We started next day, and arrived at Hood Point at 4 p.m., but owing to the water being very shallow we anchored a long way from the shore. As we had no boat on board we were obliged to wait till someone took compassion on us, and it was not till after sunset that we were able to get away in a canoe with some of our gear. After a long paddle we passed between the land and the four hamlets of marine dwellings that constitute the village of Bulaa, or Hula, as it is generally called. These looked very picturesque. Dark stilted masses, upstanding from the silver-streaked calm sea, with its changing lights as the swell silently glided shorewards, the broken outlines of these strange homes were silhouetted by the bright moonlight, their blackness being occasionally relieved by the light of a fire.

On arriving at the beach near the London Missionary Society’s Station we were met and most heartily greeted by the teachers, who proved themselves most cordial and hospitable. As one always finds in these Mission Stations, everything was tidy, in readiness, and beautifully clean; the table was covered with a cloth, and was decorated with flowers in vases, the four bedrooms fitted with mosquito nets and every requisite. These good people had not received any notice of our intended visit, but it is the common experience of travellers that the native teachers, like the missionaries themselves, are always ready for a casual traveller, and as invariably give him a warm welcome. It was very refreshing to have food served in a civilised manner after the rough accommodation of the boat. We were here much more comfortable and better fed, and vastly more nicely served, than in Murray Island. Seligmann visited and treated the chief’s sick boy soon after we arrived, and the chief promised to send a canoe to fetch off Ontong, but his power was not strong enough to induce the men to go.

Sunday, June 5th.—We got up at 6.30, and found the teacher had made tea for us; the good man had also sent off a couple of boys in a canoe at 4 a.m. to bring Ontong and the rest of our goods. They arrived about seven o’clock. About 7.30, after a breakfast of hot soup and biscuits, we took a canoe to visit “German Harry,” who was in charge of Mr. R. E. Guise’s plantations while that gentleman made a trip to England. He took us in a two-horse buggy down the Hood peninsula, through the villages of Aruauna, Babaka, Kamali, to the very large and important village of Kalo.

The Hood peninsula has evidently been formed mainly by the Vanigela River. It is a low, level spit of sea sand and of alluvium brought down by the river, deposited in the salt water, and then heaped to leeward by the indirect action of the prevailing south-east wind. This combination makes a light, fertile soil. A considerable part of the peninsula consists of grass land, with scattered screw pines (Pandanus) and small trees, and here and there a few cycads. Occasionally there are patches of bush or jungle, and groves of coconut palms. There are also numerous gardens, which the natives keep in beautiful order.

The peninsula is divided into six lands, belonging to the Kalo, Kamali, Babaka, Makirupu, Oloko, and Diriga people. The last three villages were so decimated by sickness some three generations ago that there were few survivors, and the smaller numbers that still remain have been driven recently to Babaka by the Bulaa. The Bulaa people have planted many coconuts on the land, but the greater part belong to the three tribes mentioned. The Bulaa people now claim the land, and naturally this has been a cause of friction, as the Babaka and Kamali people resent the encroachment. The Government has taken the common-sense view, and recognised that it was necessary for Bulaa to have garden land; and as the Diriga land, which lies at the end of the peninsula, is practically unowned, the Government has had it surveyed and given Bulaa legal possession. The Kamali state they have been in occupation for ten generations, and that the land was unoccupied at the time of their first settlement on it.

The town of Kalo—for this is not too grand a term to employ in this instance—is situated at the base of the Hood peninsula close to the right bank of the Vanigela (Kemp Welch River) at its mouth. There are some magnificent houses here—all on piles, some of which are thirty feet in height and eighteen inches in diameter. It is very impressive to see great houses perched on such high and massive props. At the front of each house is a series of large platforms like gigantic steps. Some of the posts are partially carved, and occasionally the under surfaces of the house planks are also carved. I saw two representations of crocodiles and one of a man under a large steepled house. The planks employed for the flooring of the houses and platforms are often immense, and must represent a tremendous amount of labour, especially in the old days of stone implements; many of them are cut out of the slab-like buttresses of great forest trees that grow inland. The wood employed for the great flooring planks is so hard that the boards are handed down from father to son as heirlooms, and the house piles last for generations.

