no alternative. Just beyond
Yancey Mills we pass an old, old farmhouse at whose gate there hangs an
attractive sign,

"THE SIGN OF THE GREEN TEA-POT."

We decide to go in for a cup of tea. It is a charming little place, kept
by a woman of taste and arranged for parties to sup in passing by, or
for a few people to make a short stay. We admire the simple, dainty
furniture, the homelike little parlor, and the attractive dining-room.
Everything is beautifully clean and we sigh that we cannot make a longer
stay. They give us one of the best cups of tea that we have had in all
our long journey. The views about the place are charmingly pastoral,
and we feel that with books and walks we could spend an idyllic
fortnight here. Coming into Charlottesville we pass the fine campus of
the University of Virginia.

Now comes a delightful week in old Charlottesville. To begin with, we
insure our comfort by staying at a private boarding house on Jefferson
street, where we have the delicious cooking that makes the tables of the
old State famous. We find the boarding houses in Virginia to be very
pleasant places indeed. We enjoy our Virginia table neighbors and we
enjoy the homely comfort of these establishments. When we do not know
the address of a boarding house we are accustomed, upon entering a town,
to make inquiry at the best looking drug store. We have found this plan
admirable, and are indebted for some very kindly and practical advice.

While in Charlottesville we drive about the country over the red clay
roads which are so beautiful in the midst of the green meadows and
orchards. This is the scenery that is so charmingly described by Mary
Johnston in "Lewis Rand." Charlottesville is in the midst of a famous
apple country, where are grown most delicious wine saps. All along in
our Virginia travels we have seen evidences of a bumper crop of apples.
Never have I seen so many apple trees bowed to the ground with their
rosy crop. Each tree is a bouquet in itself; and a whole orchard of
these trees with their drooping sprays of apple-laden branches, many of
them propped from the ground, is a charming sight. I wish for the brush
of a painter to transfer all this color and form to an immortal canvas.

On a hill near Charlottesville we have a never-to-be-forgotten view.
Across a little valley on another hilltop is Thomas Jefferson's
"Monticello," or Little Mountain. Just in front lies the town of
Charlottesville upon its many kn