chant played concurrently by all of them, lost him- self in the irresistible rhythm of the dance. The dance, as a dance, is essentially the same old story as the Solomon Island dance. A head-bobbing, leg-kicking, elemental and satyr-like affair. The most important thing I can say about it is, I think, that it is practically meaningless. It begins with, possesses and ends with no point whatsoever. It is just what it is, a dance, a sing sing. To us it was awfully funny. We knew some of the dancers pretty well and the sudden change of demeanor temporarily executed upon themselves had a highly com- ic al effect. The dancers seem to get a lot of fun out of it, for there was much laughter before and after although the dance requires such concentration on the part of the performers it would be impossible to determine their states of mind at the time. The sing sing proper lasted about ten minutes. After it was over the natives all threw their bamboo flutes far into the bush and made a rush for the food. They gobbled it up quickly, grabbed a basket of taro from the stand and departed down the trail. We had no guests from the other side of the moun- tain. The nearest village is, I suppose, too far away for social intercourse. But from the villages in Arawa valley along the Old German trail we must have had guests from two out of every four.