Sir William Macgregor regards Kalo as the wealthiest village in British New Guinea. The people own rich alluvial gardens, and have a superabundance of coconuts, bananas, yams, sweet potatoes, and taro. They also grow numerous areca palms; the nuts of these palms are usually called betel nuts, and are in great demand for chewing with quicklime, and so constitute a source of wealth. The Kalo people also absorb the trade of the interior, as they command the mouth of the Vanigela. Feathers and feather ornaments, grass armlets, boars’ tusks, bamboos, trees for canoes, wood for houses, and other jungle produce are retailed to the coast tribes, and fish, shell-fish, shell ornaments, and the like are traded in exchange.

It is interesting to note how the material prosperity of Kalo has made the people very conceited and not amenable to outside influence. Like Jeshurun of old, they have waxed fat and kicked, and they have readily listened on various occasions in the past to the counsels of their lusty neighbours of Keapara to oppose the Government. The story of the massacre of the Mission teachers in 1881 at the instigation of the chief is told by the Rev. James Chalmers in Work and Adventure in New Guinea; and in Pioneering in New Guinea he gives an account of how the massacre was punished by Commodore Wilson of the Wolverene, on which occasion the chief lost his life. The marks of the bullets of the bluejackets in the palm-stems were pointed out to us.

So independent are the Kalo folk that they will not meet the Keapara people half-way for trade; so the women of the latter village have to trudge all round Hood Bay with their fish or other marine produce to barter for garden produce, and any day one may see Keapara women sitting in the village square of Kalo.

Hearing that there was to be a dance at Babaka, we walked there early in the afternoon of Monday, June 6th, accompanied by several boys and a couple of girls who carried our bags and cameras, and we were further escorted by four native police and a corporal. It was a hot walk down the peninsula for four and a half miles, across grassy plains, through the gardens and plantations of the natives. The bananas here are planted in regular rows, more evenly, we were informed, than anywhere else in the possession. We greatly appreciated the cool shade when the path meandered through the luxuriant bush.

On arriving at Babaka we climbed on the platform of a house, and rested in the shade and drank the cool, refreshing coconut water. A very disreputable-looking, dirty, aged ruffian came up and shook hands with Mr. English; his face was misshapen through disease, and one eye was bunged up. As is the custom here, his clothing consisted simply of a string. He has the reputation of being a successful dugong fisher and a great blackguard; the tattooing on his back shows that he has also taken human life. By the time I had copied his tattooing the dancing had commenced.

The men, carrying their drums, approached the dancing-ground with a prancing gait. Most of the men had a more or less yellow string as a garment; some had a nose skewer as well. In the crown of their black halo of frizzly hair was inserted a bunch of feathers, the most effective being a bunch of white cockatoo feathers, above which were reddish-brown and green, narrow feathers; from the midst of these arose a vertical stick covered with scarlet feathers. From the hair, and fastened to their armlets and leglets, streamed long ribands of crimped strips of pale yellow palm leaves. The cylindrical drums were also decorated with the same streamers and with seed rattles. They formed a brave show.

In the first figure the men stood in three rows, the outer rows facing inwards; the third and middle row faced one of the other rows, and stood nearer to it than to the other. The men danced by slightly bending the knee and raising the heel, the toe not being taken off the ground, and as they bent their bodies their head-dresses nodded. A couple of girls danced at the end of two columns, facing the men. These girls were clothed with numerous petticoats of sago palm leaf dyed red, with flounces of white pandanus leaf; numerous shell necklaces with boars’-tusk pendants hung down their backs, and shell ornaments adorned their heads. They placed their hands on their abdomen just above their petticoats, and swayed the latter from side to side without shifting their ground. I cannot describe the singing. The music consisted of paired drum-beats.

In the second figure, the central row of men all faced one way down the column except one end man, who faced them. The movements were the same as before; four girls now danced.

Next, the central men all faced the same way.

