charges for all classes of travellers, as well
in England as on the Continent, there is an undoubted upward tendency
which the automobile has done absolutely nothing to allay. One good
is coming to pass, however, and that is uniformity of price for the
class of accommodation offered, and (in France and most other
Continental countries) the absolute abolition of the charge for
"lights and service," an abominable and outrageous practice which
still lingers in England--and for that matter Scotland and Ireland.

The discussion of the subject has been worn threadbare, and it is
useless to enter further into it here, save to remark that since the
automobile is bringing about so many reforms and improvements perhaps
the abolition of this species of swindling on the part of the British
hotel-keeper will disappear along with antiquated sanitary
arrangements and uncomfortable closed-in beds.

In France--thanks again to the indefatigable Touring Club de
France--they have eliminated this charge for service and lights
entirely, and one generally finds hanging behind the door the little
card advocated by the Touring Club, stating clearly the charge for
that particular room and the price of the various things offered in
the way of accommodation. This ought to be demanded, by law, of every
hotel-keeper. Not every hotel in France has fallen in line, but those
that have are reaping the benefit. The automobilist is a good
advertiser of what he finds _en route_ that pleases him, and scores
pitilessly--to other automobilists--everything in the nature of a
swindle that he meets with, and they are not few, for in many places
the automobilist is still considered fair game for robbery.

As to the fare offered in English inns, as compared with that of the
Continental hotel, the least said the better; the subject has been
gone over again and again, so it shall not be reiterated here, save
to quote Pierre Loti on what one eats for an English dinner.

"We were assembled round a horrible bill of fare, which would not be
good enough for one of our humblest cook-shops. But the English are
extraordinary folk. When I saw the reappearance, for the fourth time,
of the fatal dish of three compartments, for badly boiled potatoes,
for peas looking poisonously green, and for cauliflower drenched with
a glue-like substance, I declined, and sighed for Poledor, who
nourished my studious youth on a dainty repast at a shilling per
day."

The modern tourist,