Last night I came back by moonlight across the island among the sugar cane. In the distance the lights glimmered from our thatched roof beneath which, at the foot of the mountain, our tents are pitched. On one side of me were bamboo, palm trees and tall feathery reeds and the moon caught the flat of the leaves and turned them to silver. I threw my arms out wide as though to embrace it all. I seemed not to be a mere stranger, a passerby. I, who have no sense of “home” suddenly felt that I “belonged.” My father had a ranch in Wyoming before I was born, and perhaps something hitherto untouched had awakened in me. I have no sense of possession. I do not desire to own. I know that these mountains are as completely mine as some man’s garden for which he has paid. I may climb the mountain, shoot, live, cut fuel, build a house, just as I may fish in the stream, build bridges over it, dam it, treat it in fact as though I had a title deed, but I do not feel that I own them so much as they own me. I belong here ... I do not belong to London, New York, Paris or Mexico City. I do not belong to people or to any social community. I belong to this garden that God has planted. This is not Mexico, it is just Arcady. It is not anywhere in particular, it is just a place “somewhere on God’s Earth.” I may live here all my life if I please. I can afford to live here without ever doing another day’s work. I need make no further effort so long as I live. I need never worry about food, fuel, roof nor raiment. I need never again see the misery of civilization, the poverty, the crime, the sordidness, the ugliness. I need never hear of wars, and the sufferings of humanity. I have strayed into a garden of Peace. But Vasconselos said the truth: if humans are content, they are no better than the brutes, if they have imagination, they suffer always. And I know, that although I have found beauty and my dreams have been outdreamed, and although I have free choice, my decision will not keep me here. I know this may only be a rest by the wayside; that some day I must arise, strengthened, rested, and get back into the fray. I have an ambition, the task is set, I may not give up. This is self-indulgence. No one has a right to continue to live and leave no foot print. One may do some good, or one may do some harm, but one _must_ do something in the world, or forfeit the right to live. My children, what would they become, brought up “in Heaven?” It may not be. They have to pass through the maelstrom to become worthwhile. But this is good, surpassing good, and my heart is full of a deep gratitude. Perhaps some day when the work is done, my soul may rest in “Peace.” IN CAMP--_Date unknown._