In the fourth figure the central men shifted their ground from side to side. The four girls at the one end grouped themselves into two couples, each pair took hold of hands, and all swayed their petticoats rhythmically from side to side. One or two girls had by this time joined the opposite end. Some girls swayed their petticoats more than others, and as the petticoats are fastened on the right side, the movement displays more or less of the thighs. A flighty girl often takes care that the two ends of the petticoat do not quite meet where they are tied, so as to increase the effectiveness of this swaying movement. Some girls kept their feet entirely on the ground, heels together, and toes separated; others moved the feet a little. They swung their arms backwards and forwards.

The fifth dance was a repetition of the first, and was repeated more than once, as were also some of the others.

Later, the men fell into seven rows of from four to six in each. All except those at one end faced one way, and these faced them.

There were now eight girls at one end, who stood in a row and faced inwards, like the odd row of men. Two or three girls were at the other end dancing in the same way as girls, but one sidled up to a man and placed her arm round his, and danced demurely. I saw this done at Kăpăkăpă, and later on I saw it at Bulaa and Port Moresby. It is evidently the usual practice in ordinary dances, but I imagine the girl was not in order in introducing this style into this particular dance. All the men and the girls advanced and retreated slowly, moving their feet about three inches at a time; they covered only about a couple of feet of ground. In this figure the girls swung their petticoats forwards and backwards; the music consisted of a uniform series of beats.

In the next figure one end row of men defiled to the right of the others, and either danced up and down the column once and back to their places, or (as in B) they zigzagged up and down. The drums during most of this dance were held high up by the five or six men who were actively dancing.

The girls had rearranged themselves as in the diagram, and swayed their petticoats from side to side.

In the last figure the two end rows left their places and faced one another as in the diagram, and after a little dancing all dispersed.

At the end of every figure the drums were beaten about a dozen times with relative rapidity, this being the signal that it was over. The same occurs in Torres Straits. The women’s dancing appears to be subsidiary. I do not think that their exact position matters much. The variable number was, perhaps, due to their not being ready before.

This dance was one of a series which had been held in this village and in Kamali and Kalo. The last of the series was held the following morning.

After the dance a pig was caught by causing it to run its snout into a coarse net, and then it was thrown down, several men sitting on it while others held its legs, which were next tied. The screaming and squealing of the pig and the shouts and laughing of the men were terrific; eventually the pig was fastened to a pole and left to await developments.

The fantastically dressed-up men who had been dancing collected on a sacred platform, or dubu, in the centre of the village; each carried a bunch of areca (betel) nuts. They then chanted a few sentences and finished off with a yell; and this was repeated two or three times, and an areca nut was thrown on the ground. This was a challenge to the other division of the village to make a similar dance next year.

This village, like so many others, is divided into two sections, each of which has its dubu. At these annual festivals only one division dances, the members of the other being spectators. If, for some reason, such as the death of an important man, a challenge is not taken up, there will be no dance the following year, which is a local misfortune.

A man of the other division stepped forward and picked up the areca nut; then those on the dubu broke up the bunches of the nuts and threw them among the spectators for a scramble, and a scene of hilarious excitement began. I joined in the scramble, and secured one or two nuts.

Shortly after this seven recently tattooed girls walked in a row up and down the broad open space in the village in front of the dubu. The irupi or iropi dance was to be performed by them, and the pigs for the feast had been provided by their relatives. The girls walked in a somewhat stately manner, and gracefully swung a cord of about three feet in length, to which a small netted bag was attached; the other end of the cord was attached to the waist-belt of the petticoat at the back. They swung it with the right hand, causing it to make a graceful sweep behind the back round to the left side, where it was caught by the left hand. During this manœuvre the whole body made a half turn. The action was then repeated with the left hand, the tassel being caught with the right hand. Up and down the little damsels walked, well pleased with themselves, and fully conscious that they were the centre of attraction; it was an elegant dance, and really quite charming. During the irupi dance some women sat on the dubu and beat the drums; this is the first time I have anywhere seen women beating drums, and it is only on this occasion that women may mount on a dubu. The movements of the girls were regulated by the staccato beats of the drums.

