Had dinner at Amsterdam, sixteen miles from Schenectady, and while halted here had _Paul_ shod for the first time since leaving Boston. Resumed my journey at four o'clock and reached Fonda two hours later. Made twenty-six miles during the day and was now 243 miles from the "Hub." Through the courtesy of Mr. Fisher, my landlord at this place, I was given a verbal sketch of Fonda which made a pleasant addition to my own small store of information. There were no striking characteristics here to attract the traveller's eye and history had not chronicled its modest advancement, but for those who enjoy the sight of peace and prosperity, Fonda has a charm of its own. Around it on all sides the grain fields were under excellent cultivation, with here and there a well-stocked farm, suggesting an agricultural and dairying centre. I found a good night's rest here, envied the people their peaceful existence, and rode away with a sense of complete refreshment. Nineteenth Day. _Briggs House_, SAINT JOHNSVILLE, NEW YORK, _May Twenty-seventh_. Called for _Paul_ at eight o'clock, and after halting a moment at the office of the _Mohawk Valley Democrat_, crossed the river to Fultonville, which is connected with Fonda by a substantial iron bridge. Passing through this town, an enterprising one for its size, I continued my journey along the south bank of the Mohawk until I reached Canajoharie, where I stopped at the Eldridge House for dinner. [Illustration: A MILL STREAM IN THE MOHAWK VALLEY.] Here I met another Socrates who had a "favorite prescription" for healing the sore on _Paul's_ back. Spent an hour very pleasantly in the office of the _Mohawk Valley Register_ at Fort Plain, where I learned that Charles W. Elliott of this paper is a son of George W. Elliott, author of "Bonnie Eloise." For many years this song was a great favorite, not only along the Mohawk, but all over the country, and is certainly one of the sweetest ballads of America. There is a swing to the rhythm and charm in the lines which keeps it in memory, and in riding along through the scenes it describes, my thoughts go back to the old days in Rensselaer County, where as a boy I first heard the words. "O sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides, On its clear winding way to the sea; And dearer than all storied streams on earth besides, Is this bright rolling river to me. But sweeter, dearer, yes, dearer far than these, Who charms when others all fail, Is blue-eyed, bonnie, bonnie Eloise, The belle of the Mohawk vale. "O sweet are the scenes of my boyhood's sunny years That bespangle the gay valley o'er; And dear are the friends, seen through memory's fond tears, That have lived in the blest days of yore. But sweeter, dearer, yes, dearer far than these, etc.