to visit again myOhio rivercountry, that I knew and loved in 1920 and 1921 but would I find changed, or I so changed that it would have lost its charm for me?  That neither has happened fills me with a great intoxicating joy. A bitterly cold day – at Steubenville, I seek the hilly street where in 1921 I made a pencil study of some old houses – I find them practically unchanged in eleven years – perhaps a little better – After making another study I take a street-car for E. Liverpool – the vast grim primitive country between Steubenville and Toronto is overwhelming – here is untouched virgin material – long, low shanties and brick kilns huddling at the foot of vast grim bald-topped hills –
     We went thru Wellsville all too fast – the dark hollows leading thru the hills northward – E. Liverpool – a last dark green twilight gleaming above cold black-red buildings – must wait till 9:45 for bus to Salem.  Pie and coffee in a lunch room – small girl selling homemade fudge – when I buy five, she says :you must have a lot of kids at home”  I reply “I have five” to which she says “That’s nothing I have an uncle who has ten” – the incident warmed my spirit – I thought of former days in 1920, when numb from a day of painting along the river, I came up these same streets in a twilight that smacked faintly of spring to get a street-car for home, and how once I drank coffee in a lunch room near the river and a phonograph ground out a then popular tune (I always thought the first line went “When I go back to the shack,” but do not know for sure) which has since come to mean “Ohio River” for me.  It is all mine yet – nothing has changed.
     Taxi – toChester,W.Va.to wait for bus – the ride toSalemuneventful – I tried to watch forWest Pointbut it was too dark –