Say, if the man that drinks the whisky goes to hell, the man that votes for the saloon that sold the whisky to him will go to hell. If the man that drinks the whisky goes to hell, and the man that sold the whisky to the men that drank it, goes to heaven, then the poor drunkard will have the right to stand on the brink of eternal damnation and put his arms around the pillar of justice, shake his fist in the face of the Almighty and say, "Unjust! Unjust!" If you vote for the dirty business you ought to go to hell as sure as you live, and I would like to fire the furnace while you are there. Some fellow says, "Drive the saloon out and the buildings will be empty." Which would you rather have, empty buildings or empty jails, penitentiaries and insane asylums? You drink the stuff and what have you to say? You that vote for it, and you that sell it? Look at them painted on the canvas of your recollection. The Gin Mill What is the matter with this grand old country? I heard my friend, George Stuart, tell how he imagined that he walked up to a mill and said: "Hello, there, what kind of a mill are you?" "A sawmill." "And what do you make?" "We make boards out of logs." "Is the finished product worth more than the raw material?" "Yes." "We will make laws for you. We must have lumber for houses." He goes up to another mill and says: "Hey, what kind of a mill are you?" "A grist mill." "What do you make?" "Flour and meal out of wheat and corn." "Is the finished product worth more than the raw material?" "Yes." "Then come on. We will make laws for you. We will protect you." He goes up to another mill and says: "What kind of a mill are you?" "A paper mill." "What do you make paper out of?" "Straw and rags." "Well, we will make laws for you. We must have paper on which to write notes and mortgages." He goes up to another mill and says: "Hey, what kind of a mill are you?" "A gin mill." "I don't like the looks nor the smell of you. A gin mill; what do you make? What kind of a mill are you?" "A gin mill." "What is your raw material?" "The boys of America." The gin mills of this country must have 2,000,000 boys or shut up shop. Say, walk down your streets, count the homes and every fifth home has to furnish a boy for a drunkard. Have you furnished yours? No. Then I have to furnish two to make up. "What is your raw material?" "American boys." "Then I will pick up the boys and give them to you." A man says, "Hold on, not that boy, he is mine." Then I will say to you what a saloon-keeper said to me when I protested, "I am not interested in boys; to hell with your boys." "Say, saloon gin mill, what is your finished product?" "Bleary-eyed, low-down, staggering men and the scum of God's dirt." Go to the jails, go to the insane asylums and the penitentiaries, and the homes for feeble-minded. There you will find the finished product for their dirty business. I tell you it is the worst business this side of hell, and you know it.