with perfect surface, and cared for with neatness such as we would find
only in a millionaire's private grounds in the United States.
Everywhere men were at work repairing any slight depression, trimming
the lawnlike grasses on each side to an exact line with the edges of the
stone surface, and even sweeping the road in many places to rid it of
dust and dirt. Here and there it ran for a considerable distance through
beautiful avenues of fine elms and yews; the hawthorne hedges which
bordered it almost everywhere were trimmed with careful exactness; and
yet amid all this precision there bloomed in many places the sweet
English wild flowers--forget-me-nots, violets, wild hyacinths and
bluebells. The country itself was rather flat and the villages generally
uninteresting. The road was literally bordered with wayside inns, or,
more properly, ale houses, for they apparently did little but sell
liquor, and their names were odd and fantastic in a high degree. We
noted a few of them. The "Stump and Pie," the "Hare and Hounds," the
"Plume of Feathers," the "Blue Ball Inn," the "Horse and Wagon," the
"Horse and Jockey," the "Dog and Parson," the "Dusty Miller," the "Angel
Hotel" the "Dun Cow Inn," the "Green Man," the "Adam and Eve," and the
"Coach and Horses," are a few actual examples of the fearful and
wonderful nomenclature of the roadside houses. Hardly less numerous than
these inns were the motor-supply depots along this road. There is
probably no other road in England over which there is greater motor
travel, and supplies of all kinds are to be had every mile or two. The
careless motorist would not have far to walk should he neglect to keep
up his supply of petrol--or motor spirit, as they call it everywhere in
Britain.

Long before we reached Coventry, we saw the famous "three spires"
outlined against a rather threatening cloud, and just as we entered the
crooked streets of the old town, the rain began to fall heavily. The