nforeseen
difficulties unknown on the racing-circuit as understood in recent
years.

To follow the _Circuit Europeen_ one traverses France, Italy,
Austria, Germany, and Belgium; and one may readily enough, if time
and inclination permit, get also a glimpse of Spain, Switzerland, and
Holland. Generally the automobile tourist has confined his trip to
France, as properly he might, but, if he would go further afield, the
European Circuit, as it has become classically known, is an itinerary
vouched for as to its practicability and interest by the allied
automobile and touring clubs of many lands.

France is still far in the lead in the accommodation which it offers
to the automobilist, but Germany has made great strides of late, and
the other frontier boundary states have naturally followed suit.
Roads improvement in Germany has gone on at a wonderful rate of late,
due, it is said, to the interest of the German emperor in the
automobile industry, both from a sportive and a very practical side.

From Paris to the Italian frontier one finds the roads uniformly
excellent; but, as one enters Italy, they deteriorate somewhat,
except along the frontiers, where, curiously enough, nations seem to
vie with each other in a careful maintenance of the highroads, which
is, of course, laudable. This is probably due to strategic military
reasons, but so long as it benefits the automobilist he will not cry
out for disarmament.

The Austrian roads are fair--near Vienna and Prague they are quite
good; but they are dangerous with deep ditches and gullies which the
French know as _canivaux_, the Austrians by some unpronounceable
name, and the Anglo-Saxon as "thank-you-marms." From Prague to
Breslau the roads are twisting and turning, and large stones jut here
and there above the actual road level. This is a real danger, a very
considerable annoyance. From Breslau to Potsdam one gets as dusty a
bit of road travelling as he will find in all Europe. One side of the
road only is stone-rolled, the other apparently being merely loose
sand, or some variety of dust which whirls up in clouds and even
penetrates one's tightly closed bags and boxes. Hanover, the home of
Continental tires, is surrounded in every direction with execrable
cobblestones, or whatever the German equivalent is--"pflaster," the
writer thinks. Probably the makers of the excellent tires for
automobiles have nothing to do with the existence of this awful
_pave_, and perhaps if