THE DANGERS OF THE MOTOR-CAR.
[To THE EDITOR OF THE " SPECTATOR."] SIR,—The motor-car divides with President Kruger the honour of being the hero of the autumn. Even the reason- able Spectator (on September 9th) joins in the jubilee, con- gratulating the public on its inestimable benefits. At the very moment that this eloquent article was going to press an old acquaintance of the present writer had an experience which was enough to cure the most enthusiastic believer in its—the motor-car's—unalloyed advantages. She had been spending the afternoon with a friend in a neighbouring country town, and had not gone far along the road on her return when a motor-car met the carriage, puffing its nasty smoke, making its hideous noise, and completely upsetting the nerves of the horse—an old one that she had been driving for five years. The animal bolted, the reins broke, and the coachman was precipitated into the middle of the road. On went the carriage, with its single occupant, who clutched the sides, one with each hand, to avoid being pitched out. The horse went on at full gallop, the reins flowing on the ground, —every man and boy on the road cheering and throwing up his hat, which, of course, alarmed the creature still more. It was a sort of John Gilpin ride. The carriage swayed and rocked violently. Most mercifully it kept the middle of the road, and neither was run into nor ran into anything, or swerved into the ditch. A man coming the opposite way stopped the horse after it had galloped about a mile and a half. The coachman was not hurt. He was reinstated on the box, with a man by his side, and went on steadily for about ten minutes. Then another motorcar, horse bolted, reins broken, and streaming on the ground. Coachman again pitched out, and as in the case of the renowned rider already alluded to, the whole catastrophe repeated, with the aggravation of a wild gallop more than twice as long as the former. The kind owner of a house by the roadside heard the noise, and stopped the horse, took the unfortunate inmate of the carriage into his house, and drove home the
carriage with the coachman inside. There are still good Samaritans to be met in misfortune.
It seems hard that while the young have dancing, riding, swimming, cycling, golfing, rowing, and many other means of rapid motion, the old and sick should be debarred from their only exercise—driving. The roads now teem with these infernal machines. No doubt they increase the enjoyment of the young and able-bodied, to whom, of course, the world belongs, but who have so much else that we may be excused for putting in a plea for the old and infirm. It is curious that in an age which calls itself assthetic, and adores beauty, these inventions should originate and flourish. Neither the bicycle nor the motor-car con- duces to the enjoyment or observation of Nature. The great endeavour of the frog-like figures with red faces and bare lege whom one meets toiling along the road at fifteen miles an hour is not to enjoy the country but to make a record, looking neither to the right nor the left. In the Spectator article the happy day is anticipated when bill and dale shall be levelled, and if there should be a re- markably beautiful prospect from the top of an eminence, a tunnel pierced through to the opposite side. The sweet scents of summer will be replaced by the odours of paraffin, the songs of the birds by the noise of the engines. These straight, level roads will bristle with monstrous steam- rollers, and shrieking, throbbing motors emitting jets of steam. Even now it is seldom that one can allow one- self to fall into the dreamy blies of a drive in the gloam- ing, lest, like the old lady whose perilous adventure we have recounted, one should suddenly find oneself rushing apparently towards a horrible death, and even if fatal results be escaped much pain and misery are sure to ensue. It would be absurd to say "Forbid the motor-cars," bat one who has suffered from them may be permitted to ask that their pace may in a measure be regulated, and that, if warned, they may be obliged to stop while a nervous horse passes them. We cannot shoot all our nervous horses. Already many accidents have occurred. There seemed some hope the other day when a noble Lord was the sufferer, but probably nothing will be done till a Royal Prince breaks his neck, or a celebrated beauty her nose. On the other side, the owners of horses should endeavour to break in their animals to these nuisances, and should be given the facilities for so
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