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Next morning, Sunday the 8th, we left the inn at eleven o'clock for Providence. It was a perfect morning, neither hot nor cold, sun bright, and the air stirring.

We took the narrow road almost opposite the entrance to the inn, climbed the hill, threaded the woods, and were soon travelling almost due south through Framingham, Holliston, Medway, Franklin, and West Wrentham towards Pawtucket.

To disarm criticism at the outset, the writer acknowledges a thousand imperfections in this discursive story. In all truth, it is a most garrulous and incoherent narrative. Like the automobile, part of the time the narrative moves, part of the time it does not; now it is in the road pursuing a straight course; then again it is in the ditch, or far afield, quite beyond control and out of reason. It is impossible to write coolly, calmly, logically, and coherently about the automobile; it is not a cool, calm, logical, or coherent beast, the exact reverse being true.


During these days the President was dying in Buffalo, though the country did not know it until Friday.


Any woman can drive an electric automobile, any man can drive a steam, but neither man nor woman can drive a gasoline; it follows its own odorous will, and goes or goes not as it feels disposed.


It was Saturday, the 14th, at nine o'clock, when we left New York for Albany, following the route of the Endurance Contest.

The morning was bright and warm. The roads were perfect for miles. We passed Kings Bridge, Yonkers, Hastings, and Dobbs Ferry flying. At Tarrytown we dropped the chain. A link had parted. Pushing the machine under the shade of a tree, a half-hour was spent in replacing the chain and riveting in a new link. All the pins showed more or less wear, and a new chain should have been put on in New York, but none that would fit was to be had.


The machine was just an ordinary twelve hundred dollar single-cylinder American machine, with neither improvements nor attachments to especially strengthen it for a long tour; and it had seen constant service since January without any return to the shop for repairs.


We left Buffalo, Saturday the 20th, at four o'clock for St. Catharines. At the Bridge we were delayed a short time by customs formalities.

In going out of the States it is necessary to enter the machine for export and return, otherwise on coming in again the officials on our side will collect duty on its full value.

The "Nor'-west Angle" - The Company's House - Triumph of "Stick-in-the-Mud" - On the Lake of the Woods - A Gallant Cook - Buns a l'imprevu - A Man overboard! - Camping out - Clear Water Bay - Our First Portage - A Noble Savage - How Lake Rice and Lake Deception won their Names - At our Journey's End.

Making a New Home - Carriere's Kitchen - The Navvies' Salle-a-Manger - A Curious Milking Custom - Insect Plagues - Peterboro' Canoes - Fishing Trips - Mail-day - Indian dread of drowning - The Indian Mail-carrier and his Partner - Talking by Telegraph - Prairie Fires.

Irish Wit - Bears? - Death on the Red Pine Lake - A Grave in the Catholic Cemetery - The First Dog-train - A Christmas Fete - Compulsory Temperance - Contraband Goods - The Prisoner wins the Day - Whisky on the Island - The Smuggler turned Detective - A Fatal Frolic - "Mr. K - - 's Legs".

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