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UST now, as I write, the village of Hanuabada (Port Moresby), is one scene of life—truly animated human nature from the oldest man to the youngest bairn kicking in its net cradle, rocked by an elder brother or sister to still its impetuous nature. Who can sleep amidst the thud, thud, of many native hammers (long sticks) used in ship-building, or the slap, slap, of native trowels used by women in the manufacture of native pottery? Now, what does it mean, whence has it sprung, and what object has it? Categorical, no doubt, but to an old stager easily answered. The village within Port Moresby counts about 1,000 inhabitants, 700 pure Motuans, and 300 Koitapuans. The former are seamen and travellers who came in past ages from the distant west, and settling first at Taurama, Pyramid Point, notwithstanding all its barrenness, and living principally on fish and kangaroo, not objecting to an occasional dog. The generations rolled on, and the newer ones think a better place can surely be found than that barren, rocky hill, and they emigrate to this commodious harbour, perhaps the most central of all centres in New Guinea. Plantations were made on the hill sides, and in the somewhat more fertile valleys, on land belonging to a once powerful tribe of sorcerers known as the Koitapuan tribe. Now this Koitapu tribe to the present day is of note on this coast. Once they lived well