lo Bill's Wild West,
Niagara Falls, New York's "Flat Iron" building, and other exotics
from the New World.

We dined and slept well at Givors in spite of our accident, and were
"up bright and early," as Pepys might have said (Londoners to-day do
not get up bright and early, however!), to find out, if possible,
what was the matter with the digestive apparatus of the automobile.
Nothing was the matter! The human, obstinate thing started off at the
first trial, and probably would have done the same thing last night
had we given the starting-crank one more turn. Such is automobiling!

We made our entrance into Lyons _en pleine vitesse_, stopping not
until we got to the centre of the city. The _octroi_ regulations had
just been revised, and the gates were open to passing traffic without
the obligation of having to declare one's possessions. Progressive
Lyons!

Lyons is truly progressive. It is beautifully laid out and kept. It
is nothing like as filthy as a large city usually is, on the
outskirts, and its island faubourg, between the Saone and the Rhone,
is the ideal of a well-organized and planned centre of affairs.

Lyons has, moreover, two up-to-date hotels, the very latest things,
one might say, in the hotel line: the Terminus Hotel, which well
serves travelers by rail, and the Hotel de l'Univers et de
l'Automobilisme--rather a clumsy name, but that of a good,
well-meaning hotel. Its progressiveness consists in having abolished
the _pourboire_. You have ten per cent. added on to your bill,
however. This looks large when it comes to figures,--paying something
for nothing,--but at least one knows where he stands, and he fears no
black looks from chambermaid or boots. The thing is announced, by a
little placard placed in every room, as an "innovation." It remains
to be seen if it will prove successful.

From Lyons to Dijon, 197 kilometres between breakfast and lunch, was
not bad. Now, at last, we were in that opulent land of good living
and good drinking, where the food and wine are alike both rich.

He's a contented, fat, sleek-looking type, the native son of the Cote
d'Or, and he looks with contempt on the cider-nourished Norman and
Breton, and does not for a moment think that cognac is to be compared
with the _eau de vie de marc_ of his own vineyards.

The Cote d'Or is the richest wine-growing region of all the world.
Every direction-post and sign-board is like a review of the names on
a wine card,--Beaune, Cham