The same girls next ascended the dubu and stood in a row facing the village square. Two men then carried the pig, which was tied on to a pole, and stood in front of the girls. An old woman came and stood beside them; she was not ornamented in any way, whereas the girls wore numerous swagger petticoats; round their necks were as many necklaces and ornaments as they could muster, and some had wonderful shell head-dresses. The girls next took off all their petticoats and were anointed by the old woman, who dabbed each girl with a mixture of coconut oil and water by means of a bunch of wild thyme. As soon as the anointing was completed a drum was beaten, and the girls quickly dressed themselves and jumped down from the dubu. This ended one of the most interesting ceremonies it has been my lot to witness.

It is evident that the latter part of the ceremony is the most important, and that it is a fertility ceremony. I was told that it brought good luck to the plantations. It is interesting to note that here, as in India, and indeed in many parts of the world, the ceremony for ensuring a bountiful harvest is performed by the women.

The next day the pig was killed for the feast, and there was renewed dancing.

Mr. R. E. Guise, who has resided for over ten years in the Hood peninsula, has recently described this ceremony in the Journal of the Anthropological Institute (xxviii., 1899, p. 215). Apparently the second and principal part of the ceremony (kuiriga) was somewhat abbreviated on the occasion when we witnessed it. As soon as the girls on the dubu have thrown their petticoats behind them, married women advance and place in front of each girl a basket containing a quantity of areca nuts, on the top of which are a few yams and a small knife. After the anointing, each girl takes a yam in her left hand and the knife in her right, and at each beat of the drum cuts off a piece of the yam, bends her knees, and slightly bows her head, causing the weighted head-dress to sway forwards. The whole effect is described as being wonderfully pretty. After each girl has cut up half a dozen yams the female orchestra give two sharp taps, and the drums cease beating. The girls immediately take up the baskets and pelt the crowd with the areca nuts; this part of the affair is much appreciated by the onlookers, who scramble for the nuts, tumbling over one another like children.

The girls quite enjoy the position, and do not show any shame. Very few, if any, men seem to care to look on the ceremony, old women, widows, and married women who have daughters constituting the majority of the bystanders.

I had previously known about this ceremony and understood that it was of an indecent character, but my experience quite corroborates these statements of Mr. Guise. I must confess to feeling surprised that the men took no notice at all of the girls, and it was perfectly evident that this was regarded by them as solely a woman’s ceremony.

One day we started in the early morning to visit Keapara (Kerepunu). Mr. A. C. English, the Government Agent for the Rigo District, had followed us to Bulaa, and he took us in his whale-boat. After rowing for a long time in a heavy sea against a head wind Mr. English found that the wind and tide were too strong for us to cross Hood Bay; so the sail was set, and we ran down the bay to Kalo. To windward of the mouth of the Vanigela is a sand-bar, which deepens as it projects into the bay, and over this the breakers came rolling in with any amount of surf and flying spray. We had a few anxious moments as the boat was carried along through the seething water, but we got safely through into the quiet water beyond, and then rode into the mouth of the river, a vision of fairy calm and beauty. Nipa palms erected their rigid fern-like leaves directly from the water; they were banked by varied tropical foliage, and shooting skywards were the slender white stems of the coconut palms with their waving leafy crowns.

After a short spell we walked for eight miles along the sand beach round the bay till we came to the entrance of Hood lagoon, over which we were ferried in a canoe, and on arriving at Keapara we were hospitably received by Tau and his wife, the L.M.S. South Sea teacher, who gave us afternoon tea before we visited the village.

The sand beach in front of the village presented a busy scene; until now I had not come across such activity as was here displayed. Several canoes were being made, and not only was there a continuous succession of chopping noises, but the sense of smell was also affected, partly by the smoke of the fires, but mainly by the very disagreeable odour given out by the soft wood as it is chipped by the adzes.

