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  AMERICAN 
  HOMES 
  AND 
  GARDENS 
  

  

  September, 
  1907 
  

  

  Monthly 
  Comment 
  

  

  F 
  SPEED 
  is 
  the 
  chief 
  end 
  of 
  travel, 
  then 
  

   everything 
  must 
  be 
  sacrificed 
  to 
  that 
  end. 
  

   Modern 
  tendencies 
  are 
  decidedly 
  in 
  this 
  di- 
  

   rection, 
  the 
  most 
  marked 
  developments 
  in 
  

   the 
  railroad 
  train 
  and 
  the 
  automobile 
  aim- 
  

   ing 
  overwhelmingly 
  at 
  the 
  attainment 
  of 
  

   greater 
  speed. 
  Yet 
  if 
  this 
  be 
  really 
  the 
  ob- 
  

   ject 
  of 
  travel, 
  the 
  joys 
  of 
  those 
  who 
  go 
  about 
  on 
  the 
  surface 
  

   of 
  the 
  earth 
  are 
  limited 
  to 
  this 
  one 
  thing 
  only. 
  Obviously, 
  

   therefore, 
  the 
  modern 
  traveler 
  is 
  bound 
  to 
  lose 
  the 
  larger 
  

   part 
  of 
  the 
  delights 
  of 
  travel. 
  Of 
  the 
  country 
  through 
  which 
  

   he 
  is 
  drawn 
  or 
  propelled 
  at 
  the 
  highest 
  possible 
  rate 
  of 
  

   speed, 
  he 
  sees 
  little; 
  of 
  knowledge 
  of 
  it 
  he 
  obtains 
  none 
  at 
  

   all; 
  of 
  its 
  wealth 
  of 
  natural 
  beauty 
  he 
  absorbs 
  only 
  the 
  

   sketchiest 
  reminiscences 
  ; 
  of 
  its 
  people 
  he 
  scarce 
  memorizes 
  

   so 
  much 
  as 
  their 
  costume; 
  its 
  intellectual 
  treasures 
  in 
  the 
  

   way 
  of 
  art 
  he 
  perhaps 
  misses 
  altogether. 
  For 
  him 
  there 
  is 
  

   nothing 
  but 
  speed, 
  speed, 
  and 
  speed. 
  If 
  the 
  roads 
  are 
  good, 
  

   and 
  he 
  is 
  traveling 
  by 
  motor 
  car, 
  he 
  has 
  a 
  fine 
  time; 
  if 
  they 
  

   are 
  bad, 
  he 
  wishes 
  he 
  was 
  in 
  some 
  other 
  place 
  where 
  they 
  

   are 
  good. 
  

  

  There 
  is 
  joy 
  in 
  speeding 
  over 
  a 
  good 
  road. 
  It 
  is 
  

   marvelously 
  fine 
  to 
  skim 
  for 
  miles 
  at 
  a 
  rapid 
  pace 
  along 
  

   a 
  smooth 
  and 
  safe 
  highway, 
  free 
  from 
  interruptions 
  and 
  

   without 
  the 
  annoying 
  supervision 
  of 
  the 
  police. 
  It 
  is 
  not 
  

   only 
  fine, 
  but 
  it 
  is 
  fascinating, 
  with 
  a 
  fascination 
  that 
  grips 
  

   and 
  enthralls 
  one. 
  There 
  is 
  small 
  wonder 
  that 
  every 
  other 
  

   idea 
  is 
  thrust 
  out 
  of 
  mind 
  in 
  the 
  delights 
  of 
  this 
  splendid 
  

   sport. 
  But 
  let 
  us 
  put 
  it 
  in 
  the 
  right 
  place. 
  Let 
  us 
  admit, 
  as 
  

   we 
  should, 
  that 
  speeding 
  and 
  traveling 
  are 
  two 
  different 
  

   things, 
  and 
  the 
  equilibrium 
  of 
  travel 
  will 
  be 
  restored. 
  

