Poor pleasure-seekers, whose law is fashion and folly their pursuit! Bubbles on the wave of pleasure, a tracery on the sand which Time’s tide will soon erase. Every year the siren voice of Havana calls, “Come in your private yacht on the Gulf Stream of gold; come with full purse and empty head and heart; come, you ‘best’ society, that you may be seen at your worst; come, all ye who would desert the temple of your mind and soul for this Circe’s palace of fleshy pleasures!” Central America Hamlet found something “rotten in the state of Denmark,” but it was sweet compared with what I discovered in Central America--the land of eruption and corruption, of dirt, disease, destitution, darkness, dilapidation, despots, delay, debt, deviltry and degeneracy, where a conservative estimate makes 90 per cent of the women immoral, 95 per cent of the men thieves, and 100 per cent of the population liars. While strolling about the sultry seaport of Amapala, Spanish Honduras, and thinking of Morazan, the great Honduran liberator, two deceitful dames sought to enslave me. I was a stranger and they tried to take me in--their home nearby. Fortunately a policeman came up and warned me in broken English that these girls were “always--very--bad--to--everybody.” Each one took my arm and I thought it was time to take to my legs and get away. Anticipating my flight, one of them sprang upon me, wrapped her nether limbs about my waist and her arms around my neck. Thus in broad daylight in the heart of the town and in full view of the passerby I was attacked and assaulted. What a shipwreck of character might have happened had I landed at night! I hurried back to the ship and sought the seclusion my cabin afforded. The captain congratulated me on my narrow escape and informed me that on nearly every trip to this port native women of the town attempt to smuggle themselves at night on board to exchange their morals for the sailors’ money. Panama