The trees of which the canoes are made grow up the Vanigela River; they are cut down, and their trunks are floated down the stream to its mouth. The Kalo men sell the lumber to the Keapara men, who tow it to their village. The outside of the canoes is cut with steel tomahawks obtained from the white man, but the logs are hollowed out with stone adzes, the stone blade of which can be shifted round to any angle by turning the holder on the shaft. It seems strange that these primitive shipwrights should prefer stone implements to iron ones for hollowing out the canoes; perhaps it is because they are frightened lest the sharper iron blade should inadvertently cut through the thin side of the hull. After the canoes are dug out and trimmed down they are charred by fires lit outside and inside them; the effect of this is to harden the wood, and I suppose to somewhat fill up the pores so as to make the craft more seaworthy. I believe that one result of applying fire to the canoes is to make them open out more widely. Probably in precisely the same manner, save that no metal tool was available, our Neolithic ancestors manufactured their canoes. It was an unexpected pleasure to have this glimpse into the Stone Age.

Sitting on the sand beach was a man chipping out a wooden bowl from a piece of the same kind of wood as that of which the canoes were made. He employed a small adze, constructed on the same principle as that of the large adzes used in canoe making. In this instance the blade was made of iron, but so fashioned as precisely to resemble the original stone blade; subsequently I procured a small stone adze. We photographed the man at work, and, as we have experienced often, he took no notice of us; but he appeared to be much surprised when I bargained for his implement and the unfinished bowl. A native cannot in the least understand why one wants to purchase an unfinished article and the tool with which it is being made.

The Keapara natives buzzed round us like flies, offering for sale “curios” of all kinds and sea shells; often the former were broken and worthless specimens. One did not know which way to turn, so persistent were they, and the din was deafening. Well did they maintain their reputation for being keen, and whenever possible, unprincipled traders; still we did very well and got our things reasonably enough. I understand that they live principally by barter, not only locally, but also doing some trading up and down the coast.

Next morning we paid a visit to the adjoining fishing village of Alukune, or Harukune, which is situated on the other side of the point of land on which Keapara stands. The natives, as is usually the case with fisher-folk in Europe, keep very much to themselves, but here they have good reason for this aloofness. The more powerful Keapara men have for generations been in the habit of levying toll from them in the shape of fish and other marine produce. The Alukune possessed no land, and were not allowed to acquire any, though the Keapara had more than enough for their own wants. Vegetable food being a necessity, the Alukune women either had to go to Kalo for it or had to buy it from their Keapara neighbours, giving fish in exchange, but the latter, being the stronger tribe, were able to obtain the fish at a very cheap rate. They were not only oppressed in this and other ways, but their women were seized and taken as wives by Keapara men. Some thirty-eight years ago half the village, driven to desperation by the oppressions of their neighbours, left in a body and settled at Hood Point, and built the village of Bulaa. The other half who remained were still held in subjection by Keapara, and their condition was but little improved since the old days until very recently, and even now they do not appear to be in a happy or thriving condition.

Although the inhabitants of Alukune are fisher-folk, they obtain their canoes from Keapara, and in return they have to pay half the catch; in other words, they have to trade on the half-profit system. We obtained very little in this village, but I cut some samples of children’s hair, to the amusement of the unlocking crowd and to the great perplexity of the children themselves. The children were playing with toy miniature bows and arrows made from the mid-ribs of palm leaflets.

Just before we started in the whale-boat English arrested a man for petty larceny, and we had an exhibition of native grief. Men and women rushed up to the prisoner as he was being handcuffed and led off to the boat, rubbing noses and applying their mouths to his cheek, but I did not hear any actual kissing. On all sides was weeping and wailing; many clawed the sides of their heads and faces either on one or both sides; some beat their heads and faces, clasped hands were wrung alternately on each side of the head at the level of the ear, frequently the clasped hands were held at the back of the head. There was a great deal of tragedy for very little cause, as the man was going for only a week’s imprisonment, or rather a week of forced labour on roadmaking. The comic element was that he had picked a policeman’s pocket.

We had a spanking sail across the bay, and had a second breakfast on our arrival soon after eleven. About 12.30 Wilkin and I walked over to Babaka to take some more photographs. Ray worked that afternoon at languages, and Seligmann had a very profitable time testing the keenness of the eyesight of the natives.

