A THING ACCURSED

The automobile has been blamed for much. Accused of corrupting the manners and temper of the American people it spitefully waxes fat with comfort and luxury. But while it may stupidly ignore the choice oaths of two score languages, it must bitterly resent the statements of Mr. Ramiro De Maezter.

The automobile, mirabile dictu, has caused the alarming decadence of French literature. When Zola, Daudet, Flaubert, and Maupassant went out, the evil-smelling horseless carriage came in. Since the hectic days of the Paris-Madrid races Frenchmen have been too busy driving and repairing their machines--have smudged their fingers too much with grease--to cultivate the fine arts of Moliere and Racline.

Nor is this all. "People are too busy in these days to make love . . . to write billets-doux." And the automobile is of course to blame. The loss of these dainty confections of literature is truly tragic. Yet the squinting scholar may smile amidst the grime of a blowout to thank his otherwise cursed machine for preventing the literary effusions of future Pamelas.