin trousers with the buckskin fringe down the outside seams; buckskin moccasins with colored porcupine quills neatly woven into the leather in regular patterns, and a heavy blanket or buffalo robe over his shoulders, hanging nearly to the ground. But the paint upon his face is his chief pride. A traveler, in 1835, was taking a trip up the Mississippi. He espied an Indian on the forward deck who was making his toilet, apparently unaware that a paleface was watching the process. The traveler gives this account: “The Indian had secured at Fort Snelling, near St. Paul, a bit of broken looking-glass, and there he sat on deck, painting his face and neck. A daub of the brightest red paint went down the line marking the parting of his hair. “He worried and worked as much over the daubs on his cheeks as some very civilized girls would over a naughty curl. First, a daub of yellow with red at the edge; then red on the yellow, and yellow on the red, until his eye was satisfied. “In the tuft of hair on his crown he stuck an eagle feather; the mirror showed it was not in a becoming place. Out it came and was poised at a different angle. Still, it was not just the style he wanted, and out it came again. At last it stood straight up, and the dandy finished his toilet. “Such a self-satisfied air did he put on when paint, feather, and blanket had been arranged to his liking! Perhaps some daughter of the Dakotas was the cause of all this patient study of the art of dressing; but I cannot dream of Hiawatha ever belittling himself to take so long a time with feathers and paint.”