During the next few days we got through a fair amount of anthropological measurements and other work. We persuaded some girls to demonstrate the process of tattooing, which we photographed. The girl to be tattooed lay on the ground, and the operator held a special clay vessel in one hand, in which was a black fluid paste made from burnt resin; this was applied on the skin by means of a little stick. When the design was finished a thorn was held in the left hand, while in the right hand was a small stick round which strips of banana leaves were wound. The thorn was lightly tapped with the stick until the pattern had been well punctured into the skin.

When a Papuan has a headache, or indeed any other kind of ache, an attempt is generally made to alleviate the pain by letting blood. Usually this is done by cutting the part affected with sharp shells or fragments of glass, or with anything handy that has an edge; but here, and in a few other places, the phlebotomy is also performed by shooting with a diminutive bow and arrow. The bow is made of two or three pieces of the mid-rib of palm leaflets tied together, the string being a strand of vegetable fibre. The arrow is also a mid-rib of a palm leaflet tipped with a splinter of glass (originally a thorn formed the point); the shaft passes between two of the components of the arc of the bow, and the butt is tied on to the bow-string. Owing to this arrangement the arrow, when it is pulled rhythmically and let go, punctures the skin on or about the same spot.

Whilst in Bulaa I added very largely to my collection of samples of the hair of the natives. The Papuan belongs to the group of men who have dark skins and black woolly or frizzly hair. The hair is very much like that of the true negro, but it grows much longer. In some parts of New Guinea the hair is usually worn rolled into numerous cords, which hang down all round the head like a thrum mop, but among most of the people of the south-eastern part of the Possession the hair is combed out so as to form a very characteristic aureola, which is the glory of a Papuan dandy. It is astonishing, however, the number of people one finds in this part of New Guinea with curly, and even wavy hair. In a few cases the hair is almost quite straight, whereas, as I have remarked, the hair of the typical Papuan is frizzly or woolly, and so far as I am aware it is universally so among the hill tribes of the interior, among the inhabitants of the Papuan Gulf, and indeed all over the western portion of British New Guinea. This variability in the character of the hair evidently points to a racial mixture here. I was also surprised to find in this district the tips of the hair vary from dark to quite a pale brown or a tan colour, though the roots are black. I naturally put this down to bleaching, owing to the use of lime for sanitary purposes; but Mr. English assured me that it is a natural colour, a fact of some interest and perplexity.

The marine pile dwellings of the village of Bulaa probably present, at all events at a distance, much the same appearance as did the lake dwellings of Central Europe in prehistoric times. People have wondered how the primitive Swiss drove in the piles that supported their houses. This question can only be answered approximately by noting what people do nowadays. I therefore asked Mr. English to arrange to have the process of pile-driving exhibited.

A post was procured, one end of which was roughly pointed, and to the other extremity two long ropes were tied. One man scooped a hole on the reef at low tide with his hands; the pile was then propped up in the hole by several men. Two or three men steadied the post, while several caught hold of each guy and gently swayed it to and fro; the men who clasped the pole prevented it from overbalancing. Gradually by its own weight the pile is thus wormed into the ground. I was informed that when a pile is sunk actually in the sea a light staging is erected near the top of the post; two or three men stand on this framework, so that by their extra weight the pile may sink more readily.

One day we saw Neolithic men making canoes at Keapara, and here at Bulaa we saw the pile-dwellers at work with a marine pile-village in the background.

I spent a fair amount of time on various occasions in getting a number of small boys to make toys and play games, several of which we photographed. Very little is known about the toys and games of the children of savage peoples, and judging from the interest and anthropological value of the study of the amusements of our own children, these will prove an important field for research when more facts are available. I played a good deal with the children, to their and my amusement. I also showed them one or two of our games, such as cock-fighting and hand-slapping; but I think they were not sufficiently impressed by them to adopt them. I mention this, however, in case a future traveller should find them still practised.

