The motor car affords expeditious and reasonably sure means of getting over the country—­always ready when you are ready, subservient to your whim to visit some inaccessible old ruin, flying over the broad main highways or winding more cautiously in the unfrequented country byways—­and is, withal, a method of locomotion to which the English people have become tolerant if not positively friendly.  Further, I am sure it will be welcome news to many that the expense of such a trip, under ordinary conditions, is not at all exorbitant or out of the reach of the average well-to-do citizen.

Those who have traveled for long distances on American roads can have no conception whatever of the delights of motor traveling on the British highways.  I think there are more bad roads in the average county, taking the States throughout, than there are in all of the United Kingdom, and the number of defective bridges in any county outside of the immediate precincts of a few cities, would undoubtedly be many times greater than in the whole of Great Britain.  I am speaking, of course, of the more traveled highways and country byways.  There are roads leading into the hilly sections that would not be practicable for motors at all, but, fortunately, these are the very roads over which no one would care to go.  While the gradients are generally easier than in the States, there are in many places sharp hills where the car must be kept well under control.  But the beauty of it is that in Britain one has the means of being thoroughly warned in advance of the road conditions which he must encounter.

The maps are perfect to the smallest detail and drawn to a large scale, showing the relative importance of all the roads; and upon them are plainly marked the hills that are styled “dangerous.”  These maps were prepared for cyclists, and many of the hills seem insignificant to a powerful motor.  However, the warning is none the less valuable, for often other conditions requiring caution prevail, such as a dangerous turn on a hill or a sharp descent into a village street.  Then there is a set of books, four in number, published by an Edinburgh house and illustrated by profile plans, covering about thirty thousand miles of road in England and Scotland.  These show the exact gradients and supply information in regard to the surface of the roads and their general characteristics.  Besides this, the “objects of interest” scattered along any particular piece of road are given in brief—­information at once so desirable and complete as to be a revelation to an American.  There are sign-boards at nearly every crossing; only in some of the more retired districts did we find the crossroads unmarked.  With such advantages as these, it is easily seen that a tour of Britain by a comparative stranger is not difficult; that a chauffeur or a guide posted on the roads is not at all necessary.  The average tourist, with the exercise of ordinary intelligence and a little