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OU may remember that one of the ' first things Homer thought worth recording of Odysseus was that "he had seen the towns and knew the minds of many men." When the poet, moreover, characterizes his hero as resourceful, ingenious, a man of many wiles, the inference is plain that this same resourcefulness came of his having knocked about in many strange corners of the earth.

Thus Homer long ago put on record his belief in travel as an essential part of a liberal education.

In later, modern times we have so marvelously improved our facilities for doing all sorts of things, traveling included, that the means often bid fair to overshadow the end. The very fact that we have made our getting about the world so much easier, swifter, safer, has cost us much of that intimate personal contact which must always be the truest delight and most enduring value of travel.

Not long ago, in reading over some family papers, I chanced upon a letter describing a journey from Detroit to New York when railways were not and the Erie Canal was a greater marvel than is Panama to-day. A tempestuous voyage in a sailing vessel down Lake Erie to Buffalo; lazy days on the canal packet, gliding through the fertile fields and newly built villages of central New York; the embarkation, not without some misgivings, on the new-fangled steamboat at Albany-a twelve days' trip, full of personal adventure and novel experience, all described with that intimate touch that makes one vividly see the journey exactly as it was eighty-odd years ago.

If my business were to take me to Detroit to-night, I fear I should not be able to leave so interesting an account for future generations. Something like this it would have to

read:

"Took the Luxury Limited for Detroit tonight. After an excellent dinner smoked and read the evening papers in the buffet car. Retired to a most comfortable bed and slept soundly all night to awake at my destination."

By your leave, I should prefer the adventure of that twelve-day trip! A plague upon these seven-league boots of modern science and invention, for they are fast treading all the romance out of travel.

Yet it is scarcely fair to these same inventions thus to bulk them under one anathema; for the very latest of them bid fair to restore to our Wanderlust all of the glamour their predecessors took away. The same science that robbed us of the stage coach and the white-winged ships of old has given us the aeroplane and the motor car.

The aeroplane, perhaps, must always remain a flight above the ambitions of the average man who sets a value on his neck and likes to feel the solid earth beneath his shoe-leather. But surely next to flying there is no sensation to compare with the glorious vagabondage of the open road and the skimming motor car. And how few of the fortunate owners have learned to use their cars aright! How many to whom the automobile is little better than a sort of private street car, a convenience to take them to and from their places of business, downtown shopping, a stolid whirl about the parks, and to the theater, perhaps, of an evening! Have they never even guessed that they own a veritable Aladdin's carpet, an open sesame to wide countrysides, strange roadways, and the wonderland of all outdoors?

A great convenience, almost a necessity in and about our cities, the automobile has very naturally become within the past few years. But in a sense its best, if not its most important, use can never be merely as a convenience. The man who gets the best out of his motor car is winning through it a liberal education in the university of the open spaces and the open air.

Curiously enough, the man most likely to get the best out of motoring in this way is the average owner of moderate means who drives and cares for his own car. Though his leisure may be limited to Sundays and holidays and his means scant for extended trips, he it is with family and friends that crowds the motor highways each week-end,

exploring unfamiliar countrysides and quaint out-of-the-way villages.

The motor journeys of the very rich are more likely to be stately junketings from one fashionable resort to another. Kept under glass,

in immaculate limousines, shielded alike from sunshine, dust, and rain, respectfully herded by footman and chauffeur from expensive hotel to expensive hotel, they rarely taste the vagabond joys of the open road, the accident and incident that are the spice of motoring, the chance bucolic encounter, the picnic luncheon beside the brook, the farm-house refuge from the storm.

It is well that this should be so. For I conceive it to be the finest achievement of the motor car that it should more and more become a democratizing agent, that it should bring back to us something of the wide and intimate acquaintance of the old stage-coach days, that it should more and more come to counteract the evil effects of the country's drift to the cities.

To the new owner or the inexperienced motor tourist a few words of caution and advice may not come amiss. Do not make your plans for a first trip too ambitious. Before you start make sure that you are thoroughly familiar with the operation and equipment of your car. Look to your tool kit; see that it is complete and that you understand the use of each implement. Make sure that a jack is included-some of the less expensive cars skimp their equipment here. Carry at least one spare shoe, and, if the sizes of front and rear wheels differ, carry at least one shoe of each size. Have plenty of inner tubes (of both sizes, when necessary) and material for mending punctures. Be certain that you understand how to put on a new shoe and to put in a new inner tube without pinching it. This may sound elementary, but it would probably surprise you to know how many inexperienced drivers are absolutely helpless when confronted with a puncture. If you do not know how to do these things, learn.

Put up your top and note carefully how all the side curtains are assembled. It may save you a drenching when a sudden shower catches you unaware. Carry tire chains and about thirty feet of stout tow rope. You may not want either, but if you do you will want them mighty badly. See that your lighting system, whether electric, by gas tank or gas generator, is in good working order. Remember that a trunk or suit-case to carry its con

tents safely in the trunk-rack must be both water-proof and dust-proof. A picnic luncheon basket is a great convenience and will free you from worry about where you will get your midday meals.

The spare parts you carry should depend largely upon your experience with your particular make of car. Always strain gasoline It isn't a bad thing to do

in filling your tank. the same with water. Take along with you the manufacturers' book of instructions, and pay particular heed to the directions for oiling and lubrication. Buy the best road maps. Cheap ones are no economy Drive slowly over bad roads. Never take chances

on a grade crossing or around a dangerous turn in the road.

Last, but not least, don't be in too much of a hurry. Presumably on a tour you are out, first of all, to see the country-not to break speed records.

In an article of this kind it would be manifestly impossible to suggest possible tours. It will depend, of course, upon the part of the country in which you live. One point is possibly worth bringing up. The average motorist often overestimates the importance of good roads. They certainly do have a good deal to do with the pleasure of your trip, but none the less I think most experienced drivers will agree that many of their most interesting trips have often been over the worst roads. The inexperienced driver will probably do well to stick to good roads and the beaten path, but the man who knows his motor thoroughly, its capabilities and its limitations, who is willing to drive slowly and nurse his car over bad going, will be well repaid for his trouble by the delights of motor exploration in out-of-the way corners of the map. One of the most interesting motor trips I have heard of recently was that taken by a friend who drove his car-a light and inexpensive machine, too-deep into the Maine woods over an old logging trail.

For the man who is prepared to spend a thousand dollars or more on his summer's motor outing there are fascinating possibilities in a European trip. There is, of course, nothing cheap about motoring abroad, but a good many people have an exaggerated notion of the relative expense. It depends very largely upon the person who makes the trip. When the average European innkeeper and garage bandit sight the American motorist over the horizon, they certainly do, as the vernacular has it, see him coming." But I think

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