Toys made of leaves were common. The small boys cut off pieces about ten to twelve inches in length from the origin of the leaves of a tall, coarse grass that is used in thatching houses. The blade is split off from each side of the mid-rib for about half its length; the two flaps are twisted round the index finger of the right hand, and the cleared mid-rib is held between the thumb and middle finger; the hand is jerked, and the tearing off of the remaining portion of the blade of the leaf gives a considerable impetus to the mid-rib, which thus flies away like a miniature javelin. This was the simplest method of playing, but there were three others, two of which necessitated the use of both hands; the principle of gaining the impetus was the same in all.

I was informed that this game is also played at Mawatta, a village on the Torres Straits coast of British New Guinea, but I do not know whether it occurs throughout the intermediate coast.

Rushes are twisted into diamond-shaped objects named kuru, they are said to be stuck in houses for play. A Mawatta man claimed that his people also made them, and said, “We look at hill, and make him all the same.”

The following are all made of coconut palm leaves.

Lauga consists of two strips, each with three slits in them; the puzzle is to make or to undo the interlacing as shown in the figure (p. 226).

The simple whirligig make is a very widely spread toy. It is also found in the Solomon Islands in Melanesia, and in Funafuti (Ellice Group) and Rotumah in Polynesia.

A toy wind instrument is made of strips of palm leaf wound spirally so as to form a hollow cone or funnel, which varies from three inches to about a foot in length. Inserted in the cavity are two long narrow strips of leaf, or one long piece doubled upon itself; in either case two similar ends project through the narrow orifice to form a “reed.”

It may not be amiss to explain that there are two main groups of simple wind instruments that are blown by the mouth. In one the lips are applied to the simple orifice, and it is their vibration intensified by the sounding chamber of the instrument that produces the noise. The conch shell and the trumpet are familiar examples of this group.

In the second group there is a vibrating arrangement which is technically termed a “reed.” This group is divided into two classes: (a) the “oboe” or “shawm” series in which the fixed or removable mouthpiece is a tube, the ends of which are pinched together; (b) the “clarinet” series which has a single vibrating tongue. The Bulaa toy may be regarded as a kind of oboe.

I was delighted to find this musical toy, as I remembered that my friend Henry Balfour, the curator of the Pitt-Rivers Museum at Oxford, had recently written a paper on a very similar instrument, the “whithorn,” which was made of spirally wound strips of willow bark. I have since learned from Mr. Balfour that in Somersetshire these are called “Mayhorns,” and very similar spirally twisted rude oboes (also of bark) have been recorded from France, Germany, and Finland in Europe. A spirally twisted palm-leaf trumpet(?) is found in West Africa, and similar instruments from Flores, Sumatra, and Celebes, but I am not quite certain of the exact nature of these latter. The Bulaa name for this instrument is vili vili. A Mawatta man at Bulaa told me his people made it, where it was called upa, but I was not able to check this statement.

The occurrence of a reed instrument in this part of the world was so surprising that further inquiries were necessary, and Mr. English found out, after much questioning, that the toy was introduced by Johnson, a West Indian negro.

Hereby hang two useful warnings, whether this fact be true or not. First, not to assume an object is native to the district because it is found there, but always to make inquiries. Secondly, the need for investigations, for in a few years all knowledge of the origin of this particular toy would be forgotten. These reflections hold good for other objects in all parts of the world. A few months later I found that at Mabuiag, in Torres Straits, a bent leaf of the karbe tree is used as a whistle by blowing with it between the lips.

Once I thought I was on the track of a bull-roarer, and was much excited thereby, as that remarkable implement has not been recorded south-east of the Papuan Gulf; but kwari kwari proved to be a new kind of toy that makes a noise like a fly buzzing, or the flying of a large grasshopper. It is made of a strip of palm leaf bent upon itself, one end of which is tied by a short bit of fine fibre to a long thin mid-rib. The two flaps of the strip are kept apart by a thin bent mid-rib of a palm leaflet. The whole is then whirled round.

A modification of the lauga puzzle is one in which the same strip of palm leaf is cut into two links. On looking closely, one finds that it is made thus: cut a piece of leaf (cardboard will do, but then the method of manufacture is too evident) right through the thick lines in the accompanying figure; cut half through the thickness of the leaf, or card, along the dotted lines, then split the material between these lines, and separate the upper and lower surfaces; the white portion will come away from the shaded link, as in the second figure; the two projecting spurs can be cut away if thought desirable. I cannot imagine how the natives found this out—that is, if it is their own invention; and they assure me such is the case.

