On page 133 of Baedeker’s Berlin, “Furniture From the Boudoir of Queen Marie Antoinette” has two stars, ** while “Elijah in the Desert,” on page 108, has, in addition to all his other troubles, to worry along with one star.
And that is not the worst of it.
On page 163, “a well-preserved Archæopteryx in Solnhofen slate,” to me by all odds the most interesting object in Berlin, has no star at all! * * *
But no matter how annoying it is, you must never blame the Asterisks. They only did as they were told and stood where Herr Baedeker placed them and, if they did wrong, Herr Baedeker alone was responsible. A good writer—or editor—is good to his Asterisks, and when he puts them in a false position we must make due allowance.
If Asterisks could combine and form a protective union, there might be some hope for them, but a flair for collective bargaining is not in their nature. That being the case, I suggest the establishment of a Federal Licensing Bureau empowered to investigate the qualifications of would-be employers of Asterisks and issue or withhold licenses accordingly.
And it is high time something were done about it.
Only lately there has been brought to my notice a case of so flagrant a nature that, were there such an institution as a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Asterisks, I should feel it my duty to call their attention to it.
To come down to brass tacks, as the saying is, the flagrant case of cruelty to Asterisks, to which I refer, consists of a fat book, called “The Best Short Stories of 1921.” Edited by Edward J. O’Brien—Published by Small Maynard.
Never, I think, were a mob of overworked employees so pitifully huddled together in an ill-ventilated factory as are the Asterisks in this Sweatshop of Twaddle.
The Sweatshop proper—if a Sweatshop may be so qualified—is situated in the rear of the book, occupying about a fifth of its volume, and consists of: