ourts press hard on the autoist. Since the invention of
the automobile fine, the position of justice of the peace has become one
of the highest offices in the gift of the nation. The city magistrate is
a kindred soul. "Your Honour," says the prosecuting officer, "the
question is whether the city's boulevards shall be given over to the
owners of these destructive vehicles or whether they shall be held clear
for the use of Marathon runners, suffragette meetings, baseball teams,
and 'crap' games. The streets, your Honour, are for the benefit of the
majority; yet only the other day on Fifth Avenue I saw two ash-carts and
an ice wagon held up by a continuous stream of automobiles." "Right,"
says the judge, and he turns to the victim: "What were you doing in the
middle of the street when defendant ran you down wantonly and without
cause?" "I was sleeping, your Honour," says the complainant, "having
been overtaken with drowsiness on my way home from a select social
affair." "Outrageous," says the magistrate. "Think of running into a
sleeping man. One hundred dollars."

Such incidents make it clear that the automobile as an annihilator of
space has established its reputation. In the days before the auto a
drive of fifteen or twenty miles constituted a good Sunday's outing.
To-day a man can leave New Rochelle at eight o'clock in the morning and
pay a fine at Poughkeepsie at one in the afternoon, or he can leave
Poughkeepsie at eight in the morning and at one in the afternoon be in
the lock-up at New Rochelle.

What hurts the motorist's feelings most of all, however, is to be
regarded by the public as a sort of licensed assassin. Yet almost any
one can think of people who drive a car and take no pleasure in spilling
blood. The common belief that automobile killing is a favourite sport
among our best families seems to be based on the fact that in nine cases
out of ten the occupants of a man-slaying automobile bear such
well-known Knickerbocker names as Mr. William Moriarty, chauffeur; his
friend, Mr. James Dugan, who is prominent in coal-heaving circles; and
their friends, the Misses Mayme Schultz and Bessie Goldstein. At bottom,
it would seem, most of the criticism directed against the automobile is
based on its failure to take a hog and turn him into a gentleman. But in
this respect automobiles are like many of our colleges. The comforting
thing is that the life of the automobile hog is an uncertain one. Sooner
or later he runs