Small cone shells are spun between the thumb and fingers like a teetotum.

Our old friend leap-frog is also a diversion for Papuan boys, as it occurs at such widely-spread places as Bulaa and Kiwai. A row of boys stand in a line some distance apart on their hands and feet; the last boy leaps over the others in succession, putting his hands on their backs in the usual way. He then takes his place in front of the others, and the now “last man” follows. This appears to be a very widely-spread game. In Korea and Japan it is called “jumping over,” and the same attitude on all-fours is taken there as in New Guinea. In England we stand on our legs only, and “tuck in our tuppenny.”

We also saw the children indulging in the familiar pig-a-back (pĕkĕkau), hopping (kaikai), jumping (puri), and skipping.

In the game called evanena two rows of boys face one another. Each boy takes hold of the arm of the boy opposite him at or immediately above or below the elbow with one hand, with the other hand he clasps his own arm, right hand may grasp the left arm or vice versâ. This position is similar to our “king’s chair” or “queen’s chair” with the exception that we clasp the wrist and not the arm. As all the boys stand close together they form a double row with a platform of arms between them. A small boy is placed standing on the arms of the last pair of boys, and he walks forward on those of the boys in front. As soon as he has left the last pair of boys they rush forward and place themselves in front of the others, and clasp their arms as before. In this way a continuous platform is maintained, and the game continues till the walker tumbles off. This game is also played at Elevara, Port Moresby.

A variant which I saw played at Elevara is called omoro, or “frog.” In this case the boy, instead of walking on the arms, lies full length on his stomach, and is jerked up and down and at the same time forwards. Ray also saw this game played at Saguana, Kiwai Island, where it is called mere kereme beretsi (“boy-throwing”).

The prettiest revolving game was that known as maki gegelaki. Four boys laid at full length on the ground at right angles to one another, so as to form a cross, with their feet touching; usually they placed a large piece of the husk of a coconut in the centre, against which they tightly pressed their feet. A small boy crouched on their feet to steady them. Four other boys stood between those lying down; they caught hold of their hands; this raised the arms and bodies of the latter. The standing boys walked round and round (right hand to centre), and the whole contrivance revolved like a four-spoked wheel.

Rapurapu. Four boys sit on the ground and interlock their legs in the form of a square in such a way that the instep of the right foot hooks over the pit of the knee of the boy to the right. They then stand up and hop round on the left foot, clapping their hands rhythmically and singing:—

As in Europe, the children have singing games, some of which I have observed are:—

Kwaito pinupinu. A number of boys form a circle, catching hold of each other’s hands, facing inwards. Two run into the circle and under the arms of two other boys; when all the others have run under, the last two twist themselves under their own arms, and the circle is now complete again, but all the boys face outwards. They then revolve sideways as fast as they can, gradually accelerating their speed till one boy tumbles down. They all sing during the evolution:—

Mota ĕrĕmpto. A number of boys stand in a circle, each boy catching hold of his neighbour’s wrists. One boy stands in the centre with arms folded over his chest. The encircling boys sing:

This sounds like a challenge, and immediately the rhyme is finished, the central boy rushes at the joined hands of any two boys and tries to burst through. The game is finished when he succeeds.

Korikini. Some half-dozen boys sit in a circle very close together; each holds the first or index finger of his hands upwards, closing the thumb and other fingers of one hand on the extended index of the other, or on that of another boy; in this way a column of hands is made, the uppermost having its free index finger pointing upwards. One boy alone has his right hand disengaged; with the forefinger he taps the uppermost index finger crosswise. The following is sung during the operation:—

The top hand is then removed and placed under the armpit of the nearest boy. The tapping song is repeated for the next hand, which is similarly placed under the armpit of the boy that happens to be nearest. When all have their hands placed under the armpits, the same boy as before gently scratches each hand in rotation while singing:—