   Granted 
  this 
  distinction, 
  the 
  next 
  step 
  is 
  manifest: 
  speeding 
  

   should 
  be 
  limited 
  to 
  speedways, 
  and 
  the 
  ordinary 
  roads 
  re- 
  

   stored 
  to 
  their 
  ordinary 
  uses 
  for 
  which 
  they 
  are 
  intended. 
  

   Is 
  it 
  conceivable 
  that 
  every 
  one 
  will 
  then 
  be 
  happy? 
  Not 
  

   quite, 
  perhaps; 
  for 
  so 
  long 
  as 
  there 
  are 
  excellent 
  roads 
  along 
  

   which 
  automobiles 
  are 
  forbidden 
  to 
  travel 
  at 
  record-making 
  

   speed, 
  just 
  so 
  long 
  will 
  the 
  automobilist 
  long 
  for 
  such 
  un- 
  

   conquered 
  highways. 
  At 
  present 
  there 
  is 
  no 
  sufficient 
  means 
  

   of 
  limiting 
  this 
  great 
  new 
  traffic. 
  It 
  seems 
  to 
  be 
  assumed 
  that 
  

   because 
  a 
  man 
  possesses 
  an 
  apparatus 
  that 
  will 
  travel 
  over 
  

   any 
  good 
  road, 
  therefore 
  every 
  good 
  road 
  must 
  be 
  placed 
  

   at 
  his 
  service. 
  Yet, 
  after 
  all, 
  the 
  criticism 
  against 
  reckless 
  

   automobiling 
  is 
  not 
  directed 
  against 
  automobiles 
  as 
  such, 
  

   but 
  against 
  the 
  careless 
  and 
  indifferent 
  folk 
  who 
  ride 
  heed- 
  

   lessly 
  whithersoever 
  they 
  listeth, 
  carrying, 
  often 
  enough, 
  

   death 
  and 
  destruction 
  into 
  an 
  expedition 
  that 
  is 
  intended 
  to 
  

   be 
  one 
  of 
  pure 
  pleasure. 
  

  

  The 
  quiet 
  traveler 
  has 
  many 
  advantages 
  compared 
  with 
  

   the 
  speed 
  maniac. 
  He 
  travels 
  slowly 
  and 
  leisurely, 
  seeing 
  

   strange 
  sights 
  and 
  strange 
  people, 
  appreciating 
  wonderful 
  

   new 
  scenery 
  and, 
  it 
  may 
  be 
  supposed, 
  attentively 
  studying 
  

   every 
  object 
  of 
  curiosity 
  and 
  interest 
  that 
  presents 
  itself 
  to 
  

   his 
  mind. 
  If 
  he 
  is 
  traveling 
  for 
  pleasure 
  he 
  seeks 
  all 
  the 
  

   transcendent 
  pleasures 
  of 
  travel 
  in 
  a 
  strange 
  land. 
  He 
  may 
  

   not 
  write 
  a 
  book 
  about 
  what 
  he 
  sees, 
  and 
  perhaps 
  it 
  is 
  as 
  

   well 
  he 
  does 
  not; 
  but 
  he 
  stores 
  up 
  in 
  his 
  memory 
  a 
  vast 
  fund 
  

   of 
  new 
  knowledge 
  which, 
  throughout 
  his 
  life, 
  will 
  be 
  a 
  con- 
  

   stant 
  pleasure 
  and 
  relaxation. 
  The 
  old-time 
  travelers, 
  who 
  

   went 
  abroad 
  afoot, 
  or 
  journeyed 
  through 
  Europe 
  horseback 
  

   or 
  by 
  stage 
  coach, 
  reaped 
  many 
  joys 
  that 
  the 
  more 
  convenient 
  

   and 
  much 
  more 
  rapid 
  methods 
  of 
  modern 
  travel 
  fail 
  to 
  re- 
  

   turn. 
  If 
  the 
  object 
  of 
  travel 
  is 
  to 
  cover 
  as 
  much 
  ground 
  in 
  

  

  a 
  single 
  day 
  as 
  possible, 
  there 
  is 
  nothing 
  more 
  to 
  be 
  said; 
  

   but 
  if 
  it 
  is 
  to 
  see 
  and 
  enjoy 
  a 
  strange 
  country 
  to 
  the 
  fullest, 
  

   then 
  some 
  obvious 
  changes 
  are 
  needed 
  in 
  modern 
  methods. 
  

  

  The 
  roads 
  of 
  Europe 
  are 
  so 
  almost 
  universally 
  good 
  that 
  

   excellence 
  in 
  roadways 
  is 
  thoroughly 
  characteristic 
  of 
  that 
  

   part 
  of 
  the 
  world. 
  It 
  is 
  a 
  significant 
  commentary 
  on 
  Amer- 
  

   ican 
  progress 
  that 
  bad 
  roads 
  are 
  distinctively 
  characteristic 
  of 
  

   this 
  country. 
  It 
  is 
  true, 
  real 
  progress 
  is 
  not 
  wholly 
  unknown 
  

   among 
  us. 
  The 
  value 
  of 
  good 
  roads 
  is 
  now 
  everywhere 
  

   recognized, 
  and 
  much 
  has 
  been 
  done 
  in 
  the 
  way 
  of 
  bettering 
  

   and 
  improving 
  existing 
  roads 
  in 
  many 
  parts 
  of 
  America, 
  

   while 
  a 
  much 
  greater 
  care 
  is 
  exercised 
  in 
  laying 
  out 
  new 
  

   ones 
  than 
  was 
  formerly 
  the 
  case. 
  But 
  the 
  real 
  significance 
  

   of 
  the 
  difference 
  between 
  the 
  good 
  roads 
  of 
  Europe 
  and 
  the 
  

   bad 
  roads 
  of 
  America 
  is 
  not 
  their 
  relative 
  excellence 
  and 
  bad- 
  

   ness, 
  but 
  the 
  fact 
  that 
  the 
  European 
  roads 
  were, 
  from 
  the 
  

   beginning, 
  built 
  in 
  a 
  thoroughly 
  good 
  way, 
  and 
  for 
  years 
  

   have 
  been 
  the 
  object 
  of 
  the 
  most 
  careful 
  governmental 
  care 
  

   and 
  maintenance; 
  while 
  the 
  good 
  roads 
  in 
  America 
  have 
  

   chiefly 
  been 
  promoted 
  by 
  the 
  riders 
  of 
  bicycles 
  and 
  the 
  

   drivers 
  of 
  automobiles 
  ! 
  In 
  other 
  words, 
  the 
  good 
  roads 
  of 
  

   Europe 
  represent 
  the 
  natural 
  feeling 
  of 
  the 
  government 
  and 
  

   people 
  toward 
  roads, 
  irrespective 
  of 
  the 
  uses 
  to 
  which 
  they 
  

   are 
  put 
  or 
  the 
  sort 
  of 
  machines 
  that 
  may 
  travel 
  over 
  them. 
  

   It 
  is 
  equally 
  true 
  that 
  the 
  bad 
  roads 
  of 
  America 
  represent 
  

   the 
  national 
  indifference 
  to 
  such 
  matters. 
  Europe 
  has 
  had 
  

   good 
  roads 
  for 
  many 
  years; 
  in 
  America 
  they 
  have 
  existed 
  

   for 
  less 
  than 
  the 
  period 
  of 
  a 
  single 
  generation 
  

  

  The 
  city 
  man 
  who 
  moves 
  out 
  into 
  the 
  country 
  is 
  im- 
  

   mediately 
  impressed 
  with 
  the 
  "greenness" 
  and 
  density 
  of 
  the 
  

   rural 
  population. 
  To 
  him, 
  it 
  is 
  at 
  once 
  the 
  most 
  amusing 
  

   and 
  the 
  most 
  astonishing 
  thing. 
  He 
  takes 
  with 
  him, 
  it 
  may 
  

   be 
  presumed, 
  all 
  the 
  qualifications 
  of 
  the 
  advanced 
  civiliza- 
  

   tion 
  that 
  chiefly 
  thrives 
  in 
  a 
  crowded 
  metropolis, 
  and 
  then 
  

   finds 
  there 
  is 
  nothing 
  comparable 
  to 
  it 
  in 
  his 
  new 
  surround- 
  

   ings. 
  But 
  does 
  the 
  city 
  man 
  ever 
  realize 
  that 
  while 
  his 
  rural 
  

   neighbors 
  are 
  as 
  green 
  as 
  grass 
  to 
  him, 
  he 
  is 
  even 
  more 
  

   obtusely 
  green 
  to 
  them? 
  Harrowing 
  as 
  the 
  thought 
  is, 
  it 
  is 
  

   unquestionably 
  true. 
  The 
  city 
  boy 
  who 
  has 
  never 
  seen 
  the 
  

   green 
  fields 
  finds 
  the 
  most 
  ordinary 
  of 
  country 
  sights 
  and 
  

   sounds 
  as 
  strange 
  as 
  though 
  they 
  belonged 
  to 
  another 
  world. 
  

   And 
  the 
  older 
  man 
  is 
  equally 
  dense. 
  The 
  doings 
  of 
  the 
  city 
  

   folk, 
  indeed, 
  are 
  quite 
  as 
  amusing 
  and 
  as 
  full 
  of 
  absurdities 
  to 
  

   the 
  country 
  folk, 
  as 
  the 
  thoughts 
  and 
  ways 
  of 
  the 
  latter 
  are 
  to 
  

   the 
  former. 
  Now 
  that 
  it 
  has 
  become 
  the 
  fashion 
  for 
  cooks 
  

   and 
  chambermaids 
  to 
  write 
  of 
  the 
  doings 
  of 
  their 
  masters 
  and 
  

   mistresses 
  from 
  their 
  own 
  lowly 
  standpoint, 
  the 
  day 
  may 
  

   not 
  be 
  far 
  distant 
  when 
  some 
  very 
  green 
  countryman 
  will 
  

   turn 
  the 
  tables 
  on 
  the 
  city 
  man 
  and 
  depict 
  his 
  greenness 
  in 
  

   the 
  dense 
  colors 
  they 
  deserve. 
  It 
  will 
  be 
  rich 
  reading 
  when 
  

   it 
  comes. 
  

  

  The 
  countryside 
  has 
  its 
  own 
  standards, 
  of 
  which 
  the 
  city 
  

   folk 
  know 
  little 
  enough 
  and 
  care 
  less. 
  The 
  most 
  ignorant 
  

   of 
  city 
  folk 
  would 
  never 
  hitch 
  a 
  horse 
  in 
  backward, 
  so 
  its 
  

   head 
  would 
  be 
  over 
  the 
  dashboard 
  of 
  the 
  wagon 
  and 
  its 
  tail 
  

   appear 
  in 
  the 
  place 
  the 
  head 
  is 
  usually 
  looked 
  for; 
  but 
  he 
  

   might 
  not, 
  at 
  the 
  beginning, 
  know 
  how 
  to 
  adjust 
  the 
  various 
  

   straps 
  or 
  understand 
  their 
  significance. 
  The 
  countryman, 
  

   however, 
  would 
  look 
  upon 
  a 
  lack 
  of 
  knowledge 
  of 
  hitching 
  

   and 
  driving 
  as 
  proof 
  positive 
  of 
  the 
  most 
  dense 
  and 
  intense 
  

   ignorance 
  on 
  ordinary 
  matters 
  of 
  life 
  that 
  had 
  come 
  within 
  

   his 
  knowledge. 
  The 
  only 
  difference 
  is 
  in 
  the 
  point 
  of 
  view. 
  

  

  