Moresby; and with the Southern Cross shining over my right shoulder, the beat of the distant surf, the rattle of the jungle noises and the singing of my lads, what more could one want. "What ain't we got - we ain't got dames." This afternoon, in response to Keem's request , I sent him out on walk-about with Niko. He made a moderate catch of butterflies and Niko came in with a python, as well. Keem had seen it first, "I see gai-gai but I fright - I call Niko". While they were out - I had given Keem the equipment that Bili uses - Bili was putting hob-nails in my boots for the mountains. One of the locals whom I have seen before happened to pass the camp and I hailed him with good afternoon: Bili rushed out of the fly where he was working, "Yes, taubada; yes, taubada". They certainly are taking good care of me. And I think a few words about them would not be out of place. Keem and Losimo, cook and assistant-cook, are more or less general factota; they belong to nobody in particular, but to everybody in general. They will rate a personal present from all of us at the end of the job. But Niko and Bili, they are my per- senal property; nobody can put them on any job unless I tell them to work for that taubada. They are my responsibility and I am theirs. Both of them have huge, fuz- zy heads of hair, each with a patch over the right eye henna-ed; it smazes me to see Niko put out a cigarette and then stick the butt in his hair as I have seen many a soldier stick one behind his ear. But an ear is just one thing and Niko's hair cannot be called that. I wonder how he finds it again. He is a good, upstanding figure of a savage, a skilled hunter and knows more English than he admits, and is far from dull. Bili, on the other hand, is a round, pudgy little lad, rather on the dumb side but quite villing and tries hard. I must say that nowhere have I seen any evidence of the thought, "why do you have all this and I only have that". So much for my own boys, and I have nothing to do with Len's or Van's. Keem and Losimo, the general property, are another question. Keem has worked with white people be- fore and for a long time, I suspect. His English is quite understandable, his man- ners are impeccable and his cooking good; Losimo is a little fellow, not much over 4 1/2 feet tall, but a hard and good worjcer, and most anxious to please. I write all the foregoing knowing quite well that their intellect is not much above th t of a child, that they can turn as quickly as one turns the page of a book, and that there have been many cases of "running smok" among these people. Keem's real name is Capodia Aboakera, and that of Sugimutu, one of Len's flower-flower boys, is Sugimutu Temadagsalaga; I have not been able to apply the real names to the others but as we are having a psy-day on Saturday, I must do so then. The payments made must be entered on their contracts. 9 April. There has been such a gale blowing during the last two nights that none of the little bicinus which would normally come to my light-trap have been able to stop at the camp. Just blow up into the mountains , I suppose; but tonight the wind is not so strong and I may get something. The night before the wind start- ed I got, at a conservative estimate, 1100; the next two nights, nothing. The big news today is a letter which came in by runner about 1700 hours from Ken; he wrote from Medino, a village two days travel away, had reached the top of Maneau and thinks we shall have no great difficulty. His climb, so far as we know, is probably the first since the 1894 effort, and when the rest of us get there, it will be the third assent. As with Roraima, we shall not be the first, but when we come down, we shall know more about the place than anybody else. Ken said that he and his boys ran short of food and were tired; I am glad that we arranged for the Ruru to call at Medino and pick them up. The day has been quiet; fair collecting, and the boys, Keem, Niko and Bili, looking after me as though I were their wealthy auntfrom the country. Read- ing yesterday's bit of journal over again, I think I may have short-changed Bili a bit; in addition to what I said then, I should add that at the dance Bili beat his tin pot louder than anybody else, hopped about with greater abandon and hissed far more vigorously and loudly than any other of our boys. Perhaps that raises him from the dumb class, and he did a good job of hobbing my boots. Some time last night I was roused by such a xxtttxing rustling of the thatch of the house that it scoulded as if all the specimens we have taken had come to life and were trying to crawl in; tonight I have found that it is caused by the buckles of some straps of Len's which are hanging over the bamboo wall and by the wire supports of my light-trap