bus to Granville. Leaving
Columbus we found the road very wet and heavy from the recent rains,
which had fallen after a drought of many weeks. We lost our way in
coming into Granville, and had to inquire directions at the house of a
farmer. He was so kindly that we were moved to express to him a hope
that he might some day have a motor. "Well, I don't begrudge 'em to
nobody even if I can't have one myself," said he cheerfully.

We came into the broad main street of Granville, the lights shining,
the leaves of the maple trees glistening with the rain which had fallen
earlier in the day. If ever there was a New England town in a Western
State, Granville is that town. It was founded more than a hundred years
ago by Connecticut people, and it bears the impress of its founders
to-day. Its wide street, its old churches, its white houses with green
shutters, its look of comfort and cleanliness, all are typically New
England. We had a most comfortable night at the old fashioned Hotel
Buxton, and drove up on the hill in the beautiful clear morning to see
the buildings of Denison University. The University is very finely
situated on a high ridge overlooking the wooded town, and commanding a
fine view of the green valley beyond. There is a brick terrace on the
hillside, with an ornamental sundial, where one may enjoy the rich
champaign below. Back of the college buildings, which look out over the
valley, the hill plunges down into a fine forest of beeches. The student
at Granville has beautiful surroundings for his years of study. Emerson
said that the mountains around an institution should be put in the
college curriculum. Granville students certainly should include in their
curriculum the beauty of beech forests and the richness of the Ohio
farming country.

From Granville on to Zanesville the country increases in charm. It is
rich and fertile, gently rolling, diversified by fine beeches and elms.
Here and there are plenteous corn fields. But Ohio farmhouses do not
seem to cultivate more flowers than do the farmhouses of Iowa and
Illinois. Reaching Zanesville we are greeted by a great sign suspended
across the road above our heads. It reads, "Hello! Glad you came. Just
drive carefully. Zanesville Motorcycle Club." In leaving we pass under a
similar sign and find that it reads on its reverse side, "Thank you!
Come again. Zanesville Motorcycle Club." We are on the old National Road
now, and find it rather poor. It is uneven, and