We yielded to the temptation, and went on as soon as the motor started; the day was so fine and we were so anxious to get to Worcester that we started with the motor,--knowing all the time that whatever made the motor slow to start would, in all likelihood, bring us to a stand-still before very long; the evil moment, possibly the evil hour, may be postponed, but seldom the evil day.
At two o'clock we passed through Springfield, stopping only a moment at the hotel to inquire for mail.

Leaving Springfield we followed the main road towards Worcester, some fifty miles away.
The road is winding and over a rolling country, but for the most part very good.

The grades are not steep, there are some sandy spots, but none so soft as to materially interfere with good speed.

There are many stretches of good gravel, and here and there a piece--a sample--of State road, perfectly laid macadam, with signs all along requesting persons not to drive in the centre of the highway,--this is to save the road from the hollows and ruts that horses and narrow-tired wagons invariably make, and in which the water stands, ultimately wearing the macadam through.

We could not see that the slightest attention was paid to the notices.
Everybody kept the middle of the road, such is the improvidence of men; the country people grumble at the great expense of good roads, and then take the surest way to ruin them.
While it is true that the people in the first instance grumble at the prospective cost of these well-made State roads, no sooner are they laid than their very great value is appreciated, and good roads sentiment becomes rampant.