The curse of drink-- Stop, friends, and think How, reft of spirits weak or strong, My Nation will be purified Of all corruptions vile. The lamb and lion, side by side, Will smile and smile and smile. The workman when his day is o'er Will hurry to his cottage door To kiss his loving wife; He'll lay his wages in her hand And peace will settle on the land Without a trace of strife. The criminals will cease to swarm, Forgers and burglars will reform And minor crimes will so abate That lower courts--now open late-- Will close and let the magistrate Go to the zoo Or read _Who's Who_. In short I do anticipate A thinner, cooler human race, Its system cleansed of every trace Of inner fire And hot desire And passions spurring to disgrace. "'Tis simple," said the Man from Minn., "To cure the world of mortal sin-- Just legislate against it." Then up spake Congress with a roar, "We never thought of that before. Let's go!" And they commenced it. III--_Tone Picture's Suggesting Conditions in U. S. A. Some Two Years After Alcoholic Stimulants Had Been Legislated out of Business_ 1 Grandma's sitting in her attic, Oiling up her automatic. Mid-Victorian is her style, Prim yet gentle is her smile As she fits the cartridges One by one, and softly says: "Grandson is a Dry Enforcer. Grandpa is a Legger-- All for one and one for all-- I'll never die a beggar. Bill brings booze from Montreal, Grandpa lets him through-- Oh, life's been rosy for us folks Since the red-light laws went blue." 2 Pretty Sadie, aged fourteen, To a lamp-post clings serene. "What's the matter?" some may ask. On her hip she wears a flask Labelled "Tonic for the Hair"-- "Hic," says Sadie, "we should care!" "Father is a corner druggist-- Why should I abstain? Brother is a counterfeiter, Printing labels plain. I can buy grain alcohol As all the neighbors do; And if you treat me right I'll lend My formula to you." 3 Sits the plumber, man of metal. Joining gas-pipes to a kettle. 'Neath the bed his wife is lying Rather silent--she is dying From some gin her husband gave her. He's too busy now to save her. "Things," he sings, "are looking upward; I am making stills. Soon we'll cook the stuff by wholesale, Running twenty 'mills.' What we make and how we make it Doesn't cut no ice. Anything you sell in bottles Brings the standard price." 4 In the gutter, quite besotted, Lies the drunkard, sadly spotted. People pass with unmoved faces-- Why remark such commonplaces? Just another Volstead duckling, Rolling in the gutter chuckling: