Though the business of life drives me to the city from time to time, my soul has been smitten by a claustrophobia that makes it impossible for me to become a slave of the streets. Though I seem to leave the sunshine behind when I leave the country, I can always find refreshment in the parks. Because of this, though I have travelled across the continent, visited great cities and met many men, my happiest and most vivid memories are of the parks. In Stanley Park, Vancouver, I sat under the giant firs and cedars and wondered if the world would ever again know the leisured centuries needed to bring such trees to their royal perfection. In Lethbridge, Regina, Saskatoon, and other cities of the plains I sat under transplanted trees that are struggling for beauty in spite of inclement winters. I have enjoyed the sunshine and shade on Boston Common and in Madison Square Garden, and all have left me memories of the tonic and healing powers of sunshine. My most vivid recollection is of a park in Regina, and that is because of a glimpse I caught of far-away sunshine. A letter from France had caught up with me at Regina and I read it in the park. It was from a boy in the trenches, and among other gossip of the battle-line he told me how he and a chum were sunning themselves by a muddy dugout one morning when the German drive was at its fiercest. Things were looking gloomy for the Allies and the boy had been going over the bad news. "Oh, well," said his chum as he puffed at his pipe, "in spite of all that the sun is shining and the leaves are coming out." So when my Mahatma spoke of the need of sunshine I remembered what it had meant to two boys facing death in Flanders, and his advice seemed good. But I wanted to sound him out on other matters. "What you say may be true, but the great demand of the present time is for laughter. Everybody wants to be amused." "Are you sure of that?" "Well, editors want amusing articles and stories, publishers want amusing books, theatrical promoters want amusing plays and scenarios--lecture bureaus want amusing lectures--and so it goes all the way along the line." "That only goes to prove that amusing people has become a business without any more spontaneity in it than the manufacture of breakfast foods. And the people who want to be amused are the people who have easy money to spend. Have you noticed that mothers who have lost sons want to be amused, or that any of the millions who have been touched by the cruelty of the war are eager to laugh?" "The prevailing opinion seems to be that we should forget the war."