all silent save for the expressionism of the bird forms. There are birds whose notes are different from any other birds and which express in the peculiar rise and fall of inflection a definite opinion of the environment in which they live. Wednesday, September 14. (Tulagi). The collection is mounting. Already we have decided to collect enough to send back to the Museum a shipment before we leave Tulagi. The bugs we collect will stand, I suppose as a far better description in themselves than anything I can put down here. The quest for them, however, is a narrative written in bumps, scratches and persperation. It includes Tulagi and all the adjoining territory, the mansion of the Resident Commissioner, the police barracks, the hills to the N.E., and the grounds of Elkington's. The struggle for existence is not a pleasant thing to observe in its naked form. An ant eats a beetle, a spider catches the ant, a lizard comes along and eats the spider, a bird gobbles up the lizard, and a hawk grabs the bird in its talons and flies away with it screaming over the hills. It is stupid to ask the reason for it all, and yet it is extremely difficult to decide what the reason for it is. Thursday, September 15. (Tulagi). The prisoners do most of the important work in Tulagi. They live in the prison down on the point of the harbor. Early in the morning they are brought down under guard and set to work by the police guard. They cut the mangrove, lay foundations for the paths, cut lumber, unload cargo, heave, haul, coal and carry. They are imprisoned for murder, theft, rape and arson and serve terms up to ten years. Some of them are in very poor health and have all manner of ulcer, scars and deformaties. They are not, however, forlorn as a whole. They accomplish