coconuts, and a few avocados. Some of the pineapples were exceptionally big. Saw some very fine taro too. It is said by Captain Johansson (a sternly anti-administration Republican) that the natives are being ruined fast by an over-generous Uncle Sam back in Washington. They can live without work and therefore will not work. From my own limited observation I should say that at least the natives have not become insolent and disrespectful of the white man. Took particular notice of the attitude of the native men and women (mostly women) of the market place and their attitude to their customers. Saw only one example of freshness, and that on the part of a young man who had the damned hide to address me as "Mack". It was very plain, instead, that these Polynesians retained much of the gracious charm and softness of character which always distinguished them as a people and made them easy marks for exploitation by the White man. It was disgusting to see them being beaten down on their moderate prices by brutish dregs of the ghettos of Europe roaming from our ship. I noticed too the food eaten by the natives of the market place, taking a bite while waiting to make a sale. They ate bananas and baked taro. Who grew these foods if the natives lived on Uncle Sam's bounty? The only white man's food I saw was cake being eaten by young girls who were lounging with some colored men of the ship's crew. The cake no doubt had been brought from the ship. The women show the usual Polynesian kindness to strangers. Saw U.S. navy men fraternizing without reserve with native men, and one sailor walking with his native wife and their child. Yet despite the war's influx of Americans there is little evidence of recent mixing of blood. White men have left their mark there nevertheless. The natives seen in Pango seemed to be a mixture of village people, in for the day, and hangers on of the naval base. The hangers on were in the minority. Saw some of them, men and women, in a hot spot where a native orchestra played to white and native beer drinkers. Not a pleasant sight. There were a number of tables in the room, occupied mainly by our passengers, waited on by native girls. Natives stood around, or danced in an open space between tables. A mild and tawdry sort of Trader Horn orgy. Wandering along the one short business street past the saloon I came to a few trade stores selling canned goods, clothing and cloth. The usual trade lines, marked at prices that seemed high in comparison with the prices charged by the natives for their handicrafts. Farther on was a small, museum-like building, run by government, in which handicrafts were offered at prices higher than those ruling in the street market. A library with a beautifully thatched roof was closed for lunch. This was in the native quarter. The houses were of European style, with breadfruit and mango trees for shade, and little patches of purplish-leaved taro beside them. Girls, fully clad, bathed in little streams running down from the steep mountain sides. My walk ended at a church, a big building of soft concrete blackened by age and damp. The high windows were without glass. All but one door was locked. The wooden forms inside were shiny from use, and beer bottles were strewn through the weeds of the churchyard. It was a Protestant church. Amazingly steep land is cultivated by the natives on the mountainsides rising from the harbor. The mountains are scarp toward the top and may be the sides of an old volcano. Cultivation is carried as high as the base of the scarps. Above that is primary forest, scored by landslip gullies in which a fine treefern forms fairy forests. A pale green vine hangs in curtains from forest trees edging the garden clearings. Most of the garden lands are fallow, overgrown with bright green grass (Imperata arundinacea ?), or a mixture of grass and regrowth trees. The crops are taro, breadfruit and bananas. Coconuts grow in abundance along the foreshores. Did not see signs of much activity in fishing.