On the third day, about ten in the morning, they announced that they were going. They got together the bags in which a Papuan carries his effects, packed up their new acquisitions, and did a little business with the Dinawa people in small articles I had traded with the villagers, such as matches, tobacco, or an axe, the greatest of treasures—for “trade,” in the Papuan sense, had not reached Ibala. I myself made a few purchases from them, chiefly of clubs, for which I gave in exchange some small knives. To the Dinawa people they gave some sugar-cane, which was greedily snapped up by our destitute neighbours. Then they formed up, shook hands most cordially with us all, took the route, and disappeared into the forest, a party of men in front, the women in the centre carrying the loads, and another party of braves bringing up the rear. For a long time their shouts came echoing back to us through the trees. It was a most pleasant interlude, and when these cheerful fellows were gone we felt the camp almost painfully quiet. One or two incidents occurred to break the monotony of the remaining days. While I was collecting, close to the Aculama, I heard the missionary dog barking in great excitement, and discovered that he had seen a tremendous snake. This I shot in the head and brought into camp, where, on measuring it, I found it to be 18 feet long and 4 inches in diameter. It was of a non-poisonous variety—one of those snakes that live on the small arboreal mammals. I still retain the skin and skeleton as trophies. Even minor incidents of these dull days seemed worthy of setting down, and I note in my diary that one day one of my native carriers, who was going off to the river, demanded a gun. When I explained to him that he could not have one, he remarked with great nonchalance, “Maw-mo-na yow valeo dorka”—“Enough, I understand very well,” and he went off contentedly without firearms. I must not conclude my account of Dinawa without mentioning what was perhaps the greatest of its natural attractions—the almost overpowering magnificence of its sunsets. From the ridge I have watched every variety of colour, ranging from amber, gold, and orange, through purple and violet, to delicate shades of mauve, green, and pink—in fact, every hue of the prismatic spectrum was flung in magnificent profusion across the sky from horizon to zenith. On certain nights the whole landscape would be bathed in a glow of reflected crimson. It seemed as if the world were on fire. Even the vegetation was dyed a vivid red, and as the rim of the sun gradually disappeared, the tints melted to paler shades before they vanished. A brief period of starless twilight succeeded, and then the firmament was gemmed with a million sparkling points, and the tropic night reigned serene in its marvel and mystery. Many and many a time I have sat in rapt enjoyment of that gorgeous spectacle, watching the constellations wheel westward until the dawn overtook and hid